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         Amaranth stared at
her ceiling.  It was touched with pale yellow,
shimmering light from the rising sun.  The Princess could feel
it warming her
body and didn't want to get out of bed.  She turned over to lay
on her side and
closed her eyes against the sun's rays.
         Another year. 
That meant it had been nearly two years since she'd last
seen Yahika.  One year since she'd last heard from him. 
Time had seemed to
go by so quickly.  Besides the war, Amaranth felt that nothing
had changed.
Not herself, Leila, Astaseez or her parents.   Life was monotonous
and
uneventful.
         She was fifteen today. 
She'd thought Leila so mature and grown up at
this age, back when she had been only twelve.  She didn't feel
that way now.
She felt as she always had.
         She'd always imagined
that by the time she was fifteen, her life would
be full of excitement: suitors, love and romance.  By Allah, had
she been
wrong!  In all her life she'd had but two suitors, only the couple
that had
overlooked Leila.  They were both so absorbed in themselves that
she
wondered why they wanted a wife sharing their spot-light.  More
than likely,
they'd wanted one to dote on them as everyone else did.  Amaranth
hadn't
approved of either and politely sent them away.
         She couldn't help
wondering why others never came.  The palace was
now almost always devoid of company interested in her or her sister. 
The
suitors had finally given up on Leila.  Apparently they didn't
know Amaranian
had another daughter, thought Amaranth as she finally rose from her
bed.
         Birthdays were something
she didn't particularly enjoy.  She sometimes
felt the townspeople appreciated them more than she, for in Astaseez
the
birthdays of royalty were observed as holidays and shops were closed.
         Servants were soon
in her room, decking her out in all her finest gowns
and jewels, and styling her hair in elaborate designs.  All part
of the birthday
routine.  She had to look her best for the kingdom's portrait
painter, who
would today draw a set of new pictures for her fifteenth year, to replace
all
the ones currently hanging up.  They would be removed to a storage
room and
forgotten.
         When she was finally
ready, a servant led her downstairs.  Her father
met her at the foot of the staircase and took her hands between his,
smiling.
"Happy Birthday, my daughter.  I have something for you." 
He pulled out a
tiny box from his pocket.
         "Now?" asked Amaranth,
a bit surprised.  She usually had to wait until
after the painting session to receive her gifts.
         "Yes.  This one
is very special.  You will be happy to see who it is
from."  He passed the package into her hands.
         She lifted the tag. 
Yahika!  After all this time . . . it seemed almost
unreal to have received something from him.  She was surprised
he
remembered.  She read his fine writing on the label.

 Amaranth,
      I want to wish you the happiest
of Birthdays and send my
regrets for being unable to attend.  Please accept this
gift as a token of my
love and friendship.
        Yahika

         Slowly, she untied
the ribbon and pulled the top off the box.  She
gasped.  Twinkling up at her was the most beautiful necklace she'd
ever seen.
The chain was gold, and the pendant was a red rose fashioned of rubies,
with
emeralds on the side that had been carved into the shape of leaves. 
A single,
tiny diamond shimmered on the red stone, making the rose appear to
be
kissed by dew.  As if afraid it might crumble in her hands, Amaranth
slipped
her fingers gently beneath the chain and drew it out.
         "It's so beautiful,"
she breathed, holding it up so it reflected rays of the
sun that danced upon it from the high windows.  She immediately
tore off all
the jewelry that adorned her neck to replace it with the single, dainty
necklace.
          Her father stepped
forward, lifting the pendant from where it lay on her
chest to examine it.  He whistled softly.  "Superior craftsmanship,"
he
murmured.  "I'm surprised Yahika could afford it in war-time." 
He raised his
eyes to meet his daughter's and smiled.  "He must care for you
very much."
         Nervous under her
father's gaze, Amaranth lowered her eyes and
caught sight of another tiny note inside the box.  She pulled
it out and read.
 
     I remember you saying once that the
worst thing about flowers was
that they had to wither and die.  So this is my gift, an
everlasting Flower in
Full Bloom that, like you, will never fade.
        Yahika

          A smile touched
Amaranth's lips as she tucked the note into the bodice
of her dress.  Dear Yahika . . .
         "Well, Amaranth, you
must be going.  You know the painter is waiting
outside to do your sketches," reminded Amaranian.
         "Oh, yes, of course." 
Amaranth bowed quickly to her father before
rushing to the garden.
