Woman in Moroccan Palace
The windows were wide open, and the curtains swayed with the cool autumn breeze.
Draped in warm robes, her hair in a scarf, and her face immaculately painted, she looked regal as always. Barefooted and seated on the floor, she brought a sense of ordinariness amongst the majestic aura that surrounded her.
As the black tea brewed beside her, she caught the royal guard’s intense eyes as he watched her. “One cannot help but be astounded by your beauty,” he apologised as he lowered his gaze.
“Thank you, you speak most generously. But what good is beauty if they are contained within these four walls?”
“If I may so dare ask, would my lady agree to a portrait? The people love you, it would bring them joy to see their queen, even if it is on paper.”
“Bring me the best painter in Marrakech.”
Penn Irving
