Horse neighing, wheels clattering, dust swirling, and–voila! You find yourself inside the burning carriage. Congratulations, dear! Oh, you’re horrified? Don’t panic; ask the coach-popcorn-man politely where he’s gonna take you; plead him courteously to let you go off his carriage for its interior is a living nightmare, as if it’s trapped inside an oven and soon–very soon you’ll turn into popcorn! They take you out of the carriage, drag you towards something tall and wooden in the midst of people’s eyes. Keep staring at their eyes; don’t hesitate. Mama said it’s not gonna be hurt–yet it actually was, until the moment you finally open your eyes.
Look around, just in case there’s a ghost in your room; if there’s not, then close your eyes and quickly make a wish because it’s 12 AM; you officially turn eighteen; pray for your poor-little life and your family; don’t pray for your village because they’ve always seen you as an unfixed woman; throw your prayers to the sky; if you’re lucky, something up there will arrange them for you; close your eyes again. Mama doesn’t like a girl who stays up late.
“She won’t know.”
Don’t be frightened; it’s probably the wind. Or a cat. Or perhaps your imagination, although Mama has told you that imagination isn’t something a girl should have too much of. Open your eyes; check the window, the curtain, and the drawer—
“Are you looking for your glasses?”
Ah, that’s her! A long-time-no-see friend in the corner of your room. You remember her name, don’t you? Kin. She’s Kin. And she’s still flying! Go greet her tiny purple wings first. It would be impolite to do otherwise before she hugs your thumb tightly; don’t tell her that you’re not climbing trees anymore or she’ll be upset then throw you out of the window.
“Wanna see the stars?” Kin flies out of the window. Don’t follow her; stay on the bed. Someone next to your door said that a young-lonely girl shouldn’t step into the moonlight. Girls who wander after dark are never called good girls. “I thought you love the stars. You used to be happy just by looking at the stars! Now, why not? Are you afraid Mama will lock you again in your room? Who cares anyway. Come on, my friend. Let’s see the stars. It’s okay, they won’t see you scramble out of the window.” She seems to have known you forever.
Okay then, just for this time, go follow her to see the stars. Tonight, the sky is ink black. You’ve promised never to care again, yet the beautiful crescent moon tries to speak to you. Ignore it; just go outside and back to your room.
Kin shows you her star friends, their names are Leo, Ven, Reg, Vega, Alt, Den, and Flams—wait, is it the Flaming Maiden in your dreams? Go go go, back to your bed! Mama could check your room at any time; tell Kin to stop rambling even though she never does.
“Fine, my friend. I’ll see you tomorrow. Happy birthday!” she said. You’re not gonna see her again, right? But—what’s the name of the constellation, by the way? Maybe, you need to find the answer—no, don’t! You’ve, again, promised never to care about stars ever again. Shut your ears! Just pretend you didn’t hear any call from the devil book; don’t touch it—not even an inch.
Oh, it’s Pegasus. Four bright stars making a giant square. A winged horse, the book says.
“Do you still have the treehouse in the back of your house? I wanna see it again. Is the range of mountains still visible from up there? You know, you like those mountains especially when they’re covered in snow—I do, I do, I do like the top of the mountains in the winter.” It’s spring though. Don’t mind her. “Or, or, or do you see those well-dressed women? Why are they walking with such extreme care? Are they terrified of kissing the road?” She’s funny, somehow. With whom is she laughing? Oh, why were you laughing? Focus on these apples; buy the bright, vibrant skin—but don’t you dare eat them right away for they’re likely still dirty. A good girl doesn’t eat while walking and doesn’t bite straight into the fruit. “The apple looks delicious. I wanna bite it.” Did she just bite the apple right away? Who’s she?
I told you. Don’t think of talking with Kin; she’s a bad influence. Last time, you also got locked in your room because you were reading that devil book silently. Now, you’re locked again for biting an apple undignifiedly in public? Such unpleasant things a girl has done! Should Mama tell you the legend of The Flaming Maiden again, so you can see her every time you close your eyes? Okay, but you still can see the stars through the window anyway.
“Have you ever wondered why girls at your age carry a book a lot of times but they never get scolded? You’re too, my friend. You’ve read various books, not just a serious book. Why are the villagers trying to make everything serious? Are they all Capricorn? Do you know whether they love corn or not?” You shake your head. It’s always a relief to talk with Kin.
“Oh, oh, oh do you still remember when you were eight they called you a madwoman? You don’t even know how to be mad, though. All you ever know is climbing the treehouse because Papa always hid the ladder so you couldn’t reach it. That was funny.” Of course you remember it for good and all you can do now is laugh. Kin is unique in her way. And you really wanna live like her. Was she laughing again? She really has gone mad. Stay away from her! They said it’s not good for a young girl laughing that hard until waking up the birds in their nest. “Should we ask if they like corn tomorrow morning? You must be curious, aren’t you?” Yes, you’re curious; not about the corn, but about why the wives in the village are so obedient that they always go to the market once a week without making any noise. There are many mothers–yet they’re very quiet. Don’t think about being quiet; sometimes, quiet girls are the ones who disappear first.