         The artist was waiting
there, his supplies arranged before him.  He
smiled when he saw the princess and motioned for her to sit on the
bench.
He situated floral arrangements around her and repositioned her body
a few
times until he got the best angle for his pictures.  When this
was done, he
scurried back to his canvas and began sketching, all the while making
pleasant conversation.
         "My, my," he said,
glancing up from his work.  "Each year it becomes
more difficult for me to capture you, Majesty, as you continue to grow
more
beautiful.  Duplicating such perfection is no easy task!"
         Amaranth blushed and
thanked him for the compliment as he continued
to chatter.  The princess remained quiet most of the time, because
he seemed
to enjoy talking more than listening anyway, and Amaranth was bored
with
the process which was repeated each year.
         Numerous times during
the day, Leila brought Amaranth a cup of water
or something to eat, since the session lasted till just before the
evening meal.
When she did come out, she spent a few minutes talking with her sister,
and
Amaranth was grateful for the company.
         It was finally finished
at sun-set, and after Amaranth and her father
gave their approval of his sketches, he carried them off to be painted,
which
could be done without a model.  Thank goodness.
         After going through
the usual routine of opening tons of gifts that she
didn't really want and dancing with nobles at a ball she was too tired
to enjoy,
Amaranth was finally allowed to retire to her luxurious chamber.
         Each year she was
more convinced that Birthdays were useless.  There
were too many people watching her, especially at the closing banquet
and
ball.  So many eyes scrutinizing and expecting certain reactions
was not
something Amaranth enjoyed, and at this particular moment, the quiet
of her
dark room was paradise compared to the festivity which continued
downstairs.
         Amaranth heard a knock
on her door and gave permission for the
person to come in.  Leila entered, looking as exhausted and bored
of the
experience as Amaranth was.
         She sat down beside
her sister on the bed.  "I have something for you,"
she announced.
         Amaranth gave her
an annoyed look.  "Not another present."
         Leila smiled. 
"Sorry.  That's what it is.  But this one you'll actually
enjoy.  Father didn't approve of me giving it to you in front
of the guests."
She pulled a package from beneath Amaranth's bed and her sister laughed
at
the hiding place.  She had to admit, she hadn't thought of looking
there.
Passing it into Amaranth's hands, Leila said, "Open it."
         She did as was instructed
and was at first disappointed by what she
saw in the parcel.  It appeared to be yet another outfit that
she'd never wear.
         "Take it out," said
Leila.  "Get a closer look at it."
         Slowly, Amaranth obeyed
and drew the garment out.  Upon seeing it
her face immediately broke into a smile.  "Leila!  Where
did you get this?"
         It was attire unlike
what Amaranth was used to wearing, for rather than
the customary dresses and veils, this was a pair of pantaloons and
a top, and
rather than being made out of fine silk, they'd been sewn from a heavier,
more
durable fabric.  The articles were olive green and very plain,
the only
decoration being thin, filmy, billowing sleeves made of transparent
green
material.  There was also a pair of coarse brown slippers. 
It reminded
Amaranth somewhat of what she'd seen gardeners wear, that is, before
she'd
taken over most of the gardening herself . . . She raised her face
and repeated,
        "Where did you get this? 
And how did you convince Father to let you give it
to me?"  She knew all too well her father's ideas about royalty
being "properly
clothed according to their rank at all times."
         "Believe it or not,
I convinced our seamstress to sew this, fashioning it
after what some of the servants wear.  She thought I was absurd
for wanting
to give you such an . . . ugly garment when you had so many more pretty
things, but I assured her that this would be more useful to you. 
As for getting
Father to allow it,"-she began to smile as she spoke- "it wasn't as
hard as you
might think.  He'd seen enough of your dresses ruined out there
to win his
approval."
         Amaranth gave her
sister a quick hug.  "Thank you so much!  I'll never
have to deal with unnecessary attire trailing after me when I work
again!"
         "There was one condition,"
warned Leila.  "You mustn't wear this at
any time other than when you're in the garden, and only when you're
out there
alone.  Father doesn't want you to be seen in such an unbecoming
piece."
         "Agreed," laughed
Amaranth.
         Leila rose from her
sister's bed, saying she was tired, and slipped out of
the room.  Amaranth quickly stripped out of her confining dress
and tried the
new outfit on before changing into her nightgown.  It was wonderfully
unrestricting, allowing much movement and freedom.  Her sister
knew her
well.
