The Metamorphose Gala

The Metamorphose Gala.

By the stars, the colours! Such wondrous explosions of unbridled peacockery never before have i witnessed. Beautiful women wrapped in velvet, cashmere and Arachnian lace. Tall slender men cut out handsomely in shades of green and russet linen. The guests are dotted about in the great ballroom and each group appears to me like a grove of new sprung and exotic flowers. 

Floating press pods hum about everywhere, flashing photos, recording gossip and lavishing much attention on the swooping necklines of the younger women. 

I flit through this eruption of decadence invisible as the drapes, more so in fact, I can see three press bots buzzing about the fabulous ice blue curtains in question. 

I feel a million miles removed from reality, lost in a gauzy, surrealist’s dream. 

The bells begin to chime from the feasting hall. Conversations tie themselves up neatly. Interviews are cut short. Everybody in attendance hoists their tails and billowing skirts and begin to make their way across the commodious ballroom. There is a mass migration of press overhead, flying through the enormous double doors, each of which are twenty feet high and still barely halfway to the ceiling. I follow the beautiful peacocks. Rarely have I felt as small as I feel tonight, all i can see are elegant shoulders and elaborately contrived tresses bouncing at eye level. Through a gap in the crowd I see steps and ferret my way over to them. 

The stairs lead up to a balcony overlooking the main hall. I climb up halfway and peer out over the room.

The feasting hall stretches out before me in all its vaunted glory. The ceiling is domed in the likeness of a flower bud. There is beautiful artistry covering every inch of the architecture. It is said to be the history of our world, Primaverasti. 

Beneath the ancient stories, new history is being made. The hall is divided down its middle by the feasting table, an enormous edifice, carved from one single bole of Oak. 

At the very head of the table I see her. Papilionem she is called in our native tongue, though most now know her as Lady Spring. The only food in site is laid out before her. I can see; roasted pheasant and duck, swimming in rich gravy and light citrusy sauces, dates, pears and grapes, candied pecans and sweet plum laid out on soft golden pastries. 

Young servants of the Lady Spring, conspicuous in their nakedness, run back and forth along the immense display of vittles, picking and slicing the choicest morsels before running them back to their mistress. 

Papilionem awaits them on her throne. She is enormous. Her girth spreads the entire width of the table. She too is unclad. The enormous rolls of her flesh slowly shift, as she rotates her head to receive each offering of food. For all of her size she is not unpleasant to look upon. Indeed, there is a virile beauty to her corpulent face. Her skin is neither oleaginous nor dry but shines like ambrosia in sunlight. 

I catch myself with a start. How long have I been staring? Something about Lady Spring calls the eyes, like a roaring bonfire. All of the Gala guests are now within the Feasting hall. 

The enormous doors swing shut silently, seemingly without assistance. The ambient chatter begins to die. The great room is quiet, but for the continued eating of Lady Spring. 

Then, very slowly, everybody turns to look at me. All of those beautiful faces turned my way. All those important people looking to me for the next part of this ageless ceremony. All of the nerves I had expected, the gnawing fear I had been courting the past week seems to simply drain out the soles of my feet. Stood atop the staircase I feel close to the history painted on the ceiling above me and I let it fill me up like warm sunshine. I smile out over everyone. They smile back. Then I begin to sing. 

Sweet is the touch of the dawn of spring

Strong our hearts in hoping

Sleep now only in hope of dreaming 

For winters end has come 

Past is all that’s dark and dreary

Puerile let us all sing

Pip and seed and stem as one 

For winters end has come

Riches to those who love the mornings 

Revel in pastures new 

Rotund is our Papilionem 

For winters end has come

Imagine life in all abundance 

Inside you the light will spread 

Invite others in to your hearts 

For winters end has come

Now our lady is ready to spring 

Never let doubt come in 

Nubile all the beauties will be 

For winters end has come 

Gather one and all to me 

Give voice to the Lady Spring 

Gather one and all to me 

For winters end has come 

and we usher in the Spring. 

The guests sing with me on that final verse. The thunder of our music fills the hall. I feel intoxicated. The painted ceiling is tumbling around and all those bright colours are weeping as our history is renewed. 

Now there is applause, it sounds like the sea is awash at my feet. Many hands reach for me and pull me down from the staircase. Arms reach around and embrace me, hundreds of them, as I am passed through the throng. Some are beaming at me, others weeping and clutching at my simple robe. Mostly I notice the smells. Every embrace brings a different scent to my nose, enhancing my feeling of intoxication. One woman smells of spring water and lemongrass, a large bearded man like honey on soil and a beautiful youth who smells like cacao roasting in sunlight. 

The crowd spirits me all the way to Papilionem. Lady Spring herself. 

She has devoured the last of our offerings and I think that she looks tired. She turns her great head to regard me. Her solid green eyes settle on my face. What bliss to know such beauty as hers. I feel warm tears pouring unashamedly down my cheeks. I nod to her and begin to untie my robe. Soon I stand naked before her. Still she looks straight at me. I step closer. She smells like the promise of dawn when the night is most dark. Reverently i wrap my robe around her great shoulder, covering one small part of her glory. Then I step down and aside, out of the sunshine of her regard, and I weep all the more for it.  

After me another of the guests steps up to meet her. I dare not look again, but I can feel their interaction as though i am somehow still a part of it. He is a man I am sure. It takes him longer to remove his elaborate costume than it did I to remove my simple robe. Eventually he too is bare as he was at birth. 

Every person in the hall is blessed to have their own shining moment with Papilionem. Each moment more of us are unclad, as slowly Papilionem is covered. 

Finally it is done. An older woman with silver hair and gorgeous life lines carved in to her face and body is the last to dis-robe. As she wraps this final thread about the multicoloured cocoon a brilliant golden light pours in to the hall. I turn my gaze to the heavens with everybody else. 

The flower bud ceiling of the feasting hall is beginning to bloom. 

Sunlight peeps in through the tiny aperture at the apex of the roof. 

More trickles in as the petals break apart and begin to fall. 

Now the purest sunshine deluges our naked bodies and we cry and yelp in exultation. 

The bright sky Is blue above us. 

Three burning suns in their heaven align and our blessed Lady Spring is reborn. 

The chrysalis cracks. 

The crowd falls silent. 

The rainbow shell splinters, shudders, shakes. 

Enormous wings burst forth, covering our heads in silken canopy. 

The sunlight behind the patterned appendages casts muted purple shadows over the hall. 

Then Lady Spring climbs free of her chrysalis. 

Her body now is slender, her eyes shine green and her face beams happiness. We all whoop and scream to her, jumping about in a frenzy. Naked and pure as the Lady we venerate. Papilionem beats her wings and rises up to the heavens. She flies once about the blooming building. Then she turns to the east and is gone.  

The rest of the night is a blur of feasting, drinking and weeping with my new brothers and sisters. Always there is an ache deep in my chest for the knowledge that I will never again be a part of such wondrous magic. Then I think of walking through the wild flowers and willows of my home, seeing the trees robed in green again and I know that there is magic enough for me.