Goodbye, she whispered.
The outline of Fleur’s lipstick
On her milk colored cheek
Remained.

She didn’t smear the stain,
She didn’t let tears muddle
The image of a gesture of
Love.

Fleur’s gloves lay, folded,
Atop Gabrielle’s trunk.
Always be a lady. Always
Strive.

And when she arrived
At the palace, that glistening
Place of magic, she
Sighed.

Gabrielle had never been shy
But the bigness, the extreme
Grandeur frightened her to her
Core.

Glittering floors, shiny windows.
The palace smelled light of dinner,
The display impressed the
Child

Who suddenly and very conveniently forgot how to be a lady.