Russian Princess

Anastasia stepped carefully over the litter of toys in her living room and sighed. She should be picking them up, but suddenly the clutter seemed overwhelming. She swept her hand across the mess on the sofa, taking a perverse pleasure in her ability to make plastic action figures take flight. Before sitting down, she checked for remaining weapons; a plastic spear was still a spear.

Good. Nothing had escaped her wrath. She was the all-powerful Mominator. She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, not really wanting to let humor reclaim her and send her on a search and rescue mission for the living room floor. No Mominator. Not today. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and let her life recede.

Anastasia stepped carefully out of the carriage, holding her skirts just high enough to keep them from tripping her. She nodded to the footman as he returned her hand to her father's, and pulled her furs tighter around her to ward off the chill in the air. She was so glad to be home.

She laughed in spite of herself. Time to clean up this palace.

© 2008 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, eudialite, and corundum necklace. Chain maille, hand fabricated.

Moonrise

I could see the light reflecting off the leaves long before I could see its source. The forest floor was still dark, but the canopy was beginning to glow as if lit from within. It was more than just my eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness; although that was happening, too.

Ahead I saw an owl glide between trees; his eyes were sharper than mine, his hunger greater, his dinner closer and more frightened than mine. I closed my eyes against the sharp squeal of his prey; when I opened them, the moon was there, full of light and reassurance.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver and corundum. Hand fabricated.

Tied up in Chains

"Well, so they're metaphorical. Doesn't really change anything, does it?" Amelia was sitting across from me, her raspberry chocolate frappachino whispering sweet nothings to my taste buds, when I suddenly realized that I hadn't really been paying enough attention to our converation. I had no idea what she was talking about.

I sipped my black coffee (I hate dieting, but it's necessary) and tried to get back into wherever our conversation had gone while I was communing with her drink. "Chains?" I echoed. "Really?"

"Tied up." she said decisively. "Bound and delivered."

"She's just a baby!" I laughed.

"Yeah . . ." she said with this weird little smile, looking down at the bundle in her arms while the whipped cream melted down the side of her untouched frapp. "But she's mine."

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, faceted corundum. Hand fabricated.

Coqui

She was born in Brooklyn, and couldn't imagine living anywhere else. If you'd asked, she'd have told you that the subway ran in her veins; that the wind blowing down the canyons of Manhattan streets was as close to nature as she'd ever wanted to be. But that was before she set foot on the island, before she heard the coqui call to her soul, before she knew she was Puerto Rican. She learned to stroll on the island; to laugh loud and long; to linger over her coffee; and to dance: oh, how she danced when she was Puerto Rican.

She's back home now; she's Nuyorican again. She's wearing her tailored suits, stockings and Jimmy Choos as she hurries from the subway to her office and back again in the cold Manhattan mornings and evenings. But the island keeps her warm, the coqui sings her to sleep, and she knows who she wants to be.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork (unknown artist), corundum. Hand fabricated.