The Jabberwock

The Didoian (di-do-e-en)

Dido, each morning awoke with silk soft skin despite it marred with grief and responsibility. She spent dawn with her sister, Anna, and when she was not with her, she often looked out of the window in longing. A hand would drift to her stomach, a small sigh escaping through her nose. It was her routine, sprinkled with royal duties. Her brown eyes glint against the sun as she moves through the city, surrounded by her crowd of youth as if they are her own beautiful nymphs. She strides as if the ground beneath her are the ridges of Mount Cynthus, where Diana would train her maidens with a bow and arrow on her shoulders. The joy that gripped both the goddess and the queen was in tandem as they furthered their works whether through hunting large stags or constructing tall, kingdom buildings. She takes a deep breath before stepping inside the temple of Juno, its walls adorned with weapons, and a high seat beneath the dome, designated for her, she sits. Her mouth opens as she gives orders, sorting out laws and rights for men, establishing equal labor, and many other choices. Still, each night, as she laid back down on her pillow, there was a deep sense of loss. Her late husband, Sychaeus, would hold her in times where sleep never caught her. She misses that warmth, and the new quietness over the palace makes her skin crawl.