"Entitled." What a marvelous word. So simple and yet so powerful, especially when it comes to the matter of sex and the desire for it. The enlightened consider them superior for having discarded the mantras and prayers of the superstitious who would use such incantations. Words of power and magic spells are for the ignorant who are deluded enough to believe we still live in a haunted world. Well, we've ignited the flame of reason, illumined all the shadows. It isn't so much that we've driven the Devil away; rather, we've come to discover there had never really been a Devil to cast out in the first place.
Given that, it's curious the kind of superstition even the most devout materialist succumbs to when he or, far more often than not, she succumbs to when, much to their horror, they find there are still monsters plaguing the world after all. The thought of an ugly man desiring the sort of affection they take for granted inspires nausea, disgust and, perhaps most significant of all, a special kind of terror. "The world is essentially beautiful, sensible, its workings governed by the music of the cosmos. To each man and woman precisely what he or she deserves."
Yet the sexual desire of the sexually undesirable serves as testament to the fact that as perfect as the cosmic orchestra should be, discord stains even its most beautiful songs. It's a terrifying thing to think one hasn't been blessed with sexual affection as a reward by a loving God, or an omniscient cosmos, but by mercurial Chaos who appoints his children lovely men or hideous abominations on nothing more than the most senseless of whims.
It's a horrible moment when the beautiful woman realizes that were circumstances just slightly different, Chaos could have condemned her to the misery of the ugly men she finds so abhorrent . The world becomes haunted again, the monsters that tormented her as a child begin to gibber beneath the bed again. She's loved today but could be despised tomorrow, beautiful this moment but deformed the next. After all, if Lord Chaos smiled upon her for no justifiable reason whatsoever, he could chose to tear her throat out with his fangs just as easily.
Wild, desperate, she invokes the closest thing to an "exorizo te" she has remaining to her. She plugs her ears, shuts her eyes, and shrieks "ENTITLED" the the deepening shadows as they draw closer.
And with that the crooked world becomes straightened, Chaos' vicious grin becomes God's benevolent smile, the ugly are unloved because they are wicked, the beautiful adored because they are good.
Time and old age will eventually rob that word of its power, of course. Death and infirmity come to both Caliban and Helen, sinner and saint. But she's a child now, and charity compels even the worst of monsters to humor the stupidity of youth. Let her enjoy her silly rhymes while she still has the luxury to. In time wrinkles will mar her face, the looks of admiration she once received will become glances of disgust. Her bones will become brittle, her womb will dry up. In desperation, she may cry out that she is still "entitled" to the love she had enjoyed during her youth just as the ugly had been "entitled" to the hatred they endured during theirs.
If the Cosmos that was kind to her so long ago answers with anything other than silence, it'll be with laughter.
