The sisters in their high castle—
all four of them
lived in the attic
of the old house.

I was only a rift-raft,
brought in
for their mother to watch.

I wasn’t allowed
in their room
no matter what.

But once…

my curiosity
got the better of me,
and I climbed the stairs quietly
to peek in on them,
listening from the stairwell.

They talked about the clothes
they’d wear while dancing
in front of a full,
thin antique mirror
painted white.

Their whole room
was white.
I have never seen
anything like it since.

They had sheer
canopy beds
and room-separating curtains—
peach, pink,
and pastel blue.
White everywhere.

They ran
with streams of ribbon
behind them,
jumping on top
of their plush beds—
soft as clouds
from the looks of it.

They sang together
and shared makeup.

My mind
was so blown by this.
I knew they must be
really loved.

Now, looking back,
they were kept up there
in that tower,
untouchable.
Unable to come down
themselves.

All was pristine white
because their purity
was kept like that—
as much as the quiet,
private world
they shared.

I wasn’t allowed
up there
to see the beauty
or the wrongness.

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