My piercing is six weeks old! I named him (for some reason both my piercings have boys' names) Sixth and not just because he's my sixth piercing.
I got my eyebrow pierced on my 18th birthday and named it 'Francis' in honour of a boy from the stadium (who was actually called James, but by then his Prince Francis nickname had stuck) after he came up to me and told me how cool he thought it looked :)
A few months later, I wrote a story about 'Prince Francis' and his favourite cousin, Sixth (named as such because he is sixth in line for the throne), so the name just seemed to fit my new adornment.
The infants dipped their tiny hands under the fountain of wine. In formation that mortal children would have been incapable of, they dispersed amongst the guests, offering their cupped hands as they went. Not a one spilled a drop.
Francis presided over the dancing, sat atop his black throne, doing his best impression of God. Whispers followed Sixth like a crowd of hungry mosquitoes as he approached the dais.
“Have you come to ask me to dance, Sixth?” Francis drawled, examining his fingernails.
Sixth threw the bracelet at Francis’ feet.
“Tell me the meaning of this,” he demanded.
Francis cocked his head to one side. “A present for your new pet. Why so angry, Sixth? You’re causing a scene.”
“I don’t have a new pet! I don’t have a pet at all!” Sixth half-screamed.
The revellers had stopped to watch the commotion. Francis smirked. He loved an audience.
“I’m tired, Sixth. I won’t allow them to look for her any longer. Besides, the new girl is much more diverting,” he declared as one of his guards stooped to pick up the bracelet.
“Silence!” The Prince’s onyx eyes narrowed as he stood, slowly. “You may be my most beloved cousin, but first and foremost you are the sixth heir to my throne. I know your heart to be good, but what of hers? Have you failed to notice the murder of two of my own younger siblings before your beloved conveniently disappeared?”
Sixth’s lips were sealed, not only by the command of his sovereign. The spirit of fun had abandoned the celebration. Francis slumped back down onto his throne. Sixth began to panic: had he finally fallen out of favour?
Incredibly, Francis’ face lit up in a smile, but his gaze was upon someone beyond Sixth. Every head in the room turned.
Hannah didn’t shrink from their stares. Her long, straggly brown hair had been tamed into sleek curls and her dress was the same colour as her bewitching eyes, giving her already pale skin an ethereal glow.
Francis stood once more and approached her. The crowd parted and Francis extended an arm to cradle her chin with his long fingers.
“How was this mistake made?” He murmured to himself, “You are clearly far more beautiful.”
Finally she did flinch, but only from the compliment. Francis laughed, a laugh as warm as custard poured over treacle tart.
“Someone honour this girl with a dance,” he demanded, releasing her from his encompassing gaze.