2023 Inklings Christmas Challenge Story Archive
Beyond the Four Leaves of Fortune by @lemonduckisnowawake
Heartstrings by @queenlucythevaliant
A Hidden Christmas by @allisonreader
The Milkmaids and the Partridge by @secretariatess
Mission: Fallen Star by @larissa-the-scribe: Part 1, Part 2
The Patience of Hope by @l-e-morgan-author
Reconnection by @lydiahosek
A Song of Starlight by @fictionadventurer
Strange Light by @shakespearean-fish
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2024 Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge Archive
Godmother: A Cinderella retelling by @lydiahosek
Hank and Gracie: A Hansel and Gretel retelling by @ashknife
A Love as Red as Blood: A Little Red Riding Hood retelling by @dearlittlefandom-stalker
Marks of Loyalty: A "Maid Maleen" retelling by @fictionadventurer
Maybelle and the Beast: A Beauty and the Beast retelling by @griseldabanks
The Princess and the Pulverized Pea: A "Princess and the Pea" retelling by @popcornfairy28
The Selkie Story: A Little Mermaid retelling by @allisonreader
Tam Lin: A retelling by @physicsgoblin
Tell Your Dad You Love Him: A "Cap O'Rushes" retelling by @queenlucythevaliant
Twelve, Thirteen, One: A "Cinderella" retelling by @confetti-cat
A Wise Pair of Fools: A retelling of "The Farmer's Clever Daughter" by @fictionadventurer
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2024 Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge:
Here is my Tam Lin retelling for the @inklings challenge.
Part 1:
There once was a very rich merchant by the name of Hake who lived in a beautiful city with his wife and many children.
  Life there was busy and good, even though the streets were crooked and the smells terrible and the smog blocked out the sun. The merchant Hake dealt in spices of the orient: tiger pelts, peacock feathers, golden fangs for a rich ladyâs neck, pearls like mermaids eyes, and all sorts of every delicious thing. But one day Mr. Hake was sent word that his ships, every last one, had been caught in storm off the Grecian coast and were sunk. All his wares were lost.
  At this the merchant and his family were most grieved and said prayers for the lost sailors that had drowned in the waves, and paid what they could to the mensâ families. But after that all the coffers ran dry of their silver. The merchant Hake began to sell off his familyâs treasures: A necklace of a single tear drop of pearl that had belonged to his mother, his silver watch engraved with his marriage anniversary, and even Jeanette, his eldest daughter, offered up her pianoforte, upon which she played most beautifully.
  But such sacrifice, and much more, was not enough.
  The merchant was forced to sell his familyâs home to pay off his debts, and to search for a new home where he could live more humbly. He found a job as an accountant for a very old and respectable estate, far off in the countryside, near a small village and on the edge of wilderness. The Lord of the Lynn estate was himself old and respectable and having never married or fathered children wrote that he was very happy to take on Mr. Hake and his familyâeven though the merchant had no experience as as an accountant of so large a residence.
  Lord Lynn sent his own private coach to the village when the Hake family arrived to take them straight to his grounds, as it was someways outside the village. The wheels rolled along the muddy road, the trees grew thick, heavy with dew, the leaves flashing green and gold in the early autumn sun. Jeanette listened to the scraping of the branches against the side of the coach and the chattering of her little siblings but she raised her head with alertness, leaning out of the window. Was that a voice she heard on the wind? Or was it just that this place was so much quieter than the city and the silence itself had a voice?
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2024 Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge Archive
Godmother: A Cinderella retelling by @lydiahosek
Hank and Gracie: A Hansel and Gretel retelling by @ashknife
A Love as Red as Blood: A Little Red Riding Hood retelling by @dearlittlefandom-stalker
Marks of Loyalty: A "Maid Maleen" retelling by @fictionadventurer
Maybelle and the Beast: A Beauty and the Beast retelling by @griseldabanks
The Princess and the Pulverized Pea: A "Princess and the Pea" retelling by @popcornfairy28
The Selkie Story: A Little Mermaid retelling by @allisonreader
Tam Lin: A retelling by @physicsgoblin
Tell Your Dad You Love Him: A "Cap O'Rushes" retelling by @queenlucythevaliant
Twelve, Thirteen, One: A "Cinderella" retelling by @confetti-cat
A Wise Pair of Fools: A retelling of "The Farmer's Clever Daughter" by @fictionadventurer
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Because I'm an idiot and forgot that this year was a Leap Year, the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge post said that the deadline was February 28th. I just thought I'd clarify that I intended for the Fairy Tale Challenge to last the entire month. If someone has a last minute entry they want to post, you can still post it today and it will count.
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Marks of Loyalty: A Retelling of Maid Maleen
For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge
Seven years, the high king declared.
Seven yearsâ imprisonment because a lowly handmaiden pledged her love to the crown prince and refused to release him when his father wished him to marry a foreign princess.
Never mind that Maleenâs blood was just as noble as that of the lady she served. Never mind that Jarroth had been only a fourth prince when he and Maleen courted and pledged their love without a word of protest from the crown. Never mind that they loved each other with a fierce devotion that could outlast the worldâs end. A handmaid to the sister of the grand duke of Taina could never be an acceptable bride for the crown prince of all Montrane now that Jarroth was his fatherâs only heir.
âSeven years to break your rebellious spirit,â the king said as he stood in the grand dukeâs study. âMore than enough time for my son to forget this ridiculous infatuation.â
âThis is ridiculous!â Lady Rilla laughed. âImprison a lady of Taina for falling in love? If you imprison her, you must imprison me on the same charges. I promoted their courtship and witnessed their betrothal. I object to its ending. I am Maleenâs mistress, and you can not punish her actions without punishing me for permitting such impudence.â
Rilla believed that her rank would save her. That the high king would not dare to enrage Taina by imprisoning their grand dukeâs sister. She believed her brother would protest, that the high king would relent rather than risk internal war when the Oprien emperor posed such a danger from without. She believed her words would rescue Maleen from her fate.
Rilla had been wrong. The high king ordered Rilla imprisoned with her handmaiden, and the grand duke did not so much as whisper in protest.
Lady Rilla had always treated Maleen as an equal, calling her a friend rather than a servant, but Maleen had never dreamed that friendship could prompt such a display of loyalty. She begged Rilla to repent of her words to the king rather than suffer punishment for Maleenâs crimes.
Rilla only laughed. âHow could I survive without my handmaid? If I am to retain your services, I must go where you go.â
On the final morning of their freedom, they stood before the tower that was to serve as their prison and home, a building as as dark, solid, and impenetrable as the towering mountains that surrounded it. In the purple sunrise that was to be the last they would see for seven years, Maleen tearfully begged her mistress to save herself. Maleen was small, dark, quiet, hardyâshe could endure seven years in a dark and lonely tower. Lively, laughing Rilla, with her red hair and bright eyes, was made for sunshine, not shadows. She loved company and revels and the finer things of lifeâseven years of imprisonment would crush her vibrant spirit, and Maleen could not bear to be the cause of it.
âCould you abandon Jarroth?â Rilla asked.
In the customs of the Taina people, tattoos around the neck symbolized oneâs history and family bonds, marked near the veins that coursed with oneâs lifeblood. Maleen had marked her betrothal to Jarroth by adding the pink blossoms of the mountain campion to the traditional black spots and swirls. Color indicated a chosen life-bond, and the flowers symbolized the mountain landscape where they had fallen in love and pledged their lives to each other.
âJarroth has become part of my self,â Maleen said. âI could as soon abandon him as cut out my own heart.â
With uncharacteristic solemnity, Rilla said, âNeither could I abandon you.â She rolled up her sleeves far to reveal the tattoos that marked friendship, traditionally marked on the wristâveins just as vital, and capable of reaching out to the world. The ring of blue and black circles matched the one on Maleenâs wrist, symbolizing a bond, not between mistress and servant, but between lifelong friends. âI do not leave my friends to suffer alone.â
When the kingâs soldiers came, Maleen and Rilla entered the tower without fear.
*
Seven years, they stayed in the tower.
There was darkness and despair, but also laughter and joy.
Maleen was glad to have a friend.
*
The seven years were over, and still no one came. Their tower was isolated, but the high king could not have forgotten about them.
The food was running low.
It was Rillaâs idea to break through weak spots in the mortar, but Maleen had the patience to sit, day after day, chipping at it with their dull flatware until at last they saw their first ray of sun.
They bathed in the light, smiling as theyâd not smiled in years, awash in peace and joy and hope. Then they worked with a will, attacking every brick and mortared edge until at last they made a hole just large enough to crawl through.
Maleen gazed upon the world and felt like a babe newborn. She and Rilla helped each other to name what they sawâsky, mountain, grass, clouds, tree. There was wind and sun, birds and bugs and flowers and life, life, lifeâunthinkable riches after seven years of darkness. They rolled in the grass like children, laughing and crying and thanking God for their release.
Then they saw the smoke. Across a dozen mountains, fields and forests had been burnt to ashes. Whole villages had disappeared. Far off to the south, where they should have been able to make out the flags and towers of the grand dukeâs palace, there was nothing.
âWhat happened?â Maleen whispered.
âWar,â Rilla replied.
Before the tower, Maleen had known the Opriens were a threat. Their emperor was a warmonger, greedy for land, disdainful of those who followed traditions other than Oprien ways. But war had always been a distant fear, something years in the distance, if it ever came at all.
Years had passed. War had come.
What of the world had survived?
*
Left to herself, Maleen might have stayed in the safe darkness of the tower, but Maleen was not alone. She had Rilla, who hungered for knowledge and conversation and food that was not their hard travel bread. She had Jarroth, somewhere out thereâwas he even alive?
Had he fallen in battle against the Oprien forces? Perished as their prisoner? Burned to death in one of their awful blazes? Had he wed another?
Rillaâwho had developed a practical strain during their time in the towerâoversaw the selection of their supplies. They needed dressesâwarm and cool. They needed cloaks and stockings and underclothes. They needed all the food they could salvage from their storeroom, and all the edible greens Maleen could find on the mountain. They needed kindling, flint, candles, blankets, bedrolls.
On their last night before leaving the tower, Maleen and Rilla slept in their usual beds, but could not sleep. The tower had seemed a place of torment seven years ago. Who would have thought it would become the safest place in the world?
âWhat do you think weâll find out there?â Maleen asked Rilla.
âI donât know,â Rilla said. âWhatever it is, weâll face it together.â
*
It was worse than Maleen could have imagined.
Not only was Taina devastated by war and living under Oprien rule.
Taina was being wiped out.
The Taina were an independent people, proud of their traditions, which they had clung to fiercely as they were conquered and annexed into other kingdoms a dozen times across the centuries. Relations between the Taina and the high king of Montane had been strained, but friendly. Some might rebel, but most were content to live under the high king so long as he tolerated their culture.
The Oprien emperor did not believe in tolerance.
Taina knew that under Oprien rule, Taina life would die, so they had fought fiercely, cruelly, mercilessly, against the invasion, until at last they were conquered. The emperor, enraged by their resistance, ordered that the Taina be wiped from the face of the earth. Any Taina found living were to be killed like dogs.
Maleen and Rilla quickly learned that the tattoos on their necks and armsâthe proud symbols of their heritageânow marked them for death. They wore long sleeves and high collars and thick cloaks. They avoided speaking lest their voices give them away. They dared not even think in the Taina tongue.
One night as they camped in a ruined church, Maleen trusted in their isolation enough to ask, âIf I had given up Jarrothâlet him marry his foreign princessâdo you think Taina would have been saved?â
Rilla, ever wise about politics, only laughed. âIf only it had been so easy. I would have told you to give him up myself. No, Oprien wanted war, and no alliance could have stopped them. No alliance did. For all we know, Jarroth did marry a foreign princess, and this was the result.â
Maleen got no sleep that night.
*
Jarroth had not married.
Jarroth was the king of Montane.
*
The wind had the first chill of autumn when Maleen and Rilla entered Montane Cityâa city of soaring gray spires and beautiful bridges, with precious stones in its pavements and mountain views that rivaled any in Taina.
Though its territories had been conquered, Montane itself had retained its independenceâon precarious terms. Montane was surrounded by Oprien land, and even its mountains could not protect it if the emperorâs anger was sufficiently roused. Maleen and Rilla could not be sure of safety even hereâthe emperor had thousands of eyes upon his unconquered prizeâbut they could not survive a winter in the countryside, and Montane City was safer than any other.
âWe must find work,â Maleen said, âif anyone will have us.â She now trusted in their disguises to keep their markings covered and their voices free of any taint of Taina.
âThe king is looking for workers,â Rilla said with a smile.
Even now, Rilla championed their romance, but Maleen had grown wiser in seven years. Jarrothâs father was no longer alive to object, but a kingâespecially one surrounded by enemiesâhad even less freedom to marry than a crown prince did. Any hopes Maleen had were distant, wild hopes, less real than their pressing needs for food and shelter and new shoes.
