Twilight in Camelot

It was time. Time for my mother to torture me…again. Again, I was forced to endure what I thought was worse than the seventh circle of hell. Dress fittings. I hated it, but for some reason my mother loved it. I was forced to stand there while my mother's stylists poked and measured me. My mother picked out what styles, colors, and fabrics she wanted draped around my figureless body. Only this time, my mother was even MORE frantic than usual for these things because this time, everyone would see me. And by everyone I mean EVERYONE. The entire kingdom would be looking at me as I viewed the vast number of Camelotian knights. Apparently, what this is supposed to do is make me familiar with all the knights. Why? I don't know. Because I really wouldn't care who was defending me if someone attacked me. But, I still had to do this.

"Isabella, which do you like best? The blue or the pink?" My mother should know better than to ask me such questions.

"Mother, I think both are lovely. Why make ME choose between two such lovely colors?" This has been my answer to such questions since my thirteenth birthday fitting.

"Oh, Isabella, you are right! I think I shall make you a dress of both!" What a surprise. I have all of my dresses organized by color. Each color had their own wardrobe and matching petticoat. Why my mother insists on making me a new dress for every occasion is simply puzzling to me.

"Miss, I think we have everything we need. Miss Isabella may go if she pleases," the seamstress said meekly. She was from a kingdom far away where the servants were not treated as kindly as they are here.

"Colleen, I have told you. Please, call me Guinevere," Mother insists that everyone call her Guinevere instead of 'miss.' She thinks that it makes her seem more like a person than a mistress.

"Yes, Guinevere. If it pleases you,"

"Isabella, are you ready to go? I think it is time for you to practice the ceremony," I think I have practiced this ceremony a thousand times before. I believe I can do it in my sleep.

"Isabella, are you coming?" My mother gets impatient if I do not immediately answer or follow.

"Yes mother. I am coming," And so I followed.