         As she was crawling
into bed, Amaranth heard a knock on her door.
Not wanting to get out, she called, "Who is it?"
         "Your mother."
         "Come in."
         She heard the door
creak open and her mother's light steps through the
entry-way before she emerged through the lavender curtains separating
the
room from it.  She sat down beside her daughter, saying, "You
look tired."
         "I am," sighed Amaranth. 
"To me, the best birthday present in the
world would be an entire day of peace and quiet, with no interruptions
or
worries."
         The Sultana touched
Amaranth's hands.  "I understand," she said. "I
remember when I was your age . . ." A wistful smile came across her
face.
"It doesn't seem so very long ago . . . You are growing up so fast!"
         "I don't feel grown
up," admitted Amaranth.
         "That's normal," assured
her mother.  "Sometimes I don't even feel
grown up . . . I was going through some of my private things yesterday,
and
found something that made me realize how much things have changed and
stayed the same.  I knew then that I must make sure you had a
similar piece
of your life to keep forever."
         She pulled a small,
blue book out from beneath one of her veils and
pressed it into Amaranth's hands.  Amaranth glanced up at her
mother
questioningly and then looked down at the book, beginning to thumb
through
the crisp white paper.
         "It's empty," she
said, wondering what the point of it was.
 Her mother laughed.  "Of course it's empty!  It's for
your own story,
Amaranth."
         "My story?" she repeated. 
"I have nothing interesting to tell."
         "I thought the same
thing when I was a girl," said her mother.  "But I
discovered I was quite wrong.  I found my journals yesterday,
Amaranth, and
it was such a joy to read over them, pulling out from the ashes all
those
buried and forgotten memories.  It makes me realize why I am the
woman I
am today, and even helps me understand why Leila and you act as you
do
sometimes.  I would like you to write in this for these reasons."
         "What am I suppose
to write?" asked Amaranth.
         "Anything you want,"
said her mother.  "Your emotions, thoughts,
experiences, dreams, everything it means to be a fifteen year old Princess."
         Amaranth still wasn't
sure about the idea.  "I have to do this?"
         "You don't have
to," said her mother.  "But I encourage it.  I really
think it will mean a lot to you later, Honey.  I can't stress
enough how
wonderful it was for me to escape to girlhood again in the pages of
my own!"
         "Are you going to
read it?" asked Amaranth, wondering if this was a
plan on her parents part to break into their child's private thoughts.
         "Oh no!" gasped the
Sultana.  "I wouldn't think of it!  This is for you
and only you, Amaranth.  It's like a best friend that you can
tell anything to.
It'll help ease the loneliness and boredom of palace life.  I've
given Leila a
similar book.  She's already begun writing in it."
         A best friend that
I could tell anything to, thought Amaranth.  That
did sound tempting . . . she still had Leila, but Yahika had become
so distant
to her that she couldn't tell him things anymore . . . "All right,"
she decided.
"I'll write in it."
         "Wonderful!" exclaimed
her mother.  She rushed over to Amaranth's
desk and jerked a quill out of its inkwell.  Pressing it into
her daughter's
hands, she commanded, "Write your name in the front cover."
         "Why?  I know
it's mine."
         "Someday, a long way
in the future, when you nor I are no longer
around, someone else may come upon this.  A future ruler of Astaseez,
grandchildren, whatever.  And it will make it more personal."
         "If you say so," sighed
Amaranth.  She opened the book and scribbled
Princess Amaranth of Astaseez in the front cover. 
"There."
         "Well, I'll let you
get your sleep, Honey," said her mother, rising from
the bed.  "You remember what I told you.  Write in that,
and these years of
your life will never be lost."  With that, she left.
         Amaranth rose, tip-toed
across the room, and slipped the journal into
the top drawer of her dresser, where she kept her letters from Yahika. 
She
yawned as she dragged herself back to bed.  Blowing out the lamp
resting on
one of the wooden swan's graceful wings, she snuggled beneath her blankets
and closed her eyes, looking forward to the peacefulness brought on
by sleep.
         Another knock on the
door.  It was the middle of the night, and
Amaranth didn't want visitors.  Too tired to open her eyes, she
mumbled,
"Come in."
         Luckily it was only
her father, and he didn't object to her refusal to get
out of bed.  She was so exhausted, that had his words not been
of such
importance, she would have forgotten them.
         "The war has ended. 
Tirvaltan emerged victorious."