"The Ancient Vanity"

~0~

No one remembered when the table had been installed in the queen's chambers, for all the attention that most of the humans paid it, it might have been there since the dawn of time, just like the rock that made up the walls of the palace and the banner emblazoned with the crest of the house that covered the wall behind the throne room.

Just an ordinary dressing table of exquisite craftsmanship, but it remembered.

The first night, when the young queen paced nervously in front of it, stopping sporadically to peer anxiously into the mirror propped ceremoniously atop it. Her maids fussed and fretted, tucking in her hair just so and brushing away imaginary dirt from the silk that fell in simple magnificence from the young woman's pale shoulders.

It saw her nervous smile when her husband finally arrived to take her to bed, his ruggedly handsome profile joining the queen's in the mirror for just an instant before they whisked away into the rooms beyond and the door closed on their intimate activities.

The next day, the queen was all smiles; when she peered into the mirror, it lacked the nervous energy of the previous evening. The table liked her smile, liked the gentle brush of her fingers over its carved surfaces.

It would be a silent witness to many such occasions over the years...

In time, the table observed another facet of life; the queen began to show a defined bulge along her waistline and she spent more of her time seated in a comfortable chair. Curiously, she didn't seem unhappy; if anything, the radiant glow that surrounded her bore silent testimony to her joy.

Maids and attendants hovered around her most of the time now, and the mirror rarely reflected the queen's face alone. If her hair needed brushed, other hands were quick to pick up the required instrument and pass it through the silken strands. These other hands didn't have quite the same touch as the queen's did; though they were not unpleasant, they lacked her gentleness.

Then came the night that the room was filled with unfamiliar people, rushing and whispering and setting things in places that they did not belong. Instead of brushes and ribbons and perfume, the table held bloodstained cloths and empty buckets. A great indignity to be sure, though the table bore it all without complaint. Eventually the bustle came to an end as twin wails cut through the night.

It was several days before the queen was able to sit in front of the table again. When she did, it was often cradling one of her babies in her arms. The table did not know what to make of this; true to its nature, it said nothing.

The twins grew, as all children eventually do. The table began to observe a much more active lifestyle, alternately a fortress, a mountain to climb, or the younger twin's dressing table. The queen smiled tolerantly at all of her children's antics, only scolding them if it was clear that they might harm themselves through carelessness.

Sadly, the queen spent more time in bed these days; few were the times that she sat before the mirror and brushed her hair or idled in the chair before it. The table missed these times immensely. It sensed that something was wrong, but there was nothing that a mere table could do other than sit there and wait.

Not long after the queen passed away and visitors to her chambers became a rare sight. Save for the maid who cleaned the room and an occasional appearance by the twins, no one paid attention to the table. It was the beginning of a long wait.

Years later, enemies stormed the castle, putting men and women to the sword. Unfortunately for the table, it was spared the indignity of being destroyed and thus found itself witness to other horrors that would follow thereafter.

For a short time, it watched a shambling semblance of life as it lay in state upon the queen's bed. In the nights, the creature was taken into other chambers where it remained with a pale man until the night was over and daylight required his absence for matters of state.

The table saw the day that the twins returned and the pale man and his wife's corpse were removed from the palace.

There was peace after this, though the table was not witness to this. It sat forlorn, gathering dust in the absence of a ruler.

In time, the cycle would repeat itself; the royal family would return and a new queen would take her place in front of the mirror. Children would play around the table, new scratches would accumulate in testament to their escapades upon the worthy piece of furniture. Happier days, truly, though the table bore all things with the same sort of stoicism.

After all, it was only a dressing table. What could it say?

~o~

Author: Taken quite literally from one of the definitions of vanity. My first story idea didn't write well (or quickly), so I decided to do something off the wall- hence this. Does it work?

Anyway, enjoy. Thanks go to raphy for the interesting prompt with many definitions. :D