the COrOnAtiOn

Elliana Francois

The continent of Tosipan was a land the size of Western Europe. Its elements were Earth and Air, and the vast majority was covered in grass and forest, with some of the houses embedded in the forests using natural resources. It had been ruled by different kingdoms in different countries inside the continent for as long as humanity began, and they worshiped the Earth goddess Savannah. Savannah blessed the people of Earth with natural resources to thrive as long as they did not pollute and destroy her body, but as humans tend to do, not all the nations of the world kept their promise.

The country of Opril found this to be very true as they observed the world around them. For a long time, the kingdom chose to remain neutral and focus on itself, but it was catching up to them. The big sister, kingdom Savah, was facing global embarrassment as the King was abdicated with an ocean stream of scandals. To add to the said embarrassment, the Queen, who was supposed to replace the King, was also booted off for an affair after the divorce. She returned to her home country and became the heir again instead. As the kingdom scrambled to find a new ruler, they had to branch outward and look abroad to their sister countries. Through each country, all of the candidates were scratched off except one person from the country of Opril.

The princess lay watching the television. Her hazelnut eyes were glued to the screen as the news played about events happening around the world, ranging from threats of war to the scandals within her family tree. The woman knew that deep down this would eventually lead to her having the responsibility of bringing the country back to its finest glory. Entering her world of thoughts, she was snapped back to reality by a maid that rushed in. “Your majesty, we must get you ready for the coronation! Constantia needs to look her finest, yes, yes! Now, get up out of bed since you’re already behind schedule!”

“Yes. I understand,” Constantia sighed as she shifted her body off the bed and stood up on the polished wooden floor. She took her curly blue hair from its bonnet as she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair. After her silent wake-up routine, she went to her walk-in closet where the maid was already steaming the dress and ringing the bell that summoned all the others. She stood on the circle-shaped pedestal as a bunch of other maids came in and joined the task like a bunch of little ants. Her hair was pulled and straightened with chemicals that would have consequences, and her face was drowned in makeup. Every inch of her visible body hair was ripped off by wax strips to make sure her body looked as smooth as a porcelain doll.

She looked in the mirror while it was all happening. It was a depressingly ravishing transformation of a girl to a young woman.

For what seemed to be hours, Constantia was walking down the long rocky path barefoot with her coronation gown flowing behind her. The dress was a pastel green that took inspiration from the 1800s era with a bunch of sewn-on flowers. The train of the dress flowing behind her gathered dirt and dust, becoming earthly. A group of young children sang in a mixture of languages that represented the continent. She looked around a bit to see everyone who was inside the royal circle, such as family members, the Church, and government agencies, watching her in the porches attached to trees. Her eyes eventually landed on her father and mother. Her mother was tearing up and clenching her dress. She knew that her mother was dying inside, that her only spare daughter was going to be shipped to another country to be a Queen. Her father on the other hand, wasn’t moved, and if he was, he wasn’t showing it. The man was always a cold person. He was more logical and saw his children as heirs rather than, well, his children. A responsibility with love as the last priority.

Constantia’s heart always beat against her chest whenever she knew he had high expectations for certain things from her, but she knew this feeling would not last forever. He was no longer her father. That man was King Castor of the Sister Country called Opril. She was stopped by the Priest of the Temple of Khadijah as she noticed the grand sculpture of the Goddess. She looked down upon the throne with love and support, and angels that symbolized the ancestors surrounded her.

As she lifted her dress to step up to the throne, Connie felt the world around her shake, and her own body trembled with each step. Her breathing increased as she stared at the throne, and with her last step, she turned around and sat down on the hard white chair. Her sight became blurry as she heard the Priest talk about how Khadijah blessed us with the Earth and gave us monarchies to keep the human order and civility, for the three Goddesses keep the universe and its beings in order ranging from Ladora to Catheria.

As the man spoke, he was given a bottle of a liquid that was an amethyst-purple color and a copper dagger that had gold embedded in the handle. “May the Mothers and Daughter of this world guide you and let you prosper as you begin with glory.” That was when a sharp pain suddenly bloomed on her chest as a blade sliced it open with a deep wound. Constantia let out a scream and fell to the back of the chair as the Priest poured the liquid inside that only intensified the burning sensation. It felt like hours for Constantia, who had flashbacks of her life and realized that, despite being merely a girl, she was now responsible for sacrificing and devoting herself to a country that wasn’t even her home. Her feet felt too small to fill the shoes of her predecessors. In a sharp flash, she saw what looked like a beautiful woman with long brown wavy hair who grabbed a hyssop flower and put it inside Constantia’s open chest that showed her chest cavity, including her heart. The flower bloomed and closed the wound just in time for her to wake up with her veins bulging against her skin.

She was finally awake and looked down to see a huge scar that spread out on her chest as the pain was greatly reduced to soreness. Constantia looked up at the people watching and looked at her parents, who, she for a moment renowned, had their faces stuck with concern. She looked away and sat up in her chair as the Priest placed the heavy crown covered in wild roses and poppies on her head. “Khadijah accepted you. You are one with her through the flower and she is one with you.”

“Khadijah accepted me. I am one with her and she is one with me.” She couldn’t say no, but finally accepted who she was. This was no longer Princess Constantia of Opril. Her name was Queen Constantia of Jania.