Countess Diaries Ch 7 Sasha and the Curious Case of the Ceramic Bust by Pasha du Valentine
Today, my palace played host to the indomitable Sasha Whitlock, a woman whose wit is as sharp as her penchant for uncovering secrets. I had scarcely ushered her through the grand entrance before she began her customary inspection of the premises. One does not simply entertain Sasha; one prepares for an inquisition.
It wasn’t long before she stumbled upon the ceramic bust in its current domicile: the linen cupboard. I had tucked it behind the tablecloths, hoping its unnerving visage would remain hidden from both human and feline eyes. Alas, Sasha, with her unerring instincts, flung the door open and let out a theatrical gasp.
“Pasha, darling,” she said, clutching the bust as though it were a long-lost treasure, “what in heaven’s name is this?”
“Oh, that?” I replied breezily, as though I hadn’t spent the past week dreading precisely this moment. “Why, it’s a… ah, ceremonial sentinel. A guardian spirit for the linens.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow so high it nearly reached her hairline. “A guardian spirit. For tablecloths.”
“Precisely,” I said, summoning my most regal tone. “It’s a tradition from, er, the far reaches of the Andes. The artisans there believe that such figures ensure the purity of fabric and prevent infestations of moths.”
She tilted the bust toward her, scrutinizing its expression. “It looks more like it’s plotting a coup than guarding your napkins.”
“Well, naturally, its demeanor must convey authority,” I countered. “Would you trust a protector that smiled?”
Sasha barked a laugh, setting the bust down on the nearest shelf, where it teetered precariously atop a stack of napkins. “You are too much, Pasha. Honestly, you could tell me it wards off bad dinner parties, and I’d believe you.”
“An excellent point,” I said with a gracious nod. “Its presence does, in fact, dissuade tedious company.”
She grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “You know, I saw a similar piece at the British Museum once, but it was in a gallery, not hidden away in a linen cupboard.”
“Ah, but that is precisely the brilliance of its placement,” I said, thinking quickly. “A public display would strip it of its potency. Its energies are far more effective when kept close to the objects it protects.”
“Or when hidden from guests,” she quipped, giving me a knowing look.
I could feel my composure slipping, but I refused to yield. “Sasha, darling,” I said, placing a hand over my heart, “art is not merely for display; it is for living. My palace, as you well know, is a living canvas. Every object has its purpose, its place in the grand tapestry of my domain.”
She smirked, clearly delighted by my theatrics. “And this… tapestry,” she said, gesturing to the cupboard, “must be quite the masterpiece.”
“It is indeed,” I replied with a flourish. “A symphony of functionality and inspiration. You’ll see its brilliance unfold in due time.”
Sasha shook her head, laughing as she closed the cupboard door. “You’re impossible, Pasha. Remind me to check the broom closet before I leave. Who knows what other treasures you’ve hidden there?”
I smiled, though inwardly I resolved to relocate the Ashanti farmer mask before her next visit. One can only improvise so much, and I’ve yet to devise a convincing narrative for a machete-wielding figure in proximity to the mops.
