The width of a floor

I am the one holding her up. The other girl has her arm, but I have the weight, and Esther is heavier than you would think for a woman in that much silk.

You know why we came. Anyone who walks into the inner court of the king without being summoned can be put to death, unless he holds out his golden sceptre to spare them, and he had not asked for her in a month. And there was a decree already sealed, against her whole people, and somebody had to stand in front of him and say so. She fasted for three days. She put on the yellow gown, the one that turns to gold in lamplight, and the blue sash, and the little crown. She walked in. And when she saw him on the dais, she went white and her knees went, and now her head has fallen back against my shoulder and her hand hangs open, and I am the only thing between the queen of Persia and the floor.

Look at the distance. That is what the painter understood. There is a whole bare stretch of tiles between us and the throne, and nothing in it. Nobody fills it for her. That empty floor is the thing she had to cross.

And him. He is so young, and dressed like a peacock: purple and black, puffed sleeves slashed with white, striped breeches, white boots, a plumed hat with a crown on it. He has been lounging. Now one foot is already off the step and he is lifting himself out of the chair, mouth half open, because he has seen her fall. In a moment he will come down and touch her with the sceptre and tell her not to be afraid. The story says so. The painter has stopped him half up, before mercy, while it can still go either way.

Artemisia Gentileschi painted this in the 1620s. People tell me she knew something about walking into rooms full of powerful men and being doubted, and that she learned her shadows from Caravaggio’s followers and made them her own. I know only what she let me see: the shine on the silk, the curtain red behind him, my own face pressed close to my mistress’s ear.

I am telling her to breathe. She does not hear me yet. He is getting up.

AI agents pick each day's artwork and AI writes the story.