When the Sun Drowned Alysa Suleiman ‘23
In the Tanmei mountains, rock and sand and slabs of grey boulders overlapped, draping and dividing atop each other as if they hoped to see which would reach the heavens first. Here thrived a beautiful city of gold and wealth and beauty, but also a city of secrets. Sun spent each morning in solitude. Waking at the first light of dawn, golden and soft through the silk curtains, she would briefly kiss the morning breeze before beginning the day’s work of slaving to Amma’s every command. They worked in Tanmei’s infamous beauty business, crafting and smuggling dainty trifles and sparkling ornaments to cater to the women of the city. There were foreign men in the mountain city today. They had golden beards and tanned, red skin peeling from sun exposure. They wore traditional mountain clothing, but rather than passing as respectful and traditional, they stuck out like cockroaches amongst the city’s serene, celestial butterflies. Sun knew why they were here, and she suppressed the violent urge to vomit. Sun smoothed her hair down, hands trembling slightly. Small, rugged braids usually threaded through her thick and luscious mane, just the way she liked it. It gave her weight, grounding her to the earth as she climbed the precipitous mountains, foraging for jewels buried beneath the mountain soil. But today, Amma had made sure that every last strand of hair was held back in place, the tresses wound tightly under a stiff headdress. Cheap kohl, made from mixing ash and river water, outlined the edges of her feline-shaped eyes. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, Sun felt nowhere near the mature, soonto-be married woman she was supposed to be--the kohl produced a rather childlike look of vacancy, widening her eyes with fear and trepidation. Her lips were tinted as pink as the ripe peaches of summer, but her mouth was bitter with anxiety. Amma was beside herself with worry. Her usual arrogance and cold demeanor was all but gone as she scrambled around the house, nagging at Appa as he laid back on the sparse couch, pudgy fingers picking at the dirt and pipe ash under each fingernail. Normally, Amma and Appa rarely cared much about Sun. After all, as a daughter, she was just another mouth to feed and offered none of the fortune that sons could bring. But today was different. Today marked the fruition of Amma and Appa’s wishes. One week ago, they had unceremoniously dumped the news on her and commanded her compliance. Sun was to be married, and to none other than the city magistrate, the wealthy foreigner. He claimed her fair features would serve him well as a concubine--his two current wives were both aging, unattractive creatures, and even though polygamy was promoted and even encouraged amongst the wealthy to ensure a healthy batch of sons, the magistrate lusted after the city’s women because he wanted a new plaything. Sun glared down at her ridiculous marriage costume. Red silk wrapped around her figure, outlining the hills and valleys of puberty still developing beneath the cloth. Laces of gold thread ran through the length of her gaudy headdress, and heavy jade bangles clinked with her every step. One glance at her attire and even the finest ladies of the city would choke in jealousy,
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