Women of the wild in their not so gilded cages, forty-five of them Women cry, women paint, women assemble, women mount, women toil. Their work may remain forever immortal, but who is there to remember their own stories, their hopes, their dreams, their desires?
Carnation: A bright curious mind, fascinated with everything she saw. She wanted to travel around the whole world and experience it all. She wanted to visit the big cities and stand on the edge of a balcony and see the stars unobscured by smog and dance in a palace. She wanted, yet she never got.
Ranunculus: Big eyes, full lips, perfect skin, the most beautiful women you’d ever see. She looked like a goddess. But long days in the factory took a hit on her appearance. Her face began to show frown lines and blemishes and wrinkles from tiredness. Her hands grew chapped and calloused. She refused to look in the mirror anymore, as it mocked her for what she lost.
Tulip: A romantic at heart, swooning over tales of love. She liked to daydream and imagine being swept away off her feet by a handsome suitor. Then she would be proposed to and he’d remain forever enamored to her. She would practice ballroom dancing in her rooms alone, thinking that perhaps she would find a partner to twirl with at midnight. She died alone and heartbroken for what she never had.
Lily: Her eyes wide with doe-like innocence and a genuine smile always on her lips. She believed that the world was pure and good and that her suffering was meant for something. She believed in a fairytale, where the maiden’s suffering and kind heart would take her away from her life of pain. Her innocence faded away and her eyes lost their shine when she realized she wouldn’t get anything back for her suffering.
Cornflower: Always anticipating, had a story to tell anywhere and everywhere. Her one wish was to be remembered, and have others tell stories about her. She devoured novels and listened aptly to the tales spread around at the orphanage. She wrote at night in the factory by the candlelight, when everyone else was catching up their much needed sleep. Yet she never did get to have her novel published.
Convolvulus: Somehow the one with the most yet the least hope, her dreams being trampled upon. She knew how cruel the world was, having seen its negative effects on people beforehand. She saw the hair of the young turning gray with stress and haunted eyes. Yet she still hoped for better, which she never got.
Orange Blossom: The lucky one, the one that could find a four-leaf clover in a large meadow. She believed that her fate was in the hands of fortune and that her fate would be spectacular. She collected talismans and little pocket trinkets for good luck. She withered away in the factory, waiting for her luck to change.
All these women created beauty, beauty that would remain forever within the world. Yet their lives were full of cruelty and ugliness.