A forefather once said: you are like the lychee atop your head.
The spikes from inside your convulsing body will fight their way out and burst through silk and erupt in burgundy red. You must not shed your skin, for underneath it lies a creature others must not see.
And that is why you are confined to remain here, a prisoner to white marble. Cold and smooth to the touch, nothing like the jagged bones that line your own form.
Mouth sewn shut in careful stitches, red for luck. Feet contorted into small golden lotuses, bones broken and flesh wrapped carefully like 粽子 (zong-zi) about the heel.
But how is it, that when I am an ugly fruit, pointy and green, bitter and not yet ripe, I have such a beautiful face?
You are beautiful, a chinese doll that suits my tastes and serves to pleasure me like the sweet, soft skin of lychee on a summers day.
This face is to be your last gift, announced the forefathers, for you are cursed to be an ugly beautiful girl, as you cannot shed your skin to let others see the pale beauty that lies inside.
I claw at the yellowing husk that binds me down, but behold, it cannot be slipped off as it’s prickly and leaves fingers bloody at its touch.
And as the hard center within you begins to turn, the seed once alive within you, carrying hope, carrying emotion, becomes dead, and you must stand unmoving as it is thrown away by whoever takes possession of you next.
For your fair skin, your sweet flesh is not for yourself, but for a forefather who would like to enjoy you on an exotic trip in summer’s day, and you are to do nothing just like the lychee that sits atop your head.
Lychee princess, your fate is sealed, so do not run and quietly accept it instead.