But those wild hopes brought her and Rilla at last to the kingâs gate, and then to his housekeeper, who was willing to hire even these ragged strangers to work in the kingâs kitchen. The kitchen was so crowded with workers that Maleen and Rilla found they barely had room to breathe.
âItâs not usually like this,â a fellow scullery maid told them. âMost of these new hands will be gone after the wedding.â
Maleen felt a foreboding that she hadnât felt since the moment the high king had pronounced her fate. Only this time, the words the scullery maid spoke crushed her last, wild hope.
In two weeksâ time, Jarroth would marry another.
*
As Maleen gathered herbs in the kitchen gardenâthe cook had noticed her knowledge of plantsâshe caught sight of Jarroth, walking briskly from the castle to a waiting carriage. He had aged more than seven yearsâhis dark hair, thick as ever, had premature patches of gray. His shoulders were broader, and his jaw had a thick white scar. There was majesty in his bearing, but sorrow in his face that was only matched by the sorrow in Maleenâs heartâtime had been unkind to both of them.
She longed to race to him and throw her arms around him, reassure him that she yet lived and loved him. A glimpse of one of her markings peeking out from beneath a sleeve reminded Maleen of the truthâshe was a woman the kingâs enemy wanted dead. She could not ask him to endanger all Montane by acknowledging her love.
Sensible as such thoughts were, Maleen might still have run to him, had Jarroth not reached the carriage first. When he opened the door, Maleen saw the arms of a foreign crownâthe fish and crossed swords of Eshor. The woman who emerged was swathed in purple veils, customary in that nation for soon-to-be brides.
Jarroth bowed to his betrothed, then disappeared back into the palace with his soon-to-be wife on his arm.
Maleen sank into a patch of parsley and wept.
*
Rilla was helping Maleen to water the herb gardens when the purple-veiled princess of Eshor wandered into view.
âIs that the vixen?â Rilla asked.
Maleen shushed and scolded her.
âDonât shush me,â Rilla said. âNow that Iâm a servant, Iâm allowed the joy of despising my betters.â
âYou donât need to despise her.â She was a princess doing her duty, as Jarroth was doing his. Jarroth thought Maleen dead with the rest of her nation.
âI will despise who I like,â Rilla said. âIf I correctly recall, the king of Eshor has only one daughter, and sheâs a sharp-tongued, spiteful thing.â She tore up a handful of weeds. âMay she plague his unfaithful heart.â
Since Maleen could not bear to hear Jarroth disparaged, she did not argue, and she and Rilla fell into silence.
The princess remained in the background, watching.
When their heads were bent together over a patch of thyme, Rilla murmured, âWill she never leave?â
âShe often comes to the gardens,â Maleen said. âShe has a right to go where she pleases.â
âBut not to stare as if we each have two heads.â
Out of habit, they glanced at each othersâ collars, cuffs, and skirts. No sign of their markings showed.
âWe have nothing to fear from her,â Maleen said. âIn two days, the worst will be over.â
*
A maid came to the kitchen with a message from the princess, asking that the âpretty dark-haired maid in the herb gardenâ bring her breakfast tray. Cook grumbled, but could not object.
Maleen tried not to stare as she laid out the tray. The princess sprawled across the bed, her feet up on pillows, her face unveiled. Her height and build were similar to Maleenâs, but her hair was a sandy brown, and her face had been pockmarked by plague. Even then, her eyesâa striking blue, deep as a mountain lakeâmight have been pretty had there not been a cunning cruelty to the way they glared at her.
âYou are uncommonly handsome for a kitchen maid,â the princess said. âYou have not always been a servant, I think.â
Maleen tried not to quake. There was something terrifying in her all-knowing tone. âI do not wish to contradict your highness,â Maleen said, âbut you are mistaken. I have been in service since my twelfth year.â
âThen you have been a servant of a higher class. Your hands are nearly as soft as mine, and you carry yourself like a princess.â
âYour highness is kind.â Maleen nodded her head in a quick, subservient bow, then scurried toward the door.
âI did not dismiss you!â the princess snapped.
Maleen stood at attention, her eyes upon her demurely clasped hands. âForgive me, your highness. What else do you require?â
âI require assistance that no one else can giveâa service that would be invaluable to our two kingdoms. I sprained my ankle on the stairs this morning and will be unable to walk. Since I cannot bear the thought of delaying the wedding that will bind our two nations in this hour of need, I need a woman to take my place.â
A voice that sounded much like Rillaâs whispered suspicions through Maleenâs mind. The princess was proud and her illness was recent. She would not like to show her ravaged face to foreign crowds, and by Montane tradition, she could not go veiled to and from the church.
Knowingâor suspectingâthe truth behind the request didnât ease any of Maleenâs terror. âNo!â she gasped. âNo, no, no! I could neverâŚ!â
âYou will!â the princess snapped, sounding as imperious and immovable as the high king on that long ago day. âYou are the right buildâyou will fit my gowns. You have a face that will not shame Eshor. You are quiet and demureâyou will be discreet.â
âI will not do it! It is not right!â To marry the man she loved in the name of another woman, to show her face to the man who thought her long dead, to endanger his kingdom and her life by showing him a Taina had survived and entered his domain, it wasâall of itâimpossible.
âIt is perfectly legal. Marriage by proxy is a long-standing tradition. I will reward you handsomely for your trouble.â
As she had defied the high king, so Maleen defied this princess. With her proudest bearing, Maleen looked the princess in the eye. âI will not do it. You have no right to command me. You will find another.â
âIf I do,â the princess said, âthere is an agent of the Oprien empire in the marketplace who will be glad to know the king of Montane harbors a fugitive from Taina.â
Maleenâs blood ran cold.
The princess smirkedâa cat with a mouse in its claws. âIf you serve me in this, no one ever need know of your heritage. I will even spare your red-haired friend. Do we have a bargain?â
Maleen bowed her head and rasped, âI am your servant, your highness.â
*
That night in their shared quarters, Rilla kept Maleen from bolting.
âWe must flee!â Maleen said. âShe knows the truth! If we are gone before dawnââ
âShe will alert the emperorâs agent and give our descriptions,â Rilla said. âNowhere will be safe.â
âIf Jarroth sees me!â
âEither he will recognize you, and youâll have your long-awaited reunion, or he wonât, and youâll be well rid of him.â
âHe could hand me over to the emperor himself. He is king and has a dutyââ
If you think him capable of that, youâre a fool for ever loving him.â
Maleen sank onto her cot, breathing heavily. Tears sprang from her eyes. âI canât do it. Iâm too afraid.â
âYouâve lived in fear for seven years. I should think you well-practiced in it by now.â
âWill you be quiet, Rilla?â Maleen snapped.
Rilla grinned.
But she sank down on the cot next to Maleen and took Maleenâs hands in hers. With surprising sincerity, she said, âWe canât control what will happen. Thatâs when we trust. Trust me. Trust heaven. Trust yourself. Trust Jarroth. All will be well, and if itâs not, weâll face it as weâve faced our other troubles. You survived seven years in a tower. You can face a single day.â
What choice did she have? What choice had she ever had? She loved Jarroth and would be there on his wedding day, dressed as his bride. What came next was up to him.
Maleen embraced Rilla. âWhat would I do without you?â
âNothing very sensible, Iâm sure.â
*
The brideâs gown was all white, silk and lace, with a high collar, full sleeves, and skirts that hid even her shoes. Eshoran fashions were well-suited for a Taina bride.
When she met Jarroth on the road to the church, he gasped at the sight of her. âMyâŚâ
âYes?â Maleen asked, heart racing.
He shook his head. âImpossible.â Meeting her eyes, he said, âYou remind me of a girl I once knew. Long dead, now.â
The resemblance was not great. Seven years had changed Maleen. She was thinner, paler, ravaged by near-starvation and hard living. She had matured so much she sometimes wondered if her soul was the same as the girlâs heâd known. Yet the way her heart raced at the sight of him suggested some deep part of her hadnât changed at all.
Jarroth took her hand and they began the long walk to the church, flanked on both sides by crowds of his subjects. So many eyes. Maleen longed to hide.
She glanced at her sleeve, which moved every time Jarrothâs hand swung with hers. âDonât show my markings,â she murmured desperately.
Jarroth glanced over in surprise. âPardon?â
Maleen looked away. âNothing.â
At the bridge before the cathedralâthe cityâs grandest, flanked by statues of mythical heroesâthe winds over the river swirled Maleenâs skirts as she stepped onto the arched walkway.
âPlease, oh please,â she prayed in a whisper, âdonât let the markings on my ankles show.â
At the door to the church, she and Jarroth ducked their heads beneath a bower of flowers. She felt the fabric of her collar move, and placed a hand desperately to her throat. âPlease,â she prayed, âdonât let the flowers show.â
âDid you say something?â Jarroth asked.
Maleen rushed into the church.
She sat beside him through the wedding serviceâthe day sheâd dreamed of since sheâd met him nearly ten years agoâcrying, not for joy, but in terror and dismay. He had seen her face and did not know her. He believed her long dead. She was so changed he did not suspect the truth, and she didnât dare to tell him. Now she wed him as a stranger, in another womanâs name.
When the priest declared them man and wife, Maleen dissolved into tears. He took her to the waiting carriage and brought her to the palace as his bride. Maleen could not bear it. She claimed fatigue and dashed in the princessâ chambers as quickly as she could.
She threw the gown, the jewels, the petticoats on the floor beside the bed of the smiling princess. âIt is done,â she said. âI owe you no more.â
âYou have done well,â the princess said. âBut donât go far. I may have need of you tonight.â
*
That evening, Rilla wanted every detail of the weddingâthe service, the flowers, the gown, and most of all, Jarrothâs reaction.
âYou mean you didnât tell him?â she scolded. âAfter he suspected?â
âHow could I? In front of those crowds?â
âYouâll just leave him to that woman?â
âHe chose that woman, Rilla.â
âBut he married you.â
He had. It should have been the happiest moment of her life. But it was the end of all her hopes.
After dark, a maid summoned Maleen to a dressing room in the princessâ suite. The princessâqueen now, Maleen realizedâsat before a mirror, adjusting her customary purple veils. âYou will remain here, in case I have need of you.â
The hatred Maleen felt in that moment rivaled anything Rilla had ever expressed. Not only did this woman force her to marry her beloved in her placeânow she had to play witness to their wedding night.
The princess stepped into the dim bedchamberâher ankle as strong as anyoneâsâleaving Maleen alone in the dark. It felt like the tower all over againâonly without Rilla for support.
What a fool the princess was! She couldnât wear the veil foreverâJarroth would see her face eventually.
There were murmurs in the outer roomâMaleen recognized Jarrothâs deep tones.
A moment later, the princess scurried back into the dressing room. She hissed in Maleenâs ear, âWhat did you say on the path to the church?â
On the path?
Her stomach sank at the memory. She could say only the truthâbut the princess wouldnât like it. âMy sleeve was moving. I prayed my markings wouldnât show.â
Another moment alone in the dark. Another murmur from without, then another question from the princess. âWhat did you say at the bridge?â
âI prayed the markings on my ankle wouldnât show.â
The princess cursed and returned to the bedchamber.
When she came back a moment later, Maleen swore the womanâs eyes sparked angrily in the dark. âWhat did you say at the church door?â
âI prayed the flowers on my neck wouldnât show.â
The princess promised a million retributions, then returned to the bedroom.
The next time the door opened, Jarroth loomed in the threshold, a lantern in his hand. His eyes were wildâwith anger or terror or wild hope, Maleen couldnât begin to guess.
He held the lantern before her face. âShow me your wrists.â
Maleen rolled up her sleeves and showed the dots and dashes that marked the friendships of her life.
âShow me your ankles.â
She lifted her skirts to reveal the swirling patterns that marked her coming-of-age.
âShow me,â he said, his eyes blazing with undeniable hope, âthe markings around your neck.â
She unbuttoned the collar to show the pink flowers of their betrothal.
The lantern clattered to the floor. Jarroth gathered her in his arms and pressed kisses on her brow. âMy Maleen! I thought you dead!â
âI live,â Maleen said, laughing and crying with joy.
âAnd Rilla?â he asked.
âDownstairs.â
He put his head out the door and called for a maid to bring Rilla to the chambers. Then he called for guards to make sure his furious foreign bride did not leave the room.
Then he and Maleen began to share their stories of seven lost years.
*
The pockmarked princess glared at Jarroth and Maleen in the sunlit bedchamber. âYou are sending me back to Eshor?â
âI have already wed a bride,â Jarroth said. âI have no need of another.â
The princess spat, âThe emperor will be furious when he knows the king of Montane has wed a Taina bride.â
âLet him hear of it,â Jarroth said. âLet him go to war if he dares it. The people of Taina are always welcome in my realm.â
Jarroth played politics better than Rilla could. A threat had no power over one who did not fear it, and Eshor risked losing valuable trade if Montane fell to war with Oprien. The princess never spoke a word.
