winter

Snow falls outside, turning breaths to fog as people pass by. Rina sits almost motionless in her glass cage, a sparkling star in the city’s winter marvel.
The air is alive with holiday cheer. Pine drifts down from Rockefeller Center, mingling with the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon. Fresh snow blankets the noisy streets, turning the city into a winter wonderland. Children laugh, tossing snow at each other, while parents usher them into warm shops—like Macy’s.
At first, she feels so odd! Within Times Square there are hundreds, no, thousands of shoppers all looking for a little goody to take home with them. So she was placed in the Macy’s storefront to attract them into the store: a strange spectacle for sure. A living decoration and a beautiful woman nonetheless.
She sits, nearly naked, in the middle of a candy cane field, surrounded by oversized lollipops. Her curled suit, a mix of metal and stiff plastic, forces her into stillness. By design, her body is meant to be admired—a living sculpture for New York City, posed on a twisted metal chair.
This is only one day. On another day, she will look cute and sexy in a little Santa sweet uniform, with red stockings to highlight her legs. Another day, she’ll wear elf boots and a little green dress and hat. She’ll spend another night in a dark Christmas outfit: intimidating like she’s in a dark metal fantasy. I’m not sure if I want her to be suspended by ribbons or strings in the air one day, or if I want her to be a sugarcane slut.
In short, she’s on display, sitting on a wooden chair (short, either brown or purple), in a top that comes down to a spike near her navel.
Her top, shaped like a heart, cups her chest and tapers into a spike at her navel, baring her hips. Bright red plastic laced with decorative ribbons clings too tightly, leaving marks on her skin. She is either wearing golden makeup with red, green and gold highlights, or done completely white with candy cane embellishments. It has lacing up the front (decorative) and back (not decorative.) The outfit hugs her uncomfortably close. It’s too tight. The fit would leave marks on softer skin. It could leave marks on hers, too. Her corset wasn’t designed for comfort — rather, for spectacle. If the designer was kind, they’d take it off and hand her something that fit. But it’s never been about Rina; it was about what the executives wanted.
Her golden legs are left to catch the natural light, which shimmers against the candy cane backdrop. Sometimes she takes out a book to read. It would be criminal to pose her standing for hours on end, so they don’t do that. She wears truly ankle breaking heels anyway: the kind that make a woman tower over family and friends. She is, undoubtly, gorgeous.
The crowd’s gaze lingers on her body, on her skin. It traces her curves, even merges with the hum of cheery music. A thrill creeps over her. It feels good to be seen by everyone, for people love and praise her with their eyes. The tight fabric pulls across her skin, the lace biting her back. She shivers, but from what? The cold, or the eyes tracing her every curve? The crowd gravitates to her, then into the store… “Yes. You’re beautiful. You’re seen. I want to be you,” says one carefully dressed woman. A small child warms her with her question, “Miss, can you come home with me?”
The glass shields her from the cold mud and soot outside Macy’s on 34th Street. It keeps her warm and save near her candy cane stalks. Her reflection shines back at her from the glass though. She can’t hear most of what they’re saying down below. She’s both safe from the world and not allowed to move.
It’s thrilling, and as the crowd thins out, the holiday music dies down. She stretches her arms carefully, wincing at her stiff joints — an effect of sitting still for hours. The lights dim, and as Andrew steps inside, the world outside feels a little farther away.
“You’re a trooper,” he says, flipping through pages as he adjusts a light. “The crowds were good today. Your adoring fans are doing their part.”
“All in a day’s work,” Rina replies, brushing her hair back as she stands up. Her legs feel weak, but she keeps a steady smile. It isn’t Andrew’s fault the job is draining; he is there to make sure everything stays on schedule.
“Do you need anything before you head out?” He asked, glancing up briefly.
“No, I’m good.” She says, making her way to the door.
Andrew nodded, stepping aside as Rina slipped past him toward the back room. The world outside was already dark, the city waiting to swallow her back into its restless mouth. She didn’t mind. She would be back tomorrow.
Later that night, she clings to her boyfriend, letting his warmth pull her from the doubts that linger. He whispers sweet words in her ear, reassuring her she’s everything he wants and more. His touch centers her, grounding her in a way the cage never could. With him, there are no lights, no crowds—just Rina.
All she can think about is the day, to the way strangers looked at her. Admired her. The storefront, the display: the way to be seen in the cold daylight. She listens to his sweet words, wondering if he feels about her the way they did. Their words filtered up, reached her ears. They all said:
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s incredible.”
“She’s exceptional.”
“She’s so pretty!” She has to hold back a laugh at that last one: the world tears her apart for how she looks everyday, but somehow this strange job makes her feel seen in a good way. She looks back behind her shoulder to see him: bare chested, doing his best to love her after a long day, then leans back down and moans into the sheets.
She thinks about what she was doing in the glass cage. They didn’t see her. They saw the glitter, the heels, the fantasy. Not Rina trapped in the glass box. All the people below. Watching her. Talking about her. Wanting her. she groans into the bed, feeling somewhat like she didn’t do very much. Her boyfriend does help her feel better about herself as well. Here, in her own home, she feels like enough. That she is happy with being seen in Macy’s for their display, twice a week, for hours at a time, for all of December. She feels a tingle, of love, not just between her legs, but yes, in her heart. She cums over her boyfriend, gasping and gripping the sheets as it rips through her body and takes her mind. Then she comes down from the high, still shaking, but feeling better.
He finishes soon after.
Grinning with him in the aftermath, aching and feeling all sorts of happy emotions, she and him laugh. All of a sudden, he brushes a hair behind her ear. “Rina. You’re incredible.” She returns to reality, meeting his gaze and shivers, getting closer to him, before the fantasy takes her again.
In two days, she returns back to her case. The lights hurt her eyes; she feels overly tired and dry. She could complain, but she won’t.
Today, she’s wearing a short, bright red dress with a waist cinched tight using a cartoonish Santa belt. She’s posed like she’s pulling presents from an oversized bag full of plastic presents. The oversized hat slouches just enough to give her the vibe of a modern-day Saint Nicholas: urban, stylish, impossible to ignore. Again, the day passes. The clock ticks, faster, and soon enough, it’s over. She and Andrew say hello and soon go to a coffee shop where she and he both sit down to review the day. In an unexpected moment, she leaves her hand on the table, telling him about one of the passers by in a funny shirt.
“They watch you because they can’t have you,” Andrew says, in a baritone voice. She feels a flush rise to her cheeks but doesn’t look away. “You’re untouchable.” She responds, “That’s it, though,” meeting his gaze. They want to have me, but they can’t,” she says. “So they buy some trinket and pretend they did—for just one second ” They finish their coffees and parth ways: him, back to the store. She goes on to meet another friend.
She lies in her boyfriend’s bed hours later, staring at the ceiling. Did they really see her, or was she just another fleeting winter joy for the streets outside? She grips the sheets tighter, pulling them up to her chest, but her boyfriend’s the soft breath on her neck grounds her. She decides that none of it matters. Is she an angel? A statue? A goddess? Who knows? Here, at home, she is just Rina. For now, what she has is enough.

rina’s cage

by jacklyn yeh