During my late years of childhood in the court of Hivre Castellajoux I developed a habit of escaping in the night and scaling the mountain that shadowed the city and her palace. This time was no different: my bare feet felt the sweeping blades of grass beneath, my hair dangled in the cold winds beneath the stormy clouds. I reached the top of the mountain where a wide plain stretched between two forest lines. Between two trees arching high above my head hung a rope latticed with the occasional lantern, though each broken and burnt out. I stepped forwards and the lanterns grew alit. Tents sprung up from the sea of green in all colours of imagination. The meadow radiated with a thousand sparks of candles, torches and lamps almost like a pond-reflection of the star-lit skies above. I entered the grounds and wandered between the stages. On my right erupted a dragon-shaped plume of flames from the mouth of a performer, the creature twisting in the air before coiling its tail around my gown and dissipating into a cloud of smoke. I passed by a cardboard-castle besieged by a thousand knights, each clad in the most pristine armours I ever seen, the defenders pouring boiling tar over their shields and helmets. My gaze then drifted over at a giant sprinkling a handful of seeds on the ground. From there flowers of all colours and sizes erupted to frame the tents nearby and to create a canopy beneath which I could approach the centre of the carnival, a circus of frivolous colours. I settled myself on the tribune of audience, solitarily watching over the tamers of jungle cats and bears dancing with their animals and the clowns drowning themselves in cake only to hurl them at each other afterwards. The board on which I sat disappeared beneath me, leaving me falling to the grass as the colours blurred and the actors disappeared. I found myself spinning in an attempt to take in as much as possible from the surroundings before the sea of grass eventually swallowed the whole carnival, leaving me there barefoot and beneath the stormy clouds. I ran towards the line of lanterns, once again snuffled, and crossed their line over and over to no avail: that night was the last I saw the forest carnival. Adrienne d'Ortonnaise More stories: Promotion Arrival in Calemberg The Character: Adrienne d'Ortonnaise House d'Ortonnaise
