Amaranthine

A brief tale inspired by @purplequeennl’s Midweek Flash.

AMARANTHINE adj. 1660s, coined by Milton.

1. Of the amaranth flower.

2. Eternally beautiful and unfading; everlasting.

3. Deep purple-red.

Maintenance duty is my favourite task. As Chief Engineer it falls to me to ensure that The Queen runs smoothly, day after day, providing for and regulating the lives of the population. No-one but me knows her on this level. No-one but me can look inside and see just what makes her tick. No one but me can adjust her servos exactly the right way and make her sigh with contentment.

I stroke my fingertip along the slender lines that run down her spine from the nape of her neck. They reflect the light with a metallic purple sheen. My fingers rest where the lines come together, just above the swell of her buttocks.

“These allow you to cast spells, I know that,” I say, “but I’ve never been able to figure out exactly how.”

She turns and catches my gaze. “They translate and transfer magic between my mind and my body.”

“I know that, but the how of it escapes me. It’s of no matter, Majesty. They are beautiful.”

She smiles. I move my hand around her hip to her belly, and trace the deep scratch in the metal of her abdomen. I lie down and nuzzle my cheek against a dent in her shoulder.

“I could repair all of this damage, you know.”

“No,” she says. “I like to show the world what I’ve been through. The battles I’ve fought in order to continue to serve.” She kisses the scar on my neck and smiles. “Just like you.”