*
Maleen wandered the kitchen gardens with Rilla and Jarroth, luxuriating in the fragrance of the herbs and the safety of their love and friendship.
âIs this wise?â Maleen asked. âTo put all the people at risk over me?â
âOver all the people of Taina,â Jarroth said. âMy father was monstrous to tolerate it.â
âWe will have to tread carefully,â Rilla said. âNo need to provoke the emperor. No need to reveal his bride's heritage too soon."
"We can be discreet," Jarroth said. "But what shall we do with you, Lady Rilla?â
Rilla bowed her head in the subservient stance sheâd learned as a kitchen maidâbut there was a sparkle of mirth in her eyes. âIf it pleases your majesties, I will remain near the queen, who I am bound by friendship to serve.â
Maleen took her friendâs hand and said, âI would have you nowhere else.â
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Posting this right at midnight, so sorry if I'm late @inklings-challenge
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Twelve, Thirteen, and One
Words: 6k
Rating: G
Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love
(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)
When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.
â
Itâs hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.
The mice notice thisâthough it happens so often that theyâve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.
When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleepâeven they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. Theyâd found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where sheâd held a little chunk of brown bread.
Tonight, she has nothing. They donât mindâthough three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.
A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.
When she stirs, itâs to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.
It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakesâfeeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.
Theyâre all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girlâthe Cinder-Girl, they think of herâis gentle and kind.
Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, theyâre too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.
One looks up from where itâs discovered a stray pea to check her expression.
A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelmsâmelts, evenâthe traces of tension in her tired limbs.
Very slowly, so much so that they really arenât bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.
The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.
The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.
They decide sheâs quite safe. Very friendly.
â
The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.
When both gold sticks on the clocksâ moonlike faces point upward, thereâs a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.
Thereâs a great treasury of old straw in the attic. Itâs inside a large sackâand while this one doesnât have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.
The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesnât seem to mind what he takes from it. Thereâs enough more of it to fill a hundred ratâs nests, so he supposes she doesnât feel the difference.
Tonight, thoughâperhaps heâs a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.
âOh.â says the girl. She smilesâand though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. âHello again. Do you need more straw?â
He isnât sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.
Sheâs seemed safe enough so farâalmost like the woman in white and silver-gold heâs seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safenessâso he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.
Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. Itâs true he doesnât need much, but the chill of winter hasnât left the world yet.
The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.
âTake as much as you need,â she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnelâs-width from, and offers him what she holds. âWould you like this?â
He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isnât the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.
Itâs a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down heâd once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.
He touches his nose to itâthen, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.
It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.
â
Thereâs a human out in the gardens again. Which is strangeâthis is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. Sheâs not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.
She doesnât smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.
This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.
She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.
When she begins again, itâs with a sharp WHOP.
He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. Howeverâ
A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, thereâs a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashingâwaster swashing about with little churns and splishes.
Itâs not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the gardenâthey simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.
The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.
Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.
Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leavesâ
âand then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.
Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.
âAre you the same one I always find here?â she asks with a chiding little smile. âOr do all of you enjoy swimming?â
When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesnât go as far as it could, thoughâsomething about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what sheâll do next.
The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange soundâa weary laugh, perhapsâand turns back to her peculiar chore.
â
A song trails through the old houseâunder the floorboardsâthrough the wallsâinto the garden, beneath the undergrowthâand lures them out of hiding.
It isnât an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, pleaseâthe one who helped you needs your help.
It didnât require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.
In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.
When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if theyâd just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.
As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.
The girlâholding a large, round pumpkinâlooks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.
âSet the pumpkin on the drive,â the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. âThe rest of you, line up, please.â
Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. Itâs natural for them, somehow, to followâthe mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.
âWhat are they doing?â asks the girlâand thereâs curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesnât believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.
The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.
Itâs thenâthen, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.
âOh!â exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. âOh! Theyâreââ
Theyâre different.
The mice arenât mice at allâand suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.
Theyâre horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.
Instead of a rat, thereâs a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.
âWell,â he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, âI suppose I wonât be wanting for adventure now.â
Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.
The girl herself is different, though sheâs still humanâher hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection was flowers.
âThey are under your charge, now,â says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. âIt is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnightâwhen that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?â
âYes,â says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if sheâs been given the most priceless gift in all the world. âOh, thank you.â
â
The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.
âItâs been so long since Iâve seen the castle,â the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. âFather and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.â
âShall we accompany you in, milady?â asks one of the footmen. Theyâre all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.
She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.
âI think Iâll go in myself,â she says. âIâm not sure what is custom. But thank youâthank you so very much.â
And so they watch her goâstepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queenâs.
Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyoneâs minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.
With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.
â
He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.
âEnjoyable evening, milady?â asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.
âYes, quite, thank you!â she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. âThe clock just struck quarter tillâwill you be able to get us home?â
The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had alreadyâit couldnât be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.
âI will do all I can,â he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, theyâre off at a swift pace.
They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. Sheâs fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.
Heâs fascinated already. Thereâs a part of him that wonders if heâll remember how to tell time when heâs a rat againâor will this, all of this, be forgotten?
The woman in white is there beside the drive, and sheâs already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.
âWell, how was the ball?â she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. âI hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?â
The girl rushes to grasp the womanâs hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.
âIt was lovely! Iâve never seen anything so lovely,â she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than theyâd ever seen it. âThe castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Princeâalthough hush, he certainly isnât looking for meâheâs so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.â
The woman laughs gently. It isnât a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can beâit's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.
âThatâs wonderful. Now, up to bed! Youâve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.â
âYes! Of course,â she replies eagerlyâturning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. âThank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.â
Itâs a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girlâand then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though theyâve fallen asleep and woken up.
Theyâre them againâsix mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.
âPlease, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.â
âCome,â the woman said simply, âand place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.â
The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yesâbut get to bed!
â
The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the familyâs carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.
She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understandsâor maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the openâand then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.
Ever so faintly, like music, the womanâs laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.
When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.
âHello, all. Soâhow do you do it?â she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. âI had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?â
The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. âIf I were to explain to you the details of how, Iâd have to tell you why and whom, and youâd be here long enough to miss the royal ball.â She waves her hands she speaks. âAnd then youâd be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.â
The rat misses the girlâs response, because the world blinks againâand now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.
The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.
âRememberââ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. âReturn before midnight, before the magic disappears.â
âYes, Godmother,â she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. âThank you!â
â
The castle is just as glorious as beforeâand the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.
Heâs unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a momentâthe crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to beâand then returns to the carriage outside.
He isnât required in the ballroom for much of the nightâbut he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.
Perhaps that wouldnât be hard. Heâd raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.
Because that was what she wasâor, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once sheâd entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.
It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldnât a kitchen-girl become a princess?
The answer was yes, it seemedâperhaps in more ways than one.
She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worriedâbut she was smiling.
âDid you know the Prince is very nice?â she asks once theyâre safely home, and sheâs stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. âIâve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.â
âHow is that?â asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. âAnd if I might ask, how do you know?â
âBecause he mentioned it first.â The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but canât quite do so. âThat he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that heâs always wanted to go out someday and do something new.â
â
The third evening, the clouds wete dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.
âLooks like rain, milady,â said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. âIf it doesnât blow by, weâll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.â
âCertainlyâthank you,â she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond themâbut she seems more so with each night that passes.
She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.
Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesnât seem to show the spots much. Still, itâs hardy an ideal thing.
âOne of you hold the parasolâquick about it, nowâand escort her inside,â the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. âWait about in case she needs anything.â
The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until theyâre driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.
The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same wayâby slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.
From there, he watches.
Itâs so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The princeâs attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for manyâs lack of trying.
Likewiseâmore so than he would have thought, though perhaps heâs a bit slow in noticingâher focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.
Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. Itâs all very new to her, and heâs not certain it doesnât show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everythingâif he thinks it odd, he certainly doesnât let on.
They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each otherâs eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.
Then, they dance.
Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. Theyâre in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around themâbut not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.
The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.
(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)
The clock strikes eleven, but thereâs still time, and heâs fairly certain he wonât be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.
He was a lizard until very recently. Heâs not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but heâs not sure he understands how near.
The clock doesnât quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.
â
Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. Heâs soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.
She sees him, notices this, andâwith a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyesâlaughs softly into her hand.
ONEâTWOâ the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.
âUm,â he begins awkwardly. Lizards didnât have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. âThe chimes, milady.â
THREEâFOURâ
Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. âOh.â
FIVEâSIXâ
Like a deer, she leaps from the princeâs side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.
âThank you, I must goââ she says, and then sheâs racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.
SEVENâEIGHTâ
âWait!â calls the prince, but they donât. Which hopefully isnât grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.
They burst through the door and out into the open air.
NINEâTENâ
It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrentsâthe walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.
She steps in a crevice she couldnât see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. Thereâs noise at the door behind them, so she doesnât stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and theyâre all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.
ELEVENâ
A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water thatâs soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.
Thereâs shouting behind themâthe princeâas people run out and call to the departing princess.
TWELVE.
Mist swallows them up, so thick they canât hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.
The castleâs clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched roadâuntil true midnight strikes a few moments later.
â
She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source ofâall the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.
Itâs quite the walk.
â
The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The ratâa bit different nowâtells them most things are that way to mice, but heâs glad to explain.
The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesnât want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.
The mice think thatâs a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There wonât be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.
The rat thinks theyâre being silly and that theyâve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest dayâs work for its wages.
Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole theyâve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. Youâre being self-interested, if you ask me. Donât you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where sheâd finally have plenty to eat?
Itâs hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.
There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.
Cinder-Girl sits on the chair thatâs been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.
The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They canât quite see it from hereâpoor eyesight and all.
Of course, the girlâs foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.
Evidently, the humans did not. Thereâs absolute uproar.
âThere is no possible way sheâs the princess youâre looking for!â declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. âSheâs a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.â
âHow dare you!â Angry-Girl rages. âWhy does it fit you? Why not us?â
âYou sneak!â shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. âMother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes wonât marry sneaks, will they?â
âI think they might,â says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.
The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.
She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.
A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. âYour Highness.â
The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.
The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasnât really asking anything with his lookâitâs already clear he recognizes herâand meets Cinder-Girlâs gaze with a smile. Itâs the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.
He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)
âItâs my honor,â he assures her. âWould you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? Iâd had a question in mind, but it seems there areââ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. ââsituations we might discuss remedying. Youâd be a most welcome guest in my fatherâs house, if youâd be amenable to it?â
Itâs all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost donât hear it, at firstâthat silent song.
It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.
â
The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:
Oneâtheir princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didnât already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.
Twoâthey have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?
The coachman said yes without a second thought. Heâd always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confidedâand this seemed a certain path to achieving that.
The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemedâstrange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.
The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castleâs happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.
And threeâthey are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesnât wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. Thereâs no talk of anyone marryingâjust discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, youâll have the finest chicken pie anytime youâd like and I canât have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and Iâll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but Iâdâum, Iâd embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)
âIf youâd be amenable to it,â she repliesâand in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.
âMilady,â the coachman calls down to them. âYour Highness. Weâre here.â
The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night theyâve come hereâthe thirteen of them and the one of herâbut midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.
One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. Thereâs so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they donât think it matters.
The girl, their princess, smilesâa dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hopeâand suddenly, theyâre all smiling too.
She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.
With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.
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Godmother
[My story for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. Thank you very much for hosting!]
Once upon a time, a woman lay on her deathbed in despair. She had hope of eternal life but still was sad to leave the world. She was sad to leave her beloved and loving husband without a wife. Most of all, she was sad to leave her little daughter without a mother. With her last breaths, she whispered, âWatch over herâŚlet her be happy.â
Little did she know a fairy was among those who heard.
Fairies commonly kept watch over human affairs in those days. Being immortal, births and deaths especially fascinated them. They were forbidden to interfere or make themselves known â doing so had led to disaster in the past. Even so, every once in a while a fairy would take an interest (either mischievous or benevolent) in a human and pursue it. They worked in little ways â leading game to a hungry hunter or hiding a favorite necklace from a vain lady. This sort of thing was generally understood and overlooked. Those who took it too far, though, were never seen again.
This fairy, whose name was Avellana, was invisible to the family gathered in the little room, but she heard the desperation in the motherâs voice and saw the tears on the daughterâs face. She had marveled at the love between parent and child more than anything over all her years of observation. She saw now an opportunity to honor it.