This is how you usually talk to your best friend; this is how to pronounce Quincunx; this is how to distinguish the rising sun and the sun sign in astrology; this is how to ignore the whispers from the villagers regarding your behaviour: read every book that caught your attention even though that’s your old-favorite book; play hulahoop as much as you want; learn to tame the wind than to control each other; question all the villagers why do they believe in The Flaming Maiden legend? Then, they will regard you as a nonsensical girl in the village which they’re right. A clueless girl has to ask questions, doesn’t she? No—the judge has never tolerated any disobedience from you: girls, ladies, wives, and mothers.
Hear the mothers warn you; feel the girls at your age shun you; witness the fearful wrath upon the fathers’ faces because of you; remember Kin is still flying on your shoulder. That’s more comforting than your favorite blanket.
Now, what should we do with her? Don’t—just don’t do anything; you know girls can cook, take care of their children, read only The Serious Book, and obey their husbands as they yield to society, but you may not know that girls also can draw a whole life inside their heads; try to fly; try to dance; try to swim. Now, she’s trying to persuade our daughters to do a dance? She has gone really terribly mad mad mad!
“I know the tale because I was there on your shoulder when Mama told it. Well, I think The Flaming Maiden is cool, though. Imagine the fire follows your step everywhere you go. It sounds magical to me. Oh, one day, I hope, I hope, I hope my wings can unleash sparks.” Let’s also pray for your friend on your next birthday. Kin, she’s the kindest. Now, she might prepare to shower herself with fire! Gosh, my Poppa says she’s possessed by The Maiden’s power.
Door pounding, Mama screaming, footsteps hurrying, door slamming—they finally come! Go prepare yourself; wear the best white dress; comb your hair neatly because Mama has no time to braid it for you. They’re waiting. Dress up quickly! Where’s Kin? You cannot see her anywhere. They take you out from your room then transport you to a court. Don’t be nervous; they probably just wanna make a surprise for your birthday. Okay, where’s the cake? There are only serious men here: no girls, no mothers, not even Mama. Look around; Mama must be somewhere in this room for she’s a quiet woman. How does it feel to finally be here? Don’t feel anything. They’re just rambling.
A thousand footsteps of serious men step the aisle. They scan you from head to toe; maybe they’re checking if you’ve taken a bath. Each of them then steps back, looking away sharply, waving the air—oh, they know you haven’t taken a bath this morning. Don’t worry, some girls do it when they’re in a hurry.
She’s Catastrophe. No. That’s not your name.
She’s Threat. That’s also not your name.
She’s Flaming Maiden. Yes, you once wanna be like her, but not—that’s not your name; don’t mind whatever these serious men say. They accuse another woman, not you. Clean her by force on the first fall.
On a breezy day, after a long silence, the village will hold a celebration. But you don’t know what your prettiest dress has to do with it. Probably they wanna wash you because the last time you didn’t take a bath. People think you’re so stinky that they wanna make a celebration for you finally clean. You don’t hear any hurried sound or slamming doors. You only hear people chattering here and there; they seem excited to wash you. Kin would’ve been happy to be here. You haven’t seen her since the court. She might be flying somewhere, gathering the dragonballs. Or maybe she’s looking for the mountain with its top snow-covered like in Norway. Norway is a Scandinavian country, not meaning “no way” in the Australian accent—okay, focus! Maybe she will come back tomorrow. Look at the red ribbons, white flowers, and chocolate cake! It looks like you will finally be able to eat cake after washing.
Today, Mama braid your hair twice as she apologized for not braiding it last time. Your shoulder feels strangely light; keep walking straight to the washhouse; never lose your gaze on the villagers’ eyes; enter the washhouse gracefully. It feels like you have seen this moment somewhere. Look around; check if there’s Kin or not. Where does she actually go? Is gathering the dragonballs more important than your washing day? Maybe Kin isn’t gathering it, but she’s really flying to Norway which is far from here. Someday you’ll be able to fly too, dear. Come on. Go to the washhouse. Some village ladies have been waiting for you.
See the water, the soap, the perfume, the fire, and the salt on the desk? It looks beautifully clean. Has anybody come here before? They’re not sure. Now, feel these steps: First, a proper lady loosens your braids before she showers you with water. Second, a serious lady massages your head and scrubs your skin with soap. Third, a submissive lady washes away all the soap from your body and hair. Fourth, a quiet lady scents your collar with jas
mine after she dries you. Finally, you’re clean. She hasn’t cleaned enough. Wait—what? Please, endure this: to make you entirely clean, they poured salt and warm fire over your pretty dress. You smell wonderful when they’re finished.
“How was it, dear, my friend?”