Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
My Lady By Tom Wood
Who am I? What’s my name? Two words I ask of you. It has now come a time, where even I myself am unsure. ‘La Giaconda’ and ‘La Joconde’, the names I have come to adopt. Five hundred years on, two other words still leave the lips of millions of people worldwide; except my identity still remains a mystery.
Fantasy and Conspiracy; two other words, that once combined, describe one of the true masterpieces of his time. Of course, I am his favourite. Where he went, I went. Though, the flattering of fame does not appeal to me. My eyes, they show a softening sadness and a bearable grin I must.
The expression of my face is only a look of concentration. Almost four years I sat, staring, hands folded to hide the hint of a baby bump popping. It has been taken as a blessing. The rumours, that I have the god Amon to thank. The Egyptian God of fertility. E’lisa, another adoptive name joins. Of course along with Amon, isn’t it only an anagram?
As I have been told, my figure and so called beauty has become the talk of the town. Perfect in terms of symmetry they say. Authors through history, describe my body as the clues left for the secrets of the Holy Grail. Though I am unsure whether the talking is for the better. My complexion though it has been complimented, has also been insulted. Whether jealousy or not, I have been outraged to hear that my dearest friend and painter has made me into a man. Perhaps we are twins: It might be possible, of course, that far from being one, we may possess two selves. One of a kind as the saying goes. I do not know if it is true and now I may never know.
I am now to stop feeling sorry for myself. For you have my story. Before you leave, I shall once more ask. Who am I? What is my name? Some call me Lisa del Giocondo. But you shall call me the Mona Lisa.
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