The little girl, whose name was Marielle, mourned alongside her father. Avellana let them be for the first weeks â the trifles she could provide would do little to lift them out of it. One afternoon, though, again concealed from sight, she returned to the house to find Marielle listlessly gathering the hazelnuts that had fallen from the tree in the backyard. She was kneeling on the ground and did not get back up even after all of the nuts had been collected. Avellana thought about other little girls she had seen and what sort of things made them happy. Glancing at the nearby wood, she had an inspiration.
In the blink of an eye she was fifty paces deep into the wood in a thick cluster of trees. In the middle of these trees was a warren. She crouched down to it and found what she sought â a family of rabbits. She beckoned and the largest one hopped out. She led it through the trees, out of the wood, straight to the edge of the yard where Marielle still knelt. Then she bid it wait there until the girl noticed her visitor.
Marielle looked up and gasped as she met the rabbitâs eyes. She was gentle by nature and had been taught to be gentle with nature, so she kept very still, much as she would have loved to rise and stroke the rabbitâs soft gray fur. And when Avellana let the rabbit do as it pleased, it actually hopped closer to the girl, sniffing at the grass and tiny wildflowers, before returning to its home.
Marielle stared after it and Avellana stared at Marielle. Perhaps she had expected too much â she had never done anything like this before â but she couldnât tell if the encounter had made any difference at all.
Marielleâs father called her inside for supper. Avellana followed and watched the pair eat in silence for some time. Then Marielle spoke up: âI saw a rabbit outside.â
Marielleâs father smiled faintly. âOh? There havenât been any around in a few years. Well, except forâŚâ He nodded his head toward the ceiling.
Marielle nodded back. She wondered aloud whether it would return and they began discussing ways to make it and its family feel welcome.
Puzzled, Avellana looked up at the ceiling, then guessed that Marielleâs father had been indicating something on the second floor of the house. In the blink of an eye she was in the room exactly above where they still sat - a bedroom. On the bed sat a rabbit made of cloth with shiny button eyes. Iâll give my left wing if Marielleâs mother didnât make that for her, she thought. Satisfied, she returned to the fairy world.
*
Things went on in that way for a few years. Avellana continued to visit other human households with other fairies, but every few weeks she would check in on Marielle by herself. The girl and her father had decided to plant a garden, and while that same rabbit never called on her again, it attracted countless other creatures â bees and butterflies drank nectar from the flowers, mice and hedgehogs hid among (and sampled from) the berry bushes and the vegetable patch. They even dug a small pond at the far end of the yard, where human and animal travelers alike could stop to drink. Marielle stayed outside to watch the activity whenever she could.
Avellana always left a gift of some kind. She persuaded the berries to grow larger and sweeter just as Marielle made ready to pick them. She showed the birds what a lovely place for a nest the hazel tree would make. She mended a tear in Marielleâs dress before it was even noticed. She was pleased with herself â the girl was kindhearted and hardworking and it was a delight to bring such little niceties into her life now and again.
One day Avellanaâs friends urged her to join them â they were on their way to see a human wedding. Avellana was surprised to see that it happened to be in Marielleâs village. She was even more surprised to see that it was Marielleâs father getting married! Marielle stood at his side at the front of the church. Next to his new bride stood two girls about Marielleâs age. Well, Avellana thought, Marielle will have a new mother, and two sisters besides! Now she understood â her role had been to watch over the girl until someone else arrived to take her place. It would be bittersweet â she had enjoyed her visits to the house â but such was the difference between the fairy and human worlds, the one constant and the other ever-changing. She supposed that was one reason it was discouraged for the two to cross paths.
But while she no longer considered herself needed by her, eventually Avellana simply missed Marielle. She had never followed one humanâs life so closely for so long, and others, despite their novelty, didnât seem as interesting. She wanted to know how Marielle fared. She wanted to know how the garden fared. Most of all, she wanted to know how her fatherâs new wife fared as Marielleâs stepmother. She decided that it wouldnât hurt to drop by one evening and take a look.
When she arrived, the house was quiet and the family was eating supper â well, most of them were. Marielleâs stepmother sat at the head of the table, with one of her daughters on either side of her. Marielle sat at the other end, and Avellana couldnât be sure, but it looked like her portion of food was smaller than the othersâ. But where was her father? In the blink of an eye Avellana was in the next room, then the next, until she reached the master bedroom. There she saw him lying in bed, asleep but trembling, a thin sheen of sweat upon his brow. A horrible foreboding settled in Avellanaâs heart. She pulled the blankets tighter around him. It seemed to help, but, she reflected, what did she really know about this sort of thing? Worried, she returned to the fairy world.
*
All too soon, her premonition was realized. She stood invisible in the back of the room as Marielleâs father breathed his last. Great as the girlâs sorrow had been for the death of her mother, the Marielle of that night would have looked cold compared to this one. She sobbed, clutching her fatherâs hands and begging him not to go long after he had. Above them both stood her stepmother, who would have looked cold compared to a block of ice. She told Marielle to shut her trap before she woke her stepsisters, who were asleep in their own bedroom down the hall.
So Marielle mourned her father alone. This time, Avellana could barely stand to wait a week before returning to the house, and once there she felt it had not been soon enough. She found Marielle stirring a large pot of porridge while her stepfamily sat at the table, waiting. She watched the girl fill three bowls and set them down on the table, then stand to the side anxiously. She heard one stepsister complain that there was not enough sugar, the other that there were too many lumps. The stepmother had only to give Marielle a look and she was scrambling back to the kitchen to start the recipe over.
Avellana began visiting the house more and more often, for the stepfamilyâs cruelty to Marielle grew greater and greater. She had been made into a servant in her own home. Her stepmother bid her cook every meal, clean every room, mend every piece of clothing. Her own daughters did no work and paid no attention to Marielle except to occasionally amuse themselves by teasing her or blaming her for minor calamities like a crack in a teacup. Her stepmother believed every word they said and then some, and not a day passed but she scolded Marielle for something or other. If Marielle washed the windows quickly, she was told she was being sloppy. If she took her time to work carefully, she was called lazy. Such offenses always carried harsh punishments, too. Denial of food was a favorite. Another was the immediate undoing of whatever chore Marielle had just completed, so that it had to be redone â a bowl of soup emptied onto a freshly-polished floor, for example.
One particularly awful night, in response to some perceived slight, her stepmother snatched her cloth rabbit from her bed, brought it downstairs, and threw it into the fire. Marielle tried to rescue the keepsake, but it was too late. She stayed curled at the fireside weeping until she fell asleep. Restoring the rabbit or even bringing the sleeping girl upstairs would have raised too much suspicion, but Avellana at least coaxed the fire to stay lit and keep the girl warm until sunrise. When she woke, however, she found that one of her stepsisters had claimed her bedroom for herself. âYou were obviously perfectly comfortable by the fire,â her stepmother said. âThereâs no sense in my daughters continuing to share a room when another one is available. Is there?â
Rather than be denied breakfast for being senseless, Marielle answered quietly, âNo, maâam.â
The fireplace, then, became Marielleâs place in the same way a cupboard is a broomâs. She slept there every night and sat there every day to eat her meager meals. When there was nothing else to be done around the house, her stepmother bid her clean it, a job that was never truly finished and the residue of which never fully left Marielleâs skin or hair or clothes. âLook at her,â the stepsisters said, âSoon sheâll be nothing but one big cinder.â The three left off even using her name, referring to her instead as âCinder-girlâ.
Things went on in that way for several years. Avellana visited practically every day, but now she had to be doubly careful â not to give herself away, and not to accidentally make things even worse for Marielle. She sent cool breezes through the house when Marielle was bent over steaming tubs of laundry. She caused the floorboards to creak so that Marielle would look down just before she would have stepped on a stray pin. She told the birds to fly to the window nearest the fireplace and sing â and this she had to do only once, for Marielle smiled and laid crumbs from her own plate on the sill to say thank you. They were regular visitors from then on. Inspired, Marielle then took to leaving tiny scraps at the doorway and so made friends with the mice from the garden as well.
Marielle was Avellanaâs new greatest marvel of humanity. She had seen others give ill treatment back for far less than what Marielle had endured, or for nothing at all. Marielle shrank in her stepmotherâs presence and scurried at the sound of her voice, but otherwise took any opportunity to smile, to share, to receive of or contribute to the beauty of the world. Avellana would give her any opportunity she could.
One day, though, back in the fairy world, a friend of Avellanaâs pulled her aside. âThis must not continue,â she said. âDo not fool yourself into believing nobody has noticed.â
Avellana saw no harm in playing innocent. âNoticed what?â
âYour fixation on the little cinder-girl that lives on the edge of the wood.â
âDonât call her th-"
âYou see?â
Avellana was silent.
âThey live such short lives. One way or another her suffering will end,â she said in a way that chilled Avellanaâs heart. âIn the meantime, you are endangering yourself. You are endangering all of us. Sooner or later she will realize she is being favored and wonder why and by whom. When they learn of our power, they want it for themselves. When they cannot have it, they seek to control us or destroy us, and in their efforts they destroy themselves. You see? You are endangering even her.â
Avellanaâs wings bristled with indignation, but she managed to keep her voice steady. âThat is not her way. And I have kept the both of us safe for more than half her life.â
âLook at how you started and see how it has grown. Do you believe things will never worsen for her again? They will. And when they do you will not be satisfied with berries and breezes. You will do something irreversible, something she cannot attribute to a caprice of nature or her own forgetfulness. And when you do, rather than risk their discovery of us, you will be forced to pay the price.â She placed her hands on Avellanaâs shoulders and looked into her eyes. âYou see? I fear for you.â
Avellana saw, and she saw this was not a fear of the unknown. âWhat â "
âYou will be cast out of our world. You will lose your power. You will live as a human, grow old, and one day, you will die.â
Every word was a blow, but the last was a dagger. Death â foreign to fairies and feared above all else by humans. What misery it caused them, as Avellana and her friends had witnessed time and again. What misery it had wrought in Marielleâs life, and she was not even the one who had died. And what of those who did? No more to work in and move through and partake of the world, no more to be with the ones they loved. Avellanaâs entire body trembled.
âYou see? Better to end it now, before you are lost completely.â And with that, she left.
*
It was weeks before Avellana made another trip to the human world, and then only to other villages. Her friends were glad that she had apparently seen reason, but she herself knew no peace, plagued by the thought of Marielle abandoned. Eventually, she could bear it no longer and returned to the house. She told herself that she would do nothing but look in on her, for both of their sakes. After all, she would be no good at all to Marielle if she died, would she? And surely she didnât have to give her up entirely. She told herself that from now on she would only visit as often as she had when Marielle was a little girl, and only leave gifts in extreme circumstances (ignoring the extreme circumstances that made up Marielleâs everyday life). She was a young woman now, and a strong one at that. She would persevere.
In that case, though, why was she returning at all?
She arrived at early evening - the same time as, of all things, a royal carriage. A herald in a blue uniform and holding a scroll leapt out, marched to the front door, and knocked. Marielle, of course, was the one to answer and accept the message. She brought it to the parlor, where her stepmother was sitting with a cup of tea.
She turned to Marielle. âWell?â she said sharply, but her eyes widened when she saw the royal seal on the scroll. She snatched it from Marielleâs hands and tore it open. Skimming its contents, she called her daughters to the room to hear the news: The king, queen, and prince were to host a ball at the royal palace. Every member of the kingdom was invited, and every maiden of marriageable age was especially encouraged to attend. The stepsisters began squealing and chattering in excitement. Their mother quieted them just long enough to announce, âTomorrow we go to town.â Turning to Marielle, with a thin smile, she added, âI will be ordering three new dresses from the tailorâs shop.â Marielleâs smile put the setting sun to shame.
Oh, what could be more perfect! Avellana thought. A ball! Even Marielleâs stepmother, it appeared, could not ignore a royal proclamation and would not deprive her of her right to go. A night of festivity for her, at last! A new dress for her, at last! (Marielle had had no new clothes since her father died â she simply added more and more patches to her childhood things as she grew or wore them out.) And once there, she could meet new people â perhaps a business owner to whom she could apprentice herself? Perhaps a young man to whom she could endear herself? Bah â she could even hide in some corridor until morning and then pass herself off as a palace servant. It would still be a better life than this. Yes, the ball would be not only her respite but her rescue. She would be happy, Avellana could rest easy, and all would be well.
Avellana did not visit again until the night of the ball. There was no doubt in her mind that she would see Marielle off into her new life, whatever form it took. She even considered granting her one last gift, a sort of farewell, and giddily wondered what it would be. When the time came, she would know what was right.
A hired coach sat in the road and the bustle of last-minute preparations filled the house. The front door opened and the two stepsisters sauntered to the coach in their new finery. But then Avellana heard the stepmotherâs voice coldly say âGoodnightâ before she followed them out. Of course â the third new gown had been for her! She had never intended to bring Marielle to the ball at all but pretended to simply to mock her! Avellana could have ripped both her wings off for not realizing it before. She wondered how long Marielle had known.
