Saturday, March 29, 2008

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.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Trophy Wives

The diet hadn't been quite as successful as she'd hoped, but she was happily impressed with the new technologies in lingerie. She felt as smooth and sleek as the younger, and more expensive, wives in attendance. She looked around the beautifully decorated room, accepted a glass of something pink and trendy, noting that there certainly weren't very many of the old gals left. Was she the last? The comfortable cocker spaniels that should have been here had been replaced by a crop of whippets.

Nervous whippets. Whippets without histories; and, without futures. They would be indulged for awhile, and, when their husbands tired of them, they would be replaced by an even younger and thinner model.

Ah, at last. Another woman of her generation. She wasn't the last of her kind after all.

© 2008 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Choker made from seed beads, vintage glass cabochons, pearls, and jet beads. Hand fabricated.

Monday, March 10, 2008


It was her secret, the place imagination carried her whenever life was too much to handle. She had no idea what it was really like; it was the idea of it that charmed her, and she'd never had any interest in finding out anything more about it than what she'd learned in the fourth grade.

The Galapagos islands: Isolated. Untouched. Protected from time and civilization.

She leaned back and let the dust of her day disappear into a sandy beach, where giant tortoises basked in the sun, and curious birds had no fear of her presence.

© 2008 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Gail Kops of Beadles. Hand fabricated.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Darkest before the dawn

The mountains were deep purple, and so far away that they looked as if they were cut out and pasted on the horizon. There were millions of stars in the sky; more than she'd ever seen before. The moon was low and as pale as a ghost. She watched the bats return to their roosts and knew that the long night was nearly at an end.

She'd watched the moon climb and descend; she'd felt the earth spinning below the stars. She'd stared through the darkness, unseeing, listening to the night dwellers circle around her. She was cold and alone, and had wondered if daylight would return. There were times when she could not imagine anything but night.

At last, the pale fingers of dawn extinguished the stars. She recognized the bright blue of the desert sky, and felt the tears ran down her face. They had been a long time coming.

© 2008 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, charoite, turquoise. Hand fabricated.