She convenes with her kindred spirits, as we all want to. Living and dead, fictional and those yet to be born. Clarimonde’s kindred spirits may be recognized by their movement within transformation, into metamorphosis. All the past is contained within and informs their present and future selves.
Butterflies are one of her symbols. The breath of air their wings stir about is enough to change outcomes a world away.
Seeds, such as pinecones, that grow into aromatic trees similar in shape but utterly changed by growth.
Birds’ eggs, which crack open to reveal and develop feathered beings who fly. We almost never see their remains, they hide themselves away and go into eternity with utmost privacy, unless caught by those who wish to consume their bodily energy.
Look within the iridescence of peacock’s feathers, that are both one and another color, depending on where you are. They devote themselves to beauty for the sake of their mates, as does Clarimonde.
The facets and flashes of precious stones, polished and arranged in patterns to adorn her skin, as smooth and nacreous as the sheen of pearls.
The breath of perfume from an orchid, which becomes the vanilla flavoring a creme brulee, set at a glittering dinner table to be shared.
The characters in songs and poems who make her weep with pity and hope.
The perfumes whose breath exhales from her skin and clothes, created from the distillations and building blocks of life itself.
The princesses who have been used and murdered for the circumstance of their birth, though they are not free themselves.
Those who have made beautiful places, things, songs, words, that endure to delight and move us all even if we don’t fully comprehend what they mean.
She uses her expanse of time to search out and discover and befriend as many of her kindred spirits as she can reach.
Have we done enough to find our own?