Imogen the Queen

Imogen the Queen

They named me Imogen. And so I was born. Clinging. Climbing. Pushing my way forth, to be the first. To cling to my chance at breath, at life, at everything. Mother said they had to pry my little fist from my brothers arm to bring me forth into the world. Did I fear hed be left behind? Did I fear hed leave me behind? Out of the darkness and into the light, albeit reluctantly. Papa feared he would lose all three of us, and then just one of us. Which one would he have given up? He never had to decide. And so we were born.

Imogen and Imoen. I preceded my brother by a mere two minutes all in all, though no one was counting joyfully amid all the blood and fear and whispers. And since that moment he and I have been attached more oft than not. One is light where the other is shadow. One is joy where the other is pain. We are mirrors or opposites, but either way our blood is the same. No one knows me like my brother. No one ever will. How is it that some souls manage to travel the paths of their life alone? It must feel like such a long road.

As a small child, I was often sent to visit friends and family, who were quick to overlook a sweet, frail child sitting in the corner. Often I'd collect useful bits of information to bring home to her mother, things let carelessly slip in front of her under the assumption that a childwasn't paying attention. As the battle lines changed and the years rolled, so too did my position and role. Time and again I began taking over the running of the household for mother; time and again I began to do the shopping and the haggiling. Betimes, the war began to creep too close to home, and I was the one, not father, who protected us. I protected us, I ran the house, I did the shopping, I was lady and mistress of my little domain, so what better to call myself, especially in line with my mothers ambitions, than 'the queen'?

I was a particularly pretty girl, one that would flower in time into an extraordinarily beautiful young woman if I do say so myself! Strands of spun gold are pulled back out of myface in an elegant style, woven into an elegant arrangement of braids, which are then woven into one longer, intricate braid, which falls all the way down to my waist. The braid is twined with numerous luminous pearls, which stand out starkly againstgolden tresses. I have eyes the color of a stormy sea, filled with the potential for tempestuous mischief. Sometimes those eyes take on a hint of gray when I'm feeling moody, or lean more toward blue when I'm merry. My face is heart-shaped, angelic features hovering somewhere between the demure innocence of youth, and the regal beauty of womanhood. Full lips are often prone to mischievous smiles.