Victoria Button's Story For Constance

“Can I tell you a story?” Victoria asked the old woman.

“Of course, dear, you know how I love your stories,” replied the lady.

Constance sat up in her bed slowly, her frail arms and bony hands delicately rearranging the pillows beneath her to hold her failing body up a little higher. She had a good run upon the planet and was facing the end of her days as anyone without regrets or apologies might, with great faith in the next adventure.

“Okay, this is a true story...” began Victoria.

“As all stories are, to some degree,” interrupted Constance.

“Yes, I suppose that's true,” replied Victoria.

“Shall I begin it properly then?” she asked Constance.

Constance nodded her gray covered head. Her ice blue eyes sparkling with expectation.

“Once upon a time...” started Victoria. “A woman came to a hidden lake upon one of her many walks around the kingdom which belonged to her father. She was not a princess, but an illegitimate child begot of a king is rarely referred to as such. No, she was but the offspring of one of his many concubines. The king was a harsh tyrant. And the woman, who was called, Vale, was often not in his favor as she could not stop sharing her thoughts and feelings, no matter how far they varied from that of those around her. So she walked to put distance between herself and those she burdened with her passionate feelings and emotions that she could not keep to herself.

The hidden lake was calm and still, surrounded by large willow trees whose branches leaned toward the ground as though they had yearned for the sky, but under the weight of a great sadness, had retreated toward the ground.

Vale went to the water's edge, took her shoes from her feet and dipped her feet into the cool water. She sat there for a while wondering how she could change herself to be more appealing to those around her. She felt her emotions and her inability to contain them brought a great burden upon those around her. And she began to feel that she was becoming like the weeping willows. Once able to reach toward the sky, but settling for the comfort of the ground.

Just as Vale was beginning to sink into her own miserable thoughts, a swan glided out upon the water. In silence, it reached a small island of rock and moss. It climbed upon the island slowly as though it took all of its strength to do so. The swan sat down. And then, Vale heard the most ethereal and haunting sound she had ever experienced. The swan was singing. Singing its one and final song, the song of death. Swans are silent all their lives save this one and only song, the song that ends all. Vale wept. She thought how painful to be silent and withdrawn one's whole life only to end it all with the finality of such a tune.

Vale wept as the last notes rang through the evening air and the swan's body went limp, sliding off of the moss-covered island sinking into the water's depths.

The stars began to shine in the darkening sky. Vale thought hard about becoming silent as the swan and allowing herself the nobility of the single song to end all. Just as she was convincing herself that this could be the path for her and relieve the burden she felt herself to be to others, a streak of orange and red lit up the sky.

It was a bird, but this time, it was a phoenix. And it sang the truest of notes filled with a fiery passion as it flew about the hidden lake. Vale was overcome with the emotion of the song and the power that was this magnificent creature. The phoenix landed gracefully on the island where the swan had just slipped away from the world of the living. It looked directly at Vale. The bird's eyes piercing her soul. She could feel the power of strength, confidence, and unapologetic fierceness in this creature.

The phoenix lifted its head toward the heavens and cried out a song of pain and sorrow, but a song, also, of pure joy and revelry. It was the telling of a life lived, truly lived, with pain, yes, but also great joy. And the telling of an ending that is also a beginning. Because unlike the swan, a phoenix's song is gifted to the world throughout its life, and only those with deaf ears cannot appreciate its beauty.

And so, with the song's end, the phoenix burst into flames. Death becoming life. Endings becoming beginnings. And as the last of the flames burnt out, an egg lay among the ashes ready to greet the world with renewed life.

Vale was overwhelmed with emotions as she left the hidden lake reflecting on all she had seen and been given among the willows. What would her path be? Would she silence herself until the bittersweet end like the swan? Or would she sing and accept the pain as well as the joy and go out
with a deathspark like the phoenix that ignites a new beginning?”

Victoria ended her story with this pair of questions and looked hopefully to Constance.

“Well, my dear,” Constance began quietly. “I was a magnificent phoenix.”

Constance regarded Victoria with the silent wisdom that comes to one crossing the threshold of this world and the next. She took a deep breath and then, placing her hand atop Victoria's, said, “And you, my dear, are the egg.”

Constance breathed her last breath. Her clear blue eyes lost the glint of mischief they'd always carried. And she was gone from this world.

And Victoria wept her first phoenix song.

(The characters, stories, and details included in any and all tales of Victoria Button are copyrighted 2014-2019 by myself, L.A. Vandewart, and all rights are reserved.)