Porcelain Princess (8 page)

She waved at
him, at her, each and every one of them knowing that he or she was
the one in particular that she had spotted amongst the crowd,
singling them out for her friendly wave.

Each and every
one of them waved back.

The Princess
didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She simply turned and
walked back through the balcony doors back into the palace.
(Suddenly, no one thought of it has being a tower anymore. The
tower had at last disappeared; it was now a palace.)

It was over! The
terror was over!

Their Princess
didn’t need to tell them this for them to know.

They cheered.
They threw their hats into the air. They danced ridiculously
excitable jigs. They made their own joyful music, with hastily
produced flutes, with barrels transformed into drums.

They reached out
to hold hands with whoever was nearest to them, groups forming into
circles or lines that wheeled amid or snaked around everyone else.
They hugged complete strangers, inviting them for a drink at the
tavern, even dinner at their home at the next available
opportunity.

Clothes that
only a moment ago had seemed dull and poor now blazed with colour
as everyone happily mingled. Children who had been nothing but
noisy pests, forever getting under their feet, spread laughter and
gay tom-foolery wherever they went. Market stalls dismissed as
uninteresting and full of ill formed goods were, on a second look,
revealed to be selling the most unique, handmade wares.

And just the
appearance of their Princess had caused all this?

They were
amazed!

How was it
possible?

Where had she
come from?

Who was
she?

Why hadn’t she
spoken?

How had she
reassured them all despite not saying a word?

They asked these
questions, of course. Asked themselves. Asked each
other.

But they weren’t
really bothered abut receiving any answers.

They were happy.
That was the main thing. And they were sure that, at last, all
their worries were over. Yes, there would be minor problems to deal
with, as there always would be; but they
would
be dealt
with!

Why, look at how
their magnificent palace stretched towards the heavens themselves,
showing that
anything
was possible! Look at how it glowed in
the sun, like a vast beacon of hope!

As night fell,
the palace continued to benevolently watch over them, the warm glow
from its brightly lit rooms like gloriously large lanterns that
spread and shared their light with the peacefully sleeping
townspeople.

There were no
dark carnages that night.

There were no
copies of illustrations waiting to be viewed in the
morning.

For the first
time ever, it seemed, the town awoke as any other town awakes; full
of hope and expectation, and wondering what challenges and triumphs
the new day would bring.

*

When the sun was
at its brightest, another fanfare of trumpets sounded out across
the town.

Everyone glanced
up towards the balcony. But there was no movement there.

Their Princess
didn’t appear.

This time it was
the gates that opened.

From inside the
walls, there came the snort and whinnying of proud horses, the
clatter of wheels on cob stone.

The driverless
carriage unhurriedly pulled out through the gates. The prancing
horses were of purest white. The carriage itself, even its wheels,
could have been made of porcelain or mother of pearl, it gleamed so
wondrously white, reflecting the tones and shades of everything it
passed as fluid rainbows. (In fact, people would later say, the
main body was so perfectly spherical that it could only have been
formed from a gigantic pearl, skilfully hollowed out from
within.)

It was their
Princess, everyone was sure, even before anyone began to catch
glimpses of her behind the brightly shimmering windows. She leaned
forward in her seat, gaily waving at each and every person she
passed. She smiled. She giggled with joy as children playfully ran
alongside her carriage, easily keeping up with its languid progress
towards the town square. The townspeople followed it too, waving at
their Princess, waving at each other as more people joined their
steady progression towards the square.

In the very
centre of the square, the carriage pulled to a halt. A thin central
band of the carriage began to wheel forward, while also sliding
open at its rear, slowly elevating the Princess up through the roof
until she was standing on its very top. A flaring safety rail
formed around her, but it was invisible against the innumerable
layers of lace of her resplendent dress, such that she appeared
like a queen proudly standing astride the globe she
ruled.

The whole crowd
gasped in awe. She was even more beautiful than they had imagined.
Her skin was as perfectly white, as indelibly flawless, as
astonishingly smooth, as luminously glistening, as a
pearl.

There was
something about her, those closest to her realised, that wasn’t
quite
real. But who could quibble about that, who would
care? That just made her more magical than ever, didn’t
it?

Some of the
people gathered around her even recognised her for who she really
was; she was the Porcelain Child. The Porcelain Child come to life,
as the stories had foretold. And what could be more magical, more
amazing, than that?

The crowd
stilled and quietened as it dawned on them that their Princess was
about to speak.

‘
You
may think that I’m here to tell you that there will be no more
Fading, no more illustrations.’

Her voice was
clear, confident and, some people swore, almost musical. She wasn’t
shouting, and yet her message carried surprisingly far, reaching
even the edges of the large throng of people who had gathered to
see and hear her.

She smiled
warmly as she spoke, as if she were telling them good news rather
than preparing them, it seemed, to accept the continuous existence
of the Fading and the illustrations that caused it. And so the
people around her smiled too, for they realised that this could not
be the bad news they would once have taken it to be.

‘
You
shouldn’t fear these illustrations, or the Fading,’ their beautiful
Princess continued.

And everyone
wondered why she said this, because they no longer did fear
them.

