Pagodas

Carefully constructed spires with crying degrees of height and complexity, cupolas inscribed with looping black script like elegant calligraphy, bartizans drawn with mythical beasts. A tower even has the tail of a dragon wrapped around it in circles from top to bottom, though the dragon to which it belongs is craftily hidden in the shadows of gray gates and garrisons, and a tiny courtyard filled with gnarled white trees.

“Stop that,” her father snaps, extending his arm and bringing a hand down on her paper palace, squashing it flat.

She sighs as he removes his hand, flicking away a still-erect, if slightly dented, tower. Her father’s attention returns to the piles of paper in front of him.

“Why? I’ve nothing to do, I am bored to tears.”

“I gave you something to do,” he answers without looking up.

“I finished it,” she says, waving her arm toward the layers of overlapping symbols in precise detail on her journal.

“You need to do more,” he frowns and waves a hand at her flattened castle, the paper rustling with the shift of air. “Stop squandering yourself with this nonsense. I expect more from you, and you need the practice.”

She turns away and pushes her hair from her face. “Why father? It isn’t as though I am impressing anyone. What I do is hardly a feat anymore, especially since you can do twice as much.”

“It does not matter what I can do,” her father snaps. “It matters what you can do, which is not nearly enough.”

She sighs, understanding that there will be more symbols to decipher in near-future lessons.

She picks up the first book atop a pile leaning against the desk. The pile wavers but does not collapse. It is not the pile of ascribed books approved by her father as a part of her curriculum; it is from his personal collection.

Her father barely glances at the pages before his attention wanders once more. She is relieved at his change of late, at his lack of scrutiny at each glyph and inscription. Yet his complete unconcern for her progress also unnerves her. 

Art by Helen Musselwhite

Text by Lucie MacAulay