Not very, it appeared, or perhaps their departure simply reopened the wound, for as soon as the coach was out of sight, the back door burst open and Marielle ran from the house to the hazel tree, where she collapsed in tears. In the blink of an eye Avellana was standing over her, and it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around the shuddering figure.
ThisâŚthis was too much. Or rather, it had been too much from the beginning, and Avellana only now understood. The stepmother would never change. This must not continue...Her friendâs words of warning rang in her head, but Marielleâs cries were louder.
Avellana took a step back and thought. If she had her way she would transform the house into a palace of Marielleâs own, with full wardrobes and feather beds and gardens and menageries and banquets every night, and with the stepfamily forbidden to enter. If the fairy world had its way she would do nothing at all. There had to be something in between.
Marielle was still huddled against the tree, sniffling, by the time Avellana decided. So as not to frighten her, she stood about ten paces away. She summoned a rabbit from the wood to the base of the tree and waited for Marielle to notice it.
âHello there,â she said, wiping her eyes and trying to smile. âA little late for you to be out, isnât it?â Avellana called the rabbit back in her direction and Marielleâs eyes followed it. Just before they reached her, Avellana removed her layer of invisibility.
What she hadnât expected about allowing herself to be seen was how differently she would see. The moon and stars were covered by clouds this night, but even so - it was as if she had always looked at the human world through a veil, and now the veil was lifted. Perhaps in making herself visible she had already sealed her fate, but perhaps not. She was here not to do anything permanent, only to restore things to how they should have been in the first place. And Marielle deserved to know that it was due not to luck or chance, but because there was someone who chose it. Avellanaâs heart leapt as Marielleâs eyes met hers for the first time.
âOh, my dear girl.â The words were out before Avellana could stop them.
Marielle remained frozen in place, her eyes wide and jaw slack. âWho are you?â
Avellana had wondered about how to explain herself, but then she remembered a human word she had heard often over the years. She now only hoped she was not completely unworthy of it. âIâm your godmother.â
*
âIâŚhave a fairy for a godmother?â
Avellana could see the questions multiplying in her head and knew she had to stave them off. âWe havenât much time.â She moved toward her slowly. âDo you still wish to go to the ball?â
This broke her out of her awe. She looked down, almost embarrassed, then up, close to crying again. âMore than anything.â
âWell, then that is what you shall do!â
Marielle rose to her feet with caution, not taking her eyes from Avellana. âI have nothing to bargain w-â
âNo bargain. A gift.â She couldnât help but grin as Marielle blinked in confusion. âBut I cannot create out of nothing. Now...â She surveyed the yard. The largest thing in it was a pumpkin from the vegetable patch. âRoll that into the road for me, will you please?â
Marielle instantly obeyed, and Avellana chided herself for giving her yet another task. But the less she did herself the better, and she still had plenty to do. In the blink of an eye she was in the branches of the hazel tree. She woke one of the birds and sent it to sit on top of the pumpkin. Then she was in the garden and sent four mice and two hedgehogs to the road as well.
She joined Marielle and the odd assembly in the road and advised her to stand back. Then she commanded the pumpkin to grow and change. Its rind became gold, its vines curled into wheels, and it was soon a carriage grander than the one Marielleâs stepfamily had ridden away in. In the same way she turned the mice into horses to draw it, the bird into a human to drive it, and the hedgehogs into humans to serve as footmen.
Marielle was still gaping at this when Avellana said âNow you.â With a strong gust of wind she whisked every last bit of ash and grime from Marielleâs body and arranged her hair in a flattering style. Then she spoke to the threadbare clothing and bid it become a gold and silver gown that would be the finest at any fairy ball, let alone a human one. And the shoes â the shoes were her masterpiece. Marielleâs had deteriorated to thin straps of leather held in place by frayed strings. Avellana turned them into slippers made of glass and trimmed with gold, sparkling with every movement.
âItâs just a shame theyâll be hidden beneath the skirts,â Marielle said with admiration. She twirled about, poked one foot out from under the hem, twirled about again.
âA far greater beauty has been kept hidden and unappreciatedâŚMarielle,â Avellana added, for when was the last time she had heard herself called by her name? She stopped mid-twirl and blushed, smiling shyly.
Avellana began shepherding her toward the carriage. One of the former-hedgehog footmen opened the door with a pleasant if vacant expression. âNow, there is one more thing, very important. As the day begins anew so must everything else. At the twelfth stroke of midnight, all will return to its former state.â This was a common trick among fairies who liked toying with humans. The recipient of such a gift would go to sleep drunk on his good fortune and wake to find his pocketful of jewels (re)turned to pebbles. âYou must be out of sight when this happens.â This would still give Marielle hours at the ball, which she would surely put to good use. The evidence of Avellanaâs involvement would be destroyed, and there would be no witnesses (besides Marielle) of its destruction. Avellana started to feel hopeful. What grounds would there be to punish her?
Marielle nodded as the other foothog helped her into the carriage. âI promiseâŚand thank youâŚbutâŚwhy?â And Avellana knew she was not asking about the direction she had just been given.
Oh, of all the questions to slip out, this was the most difficult to answer! Avellana hesitated, then simply leaned through the carriage window and kissed her on the forehead. The two beamed at each other for a long moment, then Avellana whispered âGo.â
The bird-turned-driver heard her and the carriage glided off into the night. Avellana hid herself from sight once more â her own vision slightly clouded once more â and followed it all the way to the palace, every now and again looking in to see Marielle watch the village rush past her or soothe her happy nerves by smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress. By the time they arrived everyone else was inside and had been for some time. Marielle stayed in the carriage to take a few deep breaths, then burst out and strode up the palace steps with joyful determination.
The grand ballroom was full to the brim, with only just enough empty space in the center for dancing. Avellana noticed several fairies along the back walls and in corners and tried to carry herself as blithely as any of them. Marielle moved through the crowd, leaving a trail of turned heads and whispers in her wake. Nobody recognized the beautiful latecomer in the stunning dress, but she greeted everyone who met her eyes â âHello!â âBeautiful night, isnât it?â âWhat a lovely cravat!â â as she made her way to the buffet.
She stood at the table sampling every dish, swaying to the music and taking in the grandeur of the room and its occupants. As she reached for the last pastry on one of the trays, her hand collided with another. She looked up to see a young man on the other side of the table, looking at her. For a moment they both completely forgot about the food.
ââŚOh! â"
âPardon me, I â"
Each insisted the other have the pastry until Marielle took it and tore it down the middle, a thread of chocolate cream stretching between the two halves. She offered one to him and he took it, laughing. When both halves were eaten, he asked if she would care to dance.
They were inseparable the rest of the night. They were partners for the next dozen dances, until he noticed more than a few envious pairs of eyes on them. Then he offered to show her the palace gardens. On the way he asked a servant to notify his mother and father that he had stepped out for air. The servant answered âYes, Your Highnessâ, which was how Marielle learned that she had caught the eye of the prince.
Avellana was exultant. Marielle deserved nothing less, and she looked happier than Avellana had ever seen her. She kept watch over the pair as they strolled past lush flowerbeds and navigated the hedge maze. They remained hand-in-hand even after sitting to rest beneath a statue of one or another of his ancestors.
None of them realized how much time was passing until the palace clock tower began the first of twelve chimes signaling midnight.
Marielle sprang up, stammered out a few apologetic words, and took off running for the main entrance. The prince sat stunned and confused for a few seconds, then tried to follow, but Marielle had a head start and the gap between them only widened.
Tears of panic and regret were already glinting in her eyes. The clock tower was the oldest structure in the kingdom and it would be almost a minute before its bells sounded twelve times, which helped, but not by much. Her dress, her carriage â everything was going to dissolve into nothing and leave her a stranded cinder-girl once more. She could only hope the kindest, most charming man she had ever met didnât see it happen. As she sped down the palace steps she felt herself lose one of her shoes but simply continued, now lopsided, until she reached the golden carriage. It was rolling away before the prince even reached the top of the steps.
Oh! â bless her obedient little heart!! Avellana thought in anxious frustration. Marielle was going right back to that house, right back to that life, and it would weigh on her all the more now that she had tasted something different. The prince didnât know where to find her, and even if he did, the night was so dim and she was so changed â would he even recognize her? And yet it was all Avellanaâs fault anyway - what else would she have had Marielle do? The clock was already on its tenth chime, and there was no telling what would have come from the dress returning to rags in front of the prince and the entire assembly. As it was, she would have to make sure he didnât notice the lost shoe on the stairs transforming back into scraps of leather.
UnlessâŚ
The clock struck eleven.
Unless it didnât.
Yes. The slipper was the answer. No one else in the kingdom had its like. No one else had left the ball so early. He would see it and know it had been lost by the lady he had lost. He would organize a search. Once the shoe found its partner, so would the wearer.
The stroke of midnight rang out. With all her might the fairy ordered both slippers to never return to leather, to never become lost or stolen from Marielle or the prince, and to never, never break.
*
In the blink of an eye and a flash of light, Avellana felt her connection to the fairy world severed forever, the veil not only lifted again but torn to shreds.
Well.
âŚShe could attend to that later. But had she done it for nothing? Or had the prince found the slipper? She waited for the light to fade so she could look.
When it didnât, she realized with mounting horror that it was the sun, which meant it was noon, which meant she was on the other side of the world. As her (human!) eyes adjusted, she saw that she was at a bustling marketplace, filled with people wearing clothes she had never seen before and speaking in a language she didnât understand. She had been dropped at its edge, where busy shoppers and vendors didnât notice her sudden appearance.
She half-sat, half-collapsed onto the ground. She could see the logic of it. Remove her from the place where she had already done so much meddling. Give the humans no sign, no explanation, no reward if they tried to investigate. Let them give up and forget. Remain safely undetected. Let her serve as a warning to other fairies be more careful than she had.
The marketplace was near a river. She crawled to its bank, already feeling faint beneath the sun. As she drank she caught her reflection. She was surprised to see that she still looked like herself, and yet her self looked ridiculous in this place. Her robes were already staining with dirt and sweat and the flowers in her hair were already wilting. And her wings, her beautiful wings were gone completely! She drew back to the scant shade of the nearest tree and stayed there until dusk, until nightfall, until the next morning.
Not knowing where else to go, Avellana stayed at the marketplace for weeks. Occasionally a passerby would give her a bit of food or a few coins. Eventually she had picked up enough of the language to earn more by performing small chores for the various vendors â making deliveries and such. Some were kind, others were harsh, but none were even close to Marielleâs stepmother. A merchant who was the stepmotherâs opposite in practically every way brought Avellana to his house to join a team of servants. Slowly she learned to cook and wash and mend. She thought of Marielle every day, wondering if she was doing these same tasks or if she escaped her stepfamily. If she was happy.
Avellana preferred the time she spent minding the children. She even assisted with the birth of the youngest, an experience which made every birth she had witnessed as a fairy feel like a barely-remembered dream. The other women told stories to the children and each other as they worked, stories of hapless heroes and cruel tyrants and supernatural creatures, invented on the spot and repeated if they were well-liked. In this way, Avellana felt it safe to share tales from her former life. Everyoneâs favorite, though, was the one about the kind and beautiful young woman forced to work as a cinder-girl, who was ultimately rescued and married a prince. Though Avellana knew her words no longer held that kind of power, she would lie down at night, waiting to fall asleep, begging the story to be true.
Things went on in that way for many years. The merchantâs children grew and founded households of their own. Just as Avellana thought she was accustomed to life as a human, she found herself becoming weary more easily and ill more often. She had a store of coins she had saved over the years, in hope of what she now decided she would finally have to try. She ventured to the town library and pored over its collection of maps. She bid farewell to the merchantâs family. She followed the river for months, her coins dwindling as she stopped for food and lodging. At last she reached a port. She asked carefully for every shipâs destination, found what she sought, and secured a place in the galley on a vessel bound for Marielleâs kingdom.
The voyage was long and the work was rough. When she stumbled onto land at its end she nearly wept for joy at the sight of the palace far in the distance. It was still the work of some days to walk there, but something deep within her urged her forward. On a fair, mild day she arrived just as the clock tower was striking noon, which turned out to be not a moment too soon or too late. There, among the dozens of people moving through the grounds, was Marielle, with the man who she met as the prince but who now wore the crest and the crown of a king. They walked hand-in-hand, just as they had done in the gardens all those years ago. Surrounding them were children, many nearly grown. ThisâŚthis was enough.
Avellana turned to go, she knew or cared not where, but she was only a few steps from the palace gates when she felt her strength spent and fell to the ground.
