Juana's world

A queen remembers . . .

"Midnight has become my favorite hour.

The sounds of the night are less intrusive, the shadows like a familiar embrace. By the light of a single candle, my world seems much larger than it is, as large as it once was.

I have had more occasion than most to reflect on the passage of the years. But it is only now, in this quiet hour, when all those who surround me have surrendered to sleep, that I can see clearly. It is a consolation, the knowledge, a gift I do not wish to squander. History may not forgive, but I must.

Hence, this blank page, the sharpened feather and the pot of ink. The memories tonight are vivid, not evanescent; they evoke and entice. They do not haunt. If I close my eyes, I can smell the smoke and jasmine, the fire and rose; I can see the vermilion walls of my beloved palace, mirrored in a child’s eyes. Thus did it begin, all of it, in the fall of Granada . . ."

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