‘
To
explain, I need to tell you a story,’ their Princess said. ‘It’s
partly a story you all know well; yet now there is another part of
the tale that needs to be told. It’s the tale of the Porcelain
Child.’

Those who had
already guessed the truth nodded sagely, congratulating themselves
on their wisdom. For others, the truth dawned on them at different
points as she recounted her story, raising gasps of wonder, of joy,
of even something that felt strangely close to a spiritually
enlightening experience.

‘
As
we all know, the Porcelain Child was created through the most
incredible outpouring of love. Every child, I would hope, is
created through a shared love, such that that love is there for all
to see. Yet the Porcelain Child had to be created with an even
higher level of love, for every finger, every turn of a cheek,
every curve of its mouth, had to be carefully considered and
realised by her mother. The mother had to believe, too, that her
own great love would suffuse and inhabit her child, giving the girl
life. And the father, he had to believe too, in the mother and
their child. And his love for them both would have to be yet
another kind of love, a selfless love, a sacrificial love,
dedicating his own life to bringing life to another, to their
daughter.’

She paused, as
if to ensure that everyone had time to fully grasp the meaning
behind her words. Some of the people were already crying in wonder
and happiness. More people fell to their knees, blessing the world,
the whole of creation.

‘
Now
as tales of the child’s creation spread, love for the child grew
and grew throughout all the lands where the story was told,
listened to, and read. All these people, each and every one, wanted
to believe that it was possible to grant her life. And it was this
great love of everyone, this belief that the child
will
attain life, that eventually
gives
the child life. Gives
me
life.’

Now the whole
crowd gasped as they were filled with a shimmering joy.

‘
The
power of your great and focused love, your shared imagination, is
greater than you think. If enough believe, it can grant
life.’

Once again, she
paused, waited.

‘
But
I tell you this; it cannot give life to someone whose time has
come. No power, no wishful thinking, no magic, can prevent this.
And this is what you have feared; that the Illuminator’s
illustration where the cause of your passing and your
suffering.’

She shook her
head.

‘
This
is not the case.’

She briefly
waited once more.

‘
The
Illuminator knows that you fear – yes, even hate with your whole
being – his works. He knows, too, that you could never accept his
works like you love the Porcelain Child, a creation way beyond his
own limited capabilities. His own works are as nothing compared to
this outpouring of love, of joy, of belief in a better
life.’

The crowd was
silent, patiently listening to the Princess’s story.

‘
The
Illuminator realises that there’s neither love for him nor trust.
He is unapproachable, distant; and so you can’t be blamed for
misunderstanding his purpose. To rebuild your connection and trust
in him, you need someone you can identify with and already trust;
someone that you yourselves have given life to.’

She only needed
to smile for everyone to know whom she meant.

‘
Those who succumb to the Fading,’ she continued, ‘their time
has come. If someone appears in an illustration, but their time is
not yet here, then they will not Fade, nor yet die. But if their
time
is
close, then just as your great and shared and
focused love can give life, it can also help prolong it in those
who would otherwise have passed all too quickly away; and this is
what we call the Fading. The Fading is a time that gives you the
chance to say the things that would otherwise have been left
unsaid. What regrets do we suffer when someone passes out of our
lives before we have told them how much we appreciate them, how
much we love them? The Fading, then, is not a curse but a blessing;
for it’s a time when we can
all
experience an outpouring of
our love for each other. Don’t fear that time. Don’t waste
it.’

This time as she
smiled, those closest to her would later recall how they seemed to
be suffused with the love she spoke of. Those farther away,
however, swore that it was a brief, blinding glow of light that
left them blinking in amazement.

The carriage’s
inner band began to slowly twirl once more, lowering their Princess
back inside, closing up behind her as she became seated once more.
The horses turned, unhurriedly heading back towards the palace
where people were already being taken on as the Princess’s
gardeners, her carpenters, her musicians.

As the great
gates of the palace’s walls opened, few people failed to see a
black carriage waiting just inside. It couldn’t be ignored. Its
presence was too ominous and threatening to be dismissed as nothing
to fear. Only a fool would disregard its portent.

But as the
gleamingly white porcelain carriage trotted past it, then as the
gates closed once more, the dark carriage first faded then
completely disappeared from view.

The town
celebrated, putting on a vast fair that no one had seen the likes
of for hundreds of years. They invited anyone who was lucky enough
to hear of it. There were musicians and massed, joyful dances.
There were ingenious mechanical rides, and boat swings for the
children. There were stalls with games to play and prizes to win,
or selling all manner of weird and wonderful goods from near and
far away. And, of course, there were puppet shows and
storytellers.

And many people
already understood why the Porcelain Princess had arrived amongst
them.

Although she may
sound like the stuff of fairy tales, the Porcelain Princess is
actually as real as you or me. We fear that our lives are fragile,
that our world is set hard and unchangeable; yet if the Porcelain
Princess lives, she gives us the reassurance we need that this
porcelain world is ours to watch over. For we are the only part of
creation that can truly understand itself; and therefore we
are
creation itself.

And so you must
also realise that without your belief in her, the Porcelain
Princess can only weaken, becoming once more as lifeless as the
clay she was originally so lovingly formed from.

Fortunately, the
tale of the wise rule of the Porcelain Princess was already
beginning to be told, to be elaborated on, and to
spread.