She heard commotion behind her but could not even turn her head to look. She heard a manâs voice commanding that the gates be opened, she heard two sets of footsteps rapidly approaching, she heard another man say something about âjust a beggarâ and she heard her Marielleâs voice bidding him be silent. A pair of hands turned Avellana onto her back and there she was, staring down in concern. Changed as they both were by the years and so much else, the concern in her eyes turned to astonishment and recognition. âYou!â
She told her husband to bring the children inside. She also told a guard to fetch the physician, but as she looked back down at Avellana she seemed to lose confidence in the idea. Gently as she could, Marielle helped Avellana to sit slightly up, her head resting in her lap.
âThank you,â Avellana said, her voice crackling like a dwindling fire.
Marielle shook her head, tears filling her eyes. âThank youâŚI ââ
âShhh.â Avellana gave a smile. She caught sight of Marielle returning it just as her eyes were starting to flutter closed.
Marielle kissed the old woman on the forehead, looked up to the heavens, and whispered, âWatch over herâŚlet her be happy.â
I have hope that she was heard.
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A Love as Red as Blood
Storge
Blanchetteâs point of view, age eight
Grandmother is sick. To clarify, Grandmother has been sick for a long while. Ever sinceâŚ
âWear this Cloak, my little Blanchette. Can you do that for me?âÂ
âYes, Grandma.â
âGood girl.â
Grandmother needs food, and Mother is very busy. So I must wear my Cloak. I must not leave the path. I must not talk to anyone. Grandmother is sick, and I must deliver her food.
The woods are dangerous. Wolves and Wolf-Men prowl within its darkness and await whatever prey is foolish enough to enter into their domain.Â
But Grandmother is sick.Â
I take up my basket, fasten my Cloak, and set my feet on the road.Â
~*~
The Cloak of Gold and Fire. It is a heavy thing, both in physical weight and its burden upon the wearer. Passed down with great ceremony from one bearer (always a Daughter) to the next. It is said to have protective abilities for whoever wears it, to bring good luck to the land its wearer sets foot upon.Â
Stories have been told of it rejecting some who would have worn it. Stories of it turning into fire that burned the hands of those who attempted to steal it. So many stories surround the Cloak; some true, some terrible, some good.Â
Blanchette prefers the good ones. The ones her Mother and Grandmother told her at bedtime. The ones that make her feel safe when she cuddles into her Cloak. The ones that remind her that she is loved. Â
Regardless of what story you hear, one fact remains certain: the Cloak has a value not conceivable by mortal eyes, and should be valued above measure.Â
Wars have been fought for the right to obtain the Cloak. Â
Such wars brought ruin to many lands. For those who unduly go to war for such a great thing often find themselves cursed by it: the Cloak is not a thing to be hoarded away.Â
And thus the Cloak was âlostâ. The Daughters of the Cloak went into hiding for a time.  Â
Many witches and other such sorts would craft their own cloak and pretend they were a Daughter of the Cloak. Some were deceived by these women, but always they were found out and met their gruesome ends. The Cloak is not a thing to be faked.Â
And so the Cloak lived on, passed down as it always had been.Â
Blanchetteâs Grandmother called for her on her fourth birthday and showed her the Cloak. Blanchette knew at once it was the Cloak, having heard the stories all her life, and wondered that anyone could mistake any other for it.Â
The Cloak is ornately designed, and double-sided. One side is red as fire; red as blood. The other side is golden as the sun. The wearer can choose which side they wish to show to the world, the gold or the red.Â
When Blanchetteâs Mother fastened the Cloak around her small shoulders for the first time (Grandmother being too weak to properly fasten it) the red side faced outwards. And there Blanchette had stood, about waist-height to all the adults in the room, utterly enveloped by a blood-red Cloak so big on her that she could have used it for a tent.Â
And she was safe.Â
But safety is not always guaranteed, and adventures must always start somewhere.Â
~*~
Philia
On Blanchetteâs first journey through the forest separating her village from her grandmothers, she met a boy. Â
Not just any boy, but a Wolf-Son. Wolf-Men are men (criminals, it is often whispered) who make their living in the wild forest. They are not to be trusted.Â
But this Wolf-Son was just a young boy, and she was just a young girl. He walked alongside her on the path and they were made friends. When they had to part ways as Blanchette exited the forest, he offered her a handful of red carnations.Â
âRhory. Thatâs my name.â the Wolf-Son says abruptly after handing her the flowers. He doesnât quite meet Blanchetteâs eyes as he speaks. âI wish you well on your journey. And I hope-â he stops, as if mustering courage, then continues. âI hope you like the flowers!â
I hope I shall see him again, Blanchette thinks to herself, absently smelling the red carnations he had given her. He was quite fun to talk to.
After that day, whenever Blanchette ventured on the path through the forest, Rhory walked with her.Â
~*~
Blanchetteâs point of view, age twelve
âHalt!â A voice commands, and a tall figure steps out from behind a tree ahead of us. We stop. The figure is that of a man and he bears no markings as a Wolf-Mam. His stance is imposing and searching, as if he is daring us to take a step closer and find out what he can do to us with his bare hands. âWhy are two children traveling alone in the forest?â Before we have a chance to answer, he looks us both up and down and his eyes narrow as if he does not like what he sees. âWho are you?â He demands again.Â
I step forward. âHe is Rhory, a Wolf-Son. My friend. I am Blanchette, a Daughter of the Cloak.â
âI know a Wolf-Son when I see one, lass.â He says gruffly, suspicion lurking in the downturned corner of his mouth. Beside me, Rhory ducks his head in shame and I feel fire stir within me. âBut a Daughter of the Cloak is not so easily determined by sight.â The man continues, eyeing my Cloak distrustfully, perhaps to determine if he thinks it fake or stolen. I swallow my anger -it would do me no good to appear as a child throwing a tantrum to this strange man- and straighten ever so slightly to perhaps seem taller and more mature. To make it seem as though the Cloak I wear is not almost too large for my childish frame and dragging along the forest floor.
But what of it, if my Cloak is slightly too big? Does it not cover me all the better for it?
âI inherited the Cloak from my Grandmother.â I say, careful to keep my tone both respectful and confident. Â
The manâs eyebrows raise. âYour Grandmother.â he says, doubt coloring his words. âAnd where is she?â
âShe is at home. I am going to see her now.â She has been at home for a long time, sick. That is why she passed down the Cloak to me so early.Â
The man hums doubtfully. âAnd how do I know youâre not just a thief?âÂ
âHas the Cloak ever submitted to being worn by someone not of it?â I ask, only slightly petulantly.Â
The man shifts back, seemingly satisfied if no less grumpy for it. âI concede you that, miss. But better itâd be for you to keep yourself and the Cloak away from those who might have a want to snatch it.â He looks pointedly at Rhory, and my face flushes in anger. Â
I take Rhoryâs hand in my own and practically stomp away from the stupid man and his stupid words, muttering unkind things under my breath.Â
âDonât listen to stupid men like him, Rhory.â I say once Iâve quite recovered myself. The man must be miles behind us now. Â
Rhory tilts his head at me, a small smile gracing his lips. âHow could I listen to him when all I can hear is you mocking him?â He laughs, and I have to remind myself that he is laughing at me and that his laugh is not cute why would I think that.
âWell!â I sputter, red returning to my face as it did earlier for a far different reason. âHe was being rude! And mean!â
Rhory shakes his head. âOverall he wasnât that bad. Iâve heard worse.â
The silence lingers for a moment. âYou shouldnât have to, you know.â I say quietly.Â
Rhory shrugs. âEh, well. You shouldnât have to walk through the forest alone, yet here we are.âÂ
I blink. I think of my Grandmother, ill these last eight years of my life, yet always so grateful when I go visit her. I think of my Mother, always so harried and busy with a neverending list of things to do, yet always pausing her work to give me a smile or press a kiss to my head.Â
Yes, I may walk the path alone, but their love walks with me. And besidesâŚÂ I lift my and Rhoryâs still-clasped hands.Â
âBut Iâm not alone, see!â I say, âYouâre here with me, arenât you?â
He smiles at me again, and my heart flutters the teensiest amount. âThat I am!â
I nod fiercely. âAnd thatâs the way it should be.â Suddenly possessed by a spirit of mischief, I let go of his hand and take off at a run. âRace you to the forestâs edge!â
âBlanchette!â he exclaims, and I laugh at his dismayed cries from behind me. He quickly catches up, however, and soon overtakes me, every now and then slowing down just enough to tease me. Both of us are laughing and out of breath when we part ways. Â
~*~
In some stories, Little Red Riding Hood walks the path alone.Â
She does not meet a friend.Â
And the Wolf invades Grandmotherâs home
But for this Daughter of the Cloak, I like to think she has a better end.Â
Knowing that she carries the love of her family with her
And holding the hand of a friend.Â
@inklings-challenge
Hey! Itâs a bit of a mess and kinda unfinished but here it is!
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A Wise Pair of Fools: A Retelling of âThe Farmerâs Clever Daughterâ
For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge.
Faith
I wish you could have known my husband when he was a young man. How you would have laughed at him! He was so wonderfully pompousâoh, youâd have no idea unless youâd seen him then. Heâs weathered beautifully, but back then, his beauty was bright and new, all bronze and ebony. He tried to pretend he didnât care for personal appearances, but you could tell he felt his beauty. How could a man not be proud when he looked like one of creationâs freshly polished masterpieces every time he stepped out among his dirty, sweaty peasantry?
But his pride in his face was nothing compared to the pride he felt over his mind. He was clever, even then, and he knew it. Heâd grown up with an army of nursemaids to exclaim, âWhat a clever boy!â over every mildly witty observation he made. Heâd been tutored by some of the greatest scholars on the continent, attended the great universities, traveled further than most people think the world extends. He could converse like a native in fifteen living languages and at least three dead ones.
And books! Never a man like him for reading! His library was nothing to what it is now, of course, but he was making a heroic start. Always a book in his hand, written by some dusty old man who never said in plain language what he could dress up in words that brought four times the work to some lucky printer. Every second breath he took came out as a quotation. It fairly baffled his poor servantsâIâm certain to this day some of them assume Plato and Socrates were college friends of his.
Well, at any rate, take a man like thatâbeautiful and over-educatedâand make him king over an entire nationâhowever smallâbefore he turns twenty-five, and youâve united all earthly blessings into one impossibly arrogant being.
Unfortunately, Alistairâs pomposity didnât keep him properly aloof in his palace. Heâd picked up an idea from one of his old books that he should be like one of the judge-kings of old, walking out among his people to pass judgment on their problems, giving the inferior masses the benefit of all his twenty-four years of wisdom. Itâs all right to have a royal patron, but he was so patronizing. Just as if we were all children and he was our benevolent father. It wasnât strange to see him walking through the markets or looking over the fieldsâhe always managed to look like he floated a step or two above the common ground the rest of us walked onâand we heard stories upon stories of his judgments. He was decisive, opinionated. Always thought he had a better way of doing things. Was always thinking two and ten and twelve steps ahead until a poor manâs head would be spinning from all the ways the king found to see through him. Half the time, I wasnât sure whether to fear the man or laugh at him. I usually laughed.
So then you can see how the story of the mortarâwhat do you mean youâve never heard it? You could hear it ten times a night in any tavern in the country. I tell it myself at least once a week! Everyone in the palace is sick to death of it!
Oh, this is going to be a treat! Do you know how long itâs been since Iâve had a fresh audience?
It happened like this. It was spring of the year I turned twenty-one. Father plowed up a field that had lain fallow for some years, with some new-fangled deep-cutting plow that our book-learned king had inflicted upon a peasantry that was baffled by his scientific talk. Father was plowing near a river when he uncovered a mortar made of solid gold. You know, a mortarâthe thing with the pestle, for grinding things up. Donât ask me why on earth a goldsmith would make such a thingâthe worldâs full of men with too much money and not enough sense, and housefuls of servants willing to take too-valuable trinkets off their hands. Someone decades ago had swiped this one and apparently found my fatherâs farm so good a hiding place that they forgot to come back for it.
Anyhow, my father, like the good tenant he was, understood that as heâd found a treasure on the kingâs land, the right thing to do was to give it to the king. He was all aglow with his noble purpose, ready to rush to the palace at first light to do his duty by his liege lord.
I hope you can see the flaw in his plan. A man like Alistair, certain of his own cleverness, careful never to be outwitted by his peasantry? Come to a man like that with a solid gold mortar, and his first questionâs going to beâŚ?
Thatâs right. âWhereâs the pestle?â
I tried to tell Father as much, but heâdear, sweet, innocent manâsaw only his simple duty and went forth to fulfill it. He trotted into the kingâs throne roomâit was his public dayâall smiles and eagerness.
Alistair took one look at him and saw a peasant tickled to death that he was pulling a fast one on the kingâgiving up half the kingâs rightful treasure in the hopes of keeping the other half and getting a fat reward besides.
Alistair tore into my fatherâhis tongue was much sharper thenâtaking his argument to pieces until Father half-believed he had hidden away the pestle somewhere, probably after stealing both pieces himself. In his confusion, Father looked even guiltier, and Alistair ordered his guard to drag Father off to the dungeons until they could arrange a proper hearingâand, inevitably, a hanging.
As they dragged him to his doom, my father had the good sense to say one coherent phrase, loud enough for the entire palace to hear. âIf only I had listened to my daughter!â
Alistair, for all his brains, hadnât expected him to say something like that. He had Father brought before him, and questioned him until he learned the whole story of how Iâd urged Father to bury the mortar again and not say a word about it, so as to prevent this very scene from occurring.
About five minutes after that, I knocked over a butter churn when four soldiers burst into my fatherâs farmhouse and demanded I go with them to the castle. I made them clean up the mess, then put on my best dress and did up my hairâin those days, it was thick and golden, and fell to my ankles when unboundâand after traveling to the castle, I went, trembling, up the aisle of the throne room.
Alistair had made an effort that morning to look extra handsome and extra kingly. He still has robes like those, all purple and gold, but the way they set off his black hair and sharp cheekbones that dayâIâve never seen anything like it. He looked half-divine, the spirit of judgment in human form. At the moment, I didnât feel like laughing at him.
Looming on his throne, he asked me, âIs it true that you advised this man to hide the kingâs rightful property from him?â (Alistair hates it when I imitate his voiceâbut isnât it a good impression?)
I said yes, it was true, and Alistair asked me why Iâd done such a thing, and I said I had known this disaster would result, and he asked how I knew, and I said (and I think itâs quite good), that this is what happens when you have a king whoâs too clever to be anything but stupid.
Naturally, Alistair didnât like that answer a bit, but Iâd gotten on a roll, and it was my turn to give him a good tongue-lashing. What kind of king did he think he was, who could look at a man as sweet and honest as my father and suspect him of a crime? Alistair was so busy trying to see hidden lies that he couldnât see the truth in front of his face. So determined not to be made a fool of that he was making himself into one. If he persisted in suspecting everyone who tried to do him a good turn, no one would be willing to do much of anything for him. And so on and so forth.
You might be surprised at my boldness, but I had come into that room not expecting to leave it without a rope around my neck, so I intended to speak my mind while I had the chance. The strangest thing was that Alistair listened, and as he listened, he lost some of that righteous arrogance until he looked almost human. And the end of it all was that he apologized to me!
Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that! I didnât faint, but I came darn close. That arrogant, determined young king, admitting to a simple farmerâs daughter that heâd been wrong?
He did more than admit itâhe made amends. He let Father keep the mortar, and then bought it from him at its full value. Then he gifted Father the farm where we lived, making us outright landowners. After the close of the dayâs hearings, he even invited us to supper with him, and I found that King Alistair wasnât a half-bad conversational partner. Some of those books he read sounded almost interesting.
For a year after that, Alistair kept finding excuses to come by the farm. He would check on Fatherâs progress and baffle him with advice. We ran into each other in the street so often that I began to expect it wasnât mere chance. Weâd talk books, and farming, and sharpen our wits on each other. Weâd do wordplay, puzzles, tongue-twisters. A game, but somehow, I always thought, some strange sort of test.
Would you believe, even his proposal was a riddle? Yes, an actual riddle! One spring morning, I came across Alistair on a corner of my father's land, and he got down on one knee, confessed his love for me, and set me a riddle. He had the audacity to look into the face of the woman he lovedâme!âand tell me that if I wanted to accept his proposal, I would come to him at his palace, not walking and not riding, not naked and not dressed, not on the road and not off it.
Do you know, I think he actually intended to stump me with it? For all his claim to love me, he looked forward to baffling me! He looked so sure of himselfâas if all his book-learning couldnât be beat by just a bit of common sense.
If Iâd really been smart, I suppose Iâd have run in the other direction, but, oh, I wanted to beat him so badly. I spent about half a minute solving the riddle and then went off to make my preparations.
The next morning, I came to the castle just like he asked. Neither walking nor ridingâI tied myself to the old farm mule and let him half-drag me. Neither on the road nor off itâonly one foot dragging in a wheel rut at the end. Neither naked nor dressedâmerely wrapped in a fishing net. Oh, donât look so shocked! There was so much rope around me that you could see less skin than Iâm showing now.
If Iâd hoped to disappoint Alistair, well, I was disappointed. He radiated joy. Iâd never seen him truly smile before that momentâit was incandescent delight. He swept me in his arms, gave me a kiss without a hint of calculation in it, then had me taken off to be properly dressed, and we were married within a week.
It was a wonderful marriage. We got along beautifullyâat least until the next time I outwitted him. But I wonât bore you with that story againâ
You donât know that one either? Where have you been hiding yourself?
Oh, I couldnât possibly tell you that one. Not if itâs your first time. Itâs much better the way Alistair tells it.
What time is it?
Perfect! Heâs in his library just now. Go there and ask him to tell you the whole thing.
Yes, right now! What are you waiting for?
Alistair
Faith told you all that, did she? And sent you to me for the rest? That woman! Itâs just like her! She thinks I have nothing better to do than sit around all day and gossip about our courtship!
Where are you going? I never said I wouldnât tell the story! Honestly, does no one have brains these days? Sit down!
Yes, yes, anywhere you like. One chairâs as good as anotherâI built this room for comfort. Do you take tea? I can ring for a trayâthe story tends to run long.
Well, Iâll ring for the usual, and you can help yourself to whatever you like.
Iâm sure Faith has given you a colorful picture of what I was like as a young man, and sheâs not totally inaccurate. Iâd had wealth and power and too much education thrown on me far too young, and I thought my blessings made me better than other men. My own father had been the type of man who could be fooled by every silver-tongued charlatan in the land, so I was sensitive and suspicious, determined to never let another man outwit me.
When Faith came to her fatherâs defense, it was like my entire self came crumbling down. Suddenly, I wasnât the wise king; I was a cruel and foolish boyâbut Faith made me want to be better. That day was the start of my fascination with her, and my courtship started in earnest not long after.
The riddle? Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Faith tends to skip over the explanations there. A riddleâs an odd proposal, but I thought it was brilliant at the time, and I still think it wasnât totally wrong-headed. I wasnât just finding a wife, you see, but a queen. Riddles have a long history in royal courtships. I spent weeks laboring over mine. I had some idea of a symbolic proposalâeach element indicating how sheâd straddle two worlds to be with me. But more than that, I wanted to see if Faith could move beyond binary thinkingâlook beyond two opposites to see the third option between. Kings and queens have to do that more often than youâd thinkâŚ
No, Iâm sorry, it is a bit dull, isnât it? I guess thereâs a reason Faith skips over the explanations.
So to return to the point: no matter what Faith tells you, I always intended for her to solve the riddle. I wouldnât have married her if she hadnâtâbut I wouldnât have asked if Iâd had the least doubt sheâd succeed. The moment she came up that road was the most ridiculous spectacle youâd ever hope to see, but I had never known such ecstasy. Sheâd solved every piece of my riddle, in just the way Iâd intended. She understood my mind and gained my heart. Oh, it was glorious.
Those first weeks of marriage were glorious, too. Youâd think itâd be an adjustment, turning a farmerâs daughter into a queen, but it was like Faith had been born to the role. Manners are just a set of rules, and Faith has a sharp mind for memorization, and itâs not as though weâre a large kingdom or a very formal court. She had a good mind for politics, and was always willing to listen and learn. I was immensely proud of myself for finding and catching the perfect wife.
Youâre smarter than I wasâyou can see where I was going wrong. But back then, I didnât see a cloud in the sky of our perfect happiness until the storm struck.
It seemed like such a small thing at the time. I was looking over the fields of some nearby villagesâfarming innovations were my chief interest at the time. There were so many fascinating developments in those days. Iâve an entire shelf full of texts if youâre interestedâ
The story, yes. My apologies. The offer still stands.
Anyway, I was out in the fields, and it was well past the midday hour. I was starving, and more than a little overheated, so we were on our way to a local inn for a bit of food and rest. Just as I was at my most irritable, these farmersâ wives show up, shrilly demanding judgment in a case of theirs. Iâd become known for making those on-the-spot decisions. Iâd thought it was an efficient use of government resourcesâas long as I was out with the people, I could save them the trouble of complicated procedures with the courtsâbut Iâd never regretted taking up the practice as heartily as I did in this moment.
The case was like this: one farmerâs horse had recently given birth, and the foal had wandered away from its mother and onto the neighborâs property, where it laid down underneath an ox that was at pasture, and the second farmer thought this gave him a right to keep it. There were questions of fences and boundaries and who-owed-who for different trades going back at least a couple of decadesâthose women were determined to bring every past grievance to light in settling this case.
Well, it didnât take long for me to lose what little patience I had. I snapped at both women and told them that my decision was that the foal could very well stay where it was.
Not my most reasoned decision, but it wasnât totally baseless. I had common law going back centuries that supported such a ruling. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all. It wasn't as though a single foal was worth so much fuss. I went off to my meal and thought that was the end of it.
Iâd forgotten all about it by the time I returned to the same village the next week. My man and I were crossing the bridge leading into the town when we found the road covered by a fishing net. An old man sat by the side of the road, shaking and casting the net just as if he were laying it out for a catch.
âWhat do you think youâre doing, obstructing a public road like this?â I asked him.
The man smiled genially at me and replied, âFishing, majesty.â
I thought perhaps the man had a touch of sunstroke, so I was really rather kind when I explained to him how impossible it was to catch fish in the roadway.
The man just replied, âItâs no more impossible than an ox giving birth to a foal, majesty.â
He said it like heâd been coached, and it didnât take long for me to learn that my wife was behind it all. The farmerâs wife whoâd lost the foal had come to Faith for help, and my wife had advised the farmer to make the scene Iâd described.
Oh, was I livid! Instead of coming to me in private to discuss her concerns about the ruling, Faith had made a public spectacle of me. She encouraged my own subjects to mock me! This was what came of making a farm girl into a queen! Sheâd live in my house and wear my jewels, and all the time she was laughing up her sleeve at me while she incited my citizens to insurrection! Before long, none of my subjects would respect me. Iâd lose my crown, and the kingdom would fall to piecesâ
I worked myself into a fine frenzy, thinking such things. At the time, I thought myself perfectly reasonable. I had identified a threat to the kingdomâs stability, and I would deal with it. The moment I came home, I found Faith and declared that the marriage was dissolved. âIf you prefer to side with the farmers against your own husband,â I told her, âyou can go back to your fatherâs house and live with them!â
It was quite the tantrum. Iâm proud to say Iâve never done anything so shameful since.
To my surprise, Faith took it all silently. None of the fire that she showed in defending her father against me. Faith had this way, back then, where she could look at a man and make him feel like an utter fool. At that moment, she made me feel like a monster. I was already beginning to regret what I was doing, but it was buried under so much anger that I barely realized it, and my pride wouldnât allow me to back down so easily from another decision.
After I said my piece, Faith quietly asked if she was to leave the palace with nothing.
I couldnât reverse what Iâd decided, but I could soften it a bit.
âYou may take one keepsake,â I told her. âTake the one thing you love best from our chambers.â
I thought I was clever to make the stipulation. Knowing Faith, sheâd have found some way to move the entire palace and count it as a single item. I had no doubt sheâd take the most expensive and inconvenient thing she could, but there was nothing in that set of rooms I couldnât afford to lose.
Or so I thought. No doubt youâre beginning to see that Faith always gets the upper hand in a battle of wits.
I kept my distance that eveningâlet myself stew in resentment so I couldnât regret what Iâd done. I kept to my libraryânot this one, the little one upstairs in our suiteâtrying to distract myself with all manner of books, and getting frustrated when I found I wanted to share pieces of them with Faith. I was downright relieved when a maid came by with a tea tray. I drank my usual three cups so quickly I barely tasted themâand I passed out atop my desk five minutes later.
Yes, Faith had arranged for the teaâand sheâd drugged me!
I came to in the pink light of early dawn, my head feeling like it had been run over by a military caravan. My wits were never as slow as they were that morning. I laid stupidly for what felt like hours, wondering why my bed was so narrow and lumpy, and why the walls of the room were so rough and bare, and why those infernal birds were screaming half an inch from my open window.
By the time I had enough strength to sit up, I could see that I was in the bedroom of a farmerâs cottage. Faith was standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise, wearing the dress sheâd worn the first day I met her. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in golden waves all the way to her ankles. My heart leapt at the sightâher hair was one of the wonders of the world in those days, and I was so glad to see her when I felt so illâuntil I remembered the events of the previous day, and was too confused and ashamed to have room for any other thoughts or feelings.
âFaith?â I asked. âWhy are you here? Where am I?â
âMy fatherâs home,â Faith replied, her eyes downcastâI think itâs the only time in her life she was ever bashful. âYou told me I could take the one thing I loved best.â
Can I explain to you how my heart leapt at those words? There had never been a mind or a heart like my wifeâs! It was like the moment sheâd come to save her fatherâshe made me feel a fool and feel glad for the reminder. Iâd made the same mistake both timesâlet my head get in the way of my heart. She never made that mistake, thank heaven, and it saved us both.
Do you have something you want to add, Faith, darling? Donât pretend I canât see you lurking in the stacks and laughing at me! Iâll get as sappy as I like! If you think you can do it better, come out in the open and finish this story properly!
Faith
You tell it so beautifully, my darling fool boy, but if you insistâ
I was forever grateful Dinah took that tea to Alistair. I couldnât believe he hadnât seen the loophole in his wordsâI was so afraid heâd see my ploy coming and stop me. But his wits were so blessedly dull that day. It was like outwitting a child.
When at last he came to, I was terrified. He had cast me out because Iâd outwitted him, and now here I was again, thinking another clever trick would make everything well.
Fortunately, Alistair was marvelousâsaw my meaning in an instant. Sometimes he can be almost clever.
After that, whatâs there to tell? We made up our quarrel, and then some. Alistair brought me back to the palace in high honorsâit was wonderful, the way he praised me and took so much blame on himself.
(You were really rather too hard on yourself, darlingâIâd done more than enough to make any man rightfully angry. Taking you to Fatherâs house was my chance to apologize.)
Alistair paid the farmer for the loss of his foal, paid for the mending of the fence that had led to the trouble in the first place, and straightened out the legal tangles that had the neighbors at each othersâ throats.
After that, things returned much to the way theyâd been before, except that Alistair was careful never to think himself into such troubles again. Weâve gotten older, and I hope wiser, and between our quarrels and our reconciliations, weâve grown into quite the wise pair of lovestruck fools. Take heed from it, whenever you marryâitâs good to have a clever spouse, but make sure you have one whoâs willing to be the fool every once in a while.
Trust me. It works out for the best.
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Maybelle and the Beast
My contribution to the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This was my back-up idea for last year, so I was excited to have an excuse to finally write it out! Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, and I have a feeling I may revisit this particular version again in the future, because I could definitely turn this into a novel ;) I'll admit to taking a lot of inspiration from Robin McKinley's retellings of this fairy tale.
Maybelle stared at the tall, imposing mahogany door. She felt just as reluctant to open it as if it had been the barred portal to a dungeonâlike the cold stone chamber she'd explored early on in her stay here, which she expected had been a dungeon once but was now a wine cellar.
More to stall for time than anything else, Maybelle brushed off her rust red skirt and straightened her collar. It was a nervous habit, but in a way it also served to remind her of why she was here, because of who had given her these clothes. Days, weeks, months in this huge, empty mansion, alone except for one companion. The companion who had slammed this very door not half an hour ago.
Taking a deep breath, Maybelle knocked firmly on the door.
âGo 'way,â a muffled voice growled out to her.
Letting out her breath again in an impatient huff, Maybelle crossed her arms. âAre you still sulking, Agnes?â
âI am not sulking,â the voice insisted sulkily.
âRight. You're lying in bed at three in the afternoon, glaring a hole in the ceiling, for your health.â
After a heavy silence, a loud click told her the key had turned in the hole. Taking that as an invitation, Maybelle opened the door and stepped inside.
The heavy drapes had been pulled closed, leaving the bedroom in a stuffy half-light. The only illumination came from the embers of the fire dying in the fireplace. She could barely even make out the silhouette of a large bulk lying in the huge four-poster. It was like stepping into a sickroom.
Rolling her eyes at the drama of it all, Maybelle closed the door with a snap and made a beeline for the window closest to the fireplace. She pulled the curtains aside, letting a band of lazy afternoon sunlight stretch across the carpet, revealing the twisting patterns of vines and roses. After a moment's consideration, Maybelle decided not to open the curtains of the other window nearest the bed. Best not to annoy Agnes any further with a sunbeam in her eyes. She would probably just wave her hand and make the curtains close, then stick together so Maybelle couldn't open them again. Instead, Maybelle contented herself with throwing the window open and letting in the delicious scents of flowers and the buzzing of bees from the gardens.
âThere,â she said, drawing in a deep breath of the fresh smell of spring. âMuch better.â
With a grunt, the huge lump on the bed rolled over.
Maybelle walked up to the foot of the bed and stood there with her hands on her hips, just waiting. How strange, to remember how frightened she had been the first time she'd ventured into this room. Or how her knees had nearly given out the first time she'd dared to meet the gaze of the terrible Beast who was to be her captor.
It had been months since she'd ceased to be the Beast, and became instead...simply Agnes.
âWell?â Maybelle said, when it became clear Agnes wasn't about to break the silence. âAren't we going to at least talk about this?â
The long tail lying on top of the blue bedspread flicked irritably, like a huge cat's. âWhat's to talk about?â Agnes retorted, her voice grumbling like a motorcar in her massive chest. âClearly, you don't care what happens to me, as long as you get to go have fun without me.â
Closing her eyes for a moment, Maybelle sent up a silent prayer for patience. âWell, for starters,â she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she'd intended, âyou called me an awful lot of horrid names, and I thought perhaps you might want to apologize.â
A long, pregnant pause. Finally, with a long-suffering groan from the bed, Agnes rolled over onto her back, her arms tucked up against her chest almost like a dog waiting for a belly rub. The long, black skirt did little to hide her bowed legs ending in sharp claws, and from this angle, her long saber teeth and curled goat-like horns were no longer hidden in her mountain of pillows.
Agnes sighed in resignation. âSorry for calling you a selfish, bird-brained floozy.â
Maybelle nodded. âApology accepted. And...I'm sorry too. For calling you a heartless, hairy pig.â
Their eyes met across the room. Agnes let out a snort, followed by a loud guffaw, and suddenly Maybelle found herself laughing as well. The tight coil of anger and bitterness loosened in her chest as she tipped her head back and let her higher-pitched laughter harmonize with Agnes' deep, hefty chuckles.
Still giggling, Maybelle crossed over and flopped onto the huge bed beside Agnes. She felt so tiny in this bed, like a doll. And yet, even though she was sure Agnes could snap her like a twig if she so desired, Maybelle didn't feel a shred of fear to lie a mere foot away from her.
For a couple minutes, they merely lay there, staring up into the canopy over the four-poster. Maybelle had just realized the stars embroidered there formed constellations and was looking for Orion when Agnes broke the silence.
âYou were right, you know.â Her voice was a low, sad rumble like a locomotive rushing past in the night. âI am a pig.â
âOh, no!â Maybelle raised herself on one elbow, looking over in alarm. âPlease, forget those awful things I said. It was very wrong of me to call you that.â
Agnes turned her head aside, but Maybelle thought she caught the sight of a tear glistening in one eye. âYou were only speaking the truth. Like you always do. I am heartless. Because I care more about not being alone than I do about you getting a chance to see your family. Even when all you ask is to go to your sister's wedding...I'm too selfish to let you go.â
Slowly, Maybelle lowered herself to her pillow again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. âI wasn't thinking of you either. I'm sorry, Agnes. I know...I mean, I can imagine how lonely it must get here, in this huge mansion all alone. But it would only be for the weekend. Just enough to meet Edward and see Adeline off. I'd be back before you could miss me too much.â
âYou...would come back?â
Agnes' voice sounded so hesitant and tremulous, Maybelle looked over in surprise, but she couldn't make out her friend's expression past the horn and the unruly mane of hair. âOf course I'll come back. That's part of the deal.â
The silence seemed to congeal between them. Neither of them had mentioned the deal Agnes and Maybelle's father had worked out, not since...Maybelle couldn't even remember. During the past several months, it had become easy to forget how all of this began. When Maybelle had first arrived at the mansion, she'd shut thoughts of home out of her mind as much as possible, to make her dreadful fate a little more bearable. If she weren't constantly thinking of the little cottage or trying to imagine what her father and sisters were up to, perhaps she could carve a small measure of contentment out of her exile. It was a small price to pay for her father's life, after all.
But it had been months since Maybelle had seriously believed that Agnes would have eaten her father. Not after she'd seen the delicate way Agnes handled the gardening tools when she tended to her enchanted rose bushes. Not after the way she'd cradled that finch's body in her enormous hands, huge tears rolling down her hairy face as she muttered spell after spell that fizzled out, unable to bring the tiny animal back to life.
Not after scores upon scores of cozy evenings by the fire, laughing together as Maybelle tried to teach Agnes how to knit with two iron pokers, or taking turns reading from one of the books in the huge library.
For the first time, Maybelle tried to imagine what life must have been like for Agnes in all the years before her father had shown up on the doorstep. Sitting alone in front of a guttering fire. Pacing the dark, dusty hallways, with nothing to hear but the echoes of her own footsteps. Wandering the grounds, able to turn the seasons at a word and the weather at a glance, but with nothing but the birds and bees to listen to her words. A library that magically seemed to provide exactly the book she wanted to read, but all the stories of friendship and adventure only serving to mock her solitude.
âI promise I'll come back,â Maybelle said firmly. âDeal or no deal. I won't leave you alone forever.â
A strange, strangled sound escaped Agnes, quickly disguised in a clearing of her throat. âWell,â she said gruffly, âgood. But if you don't come back in three days, I'll die.â
Maybelle rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic.
-----
It was raining when Maybelle returned to the mansion. Since it was midsummer out in the rest of the world, she hadn't thought to pack a coat, so she just ducked her head and hurried up the gravel walk to the great front doors. This wasn't a summer rain, either; the chilly breeze cut right through the thin sleeves of the flower-patterned dress Violette had made for her.
The front doors seemed heavier than usual. Normally, they swung open at the first touch of her hand, but this time Maybelle had to throw her shoulder against one to open it. Perhaps Agnes had left a window open somewhere and there was a draft. Though that seemed strange; surely Agnes would have either closed the window or shifted the weather instead of letting all this cold rain blow in.
Maybelle turned back to glance out the door. It looked like Agnes had fully committed to a dreary late November today. The bare branches of the trees clacked together while the wind howled through them, cold raindrops splashing in puddles that turned the walkways to mud. It made her wonder if the rain had kept up the whole time she'd been away.
Shivering, Maybelle heaved the front door closed again, picked up her bag, and started towards the stairs. âAgnes!â she called, her voice echoing around the huge entryway. âI'm home!â
She was halfway up the stairs, struggling with her free hand to unpin her hair and wring out some of the water, when she realized the lamps were dark. Her feet slowed to a stop in the lush carpeting, and she frowned up at the huge chandelier that hung over the open space. Every time she'd set foot in this hallâor anywhere else in the house, for that matterâcandles lit themselves and lamps burst to life. At first, she'd found it frightening, especially when she would walk down a long, straight corridor with the candles flaring up in front of her and winking out behind her, leaving her in a bubble of illumination.
But after all these months, she'd grown used to such things. Doors opening at a touch, lamps lighting on their own, plates of food and cups of tea appearing on tables right when she wanted them, a bath drawn and waiting for her without even the hint of a servant in sight. It was all part of the magic of this place. Agnes' magic.
In the cold darkness and silence, Maybelle suddenly remembered what Agnes had said before her trip. If you don't come back in three days, I'll die.
A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with her soaked dress. Surely Agnes had just been exaggerating, the way she so often did. Like that time she'd said she felt like she'd been alone in this mansion for a hundred years. Or when she said she lived under a curse.
But still...where was she? After all the fuss she'd made when Maybelle had first asked to leave, why wasn't she waiting for her? Was she sulking in her room again?
âAgnes!â Maybelle called again, slowly climbing the rest of the stairs. âI'm back! Where are you?â
Nothing but silence to welcome her.
Her footsteps slowed as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right, heading for her room. The corridor was wide enough that there wasn't much danger of bumping into things, but it was all so eerie without candles lighting her way. She paused at the corner, where a tall window offered a bit of cold illumination.
Shivering, Maybelle looked out at the darkening grounds, still lashed by the driving rain. The rosebushes looked like they were taking a beating, magic or no magic. Even as she watched, the wind stripped leaves off the branches, and most of the brightly-colored petals were already gone. What on earth was Agnes thinking? Even in her most fickle moods, she would usually relent if she realized it would endanger her precious roses....
Maybelle frowned. What was that dark lump in the middle of the path? She hadn't noticed it as she rushed up the front drive, but from this higher vantage point, she could see it clearly. Was it a tarp caught under a wheelbarrow, knocked onto its side in all this wind?
No. Those weren't the handles of a wheelbarrow. They were horns. Two horns, curled like a goat's, rising from a big hairy head lying in the mud....
Dropping everything, Maybelle grabbed her dripping skirts and raced back down the corridor. She hopped up onto the banister as she'd done so many times before and slid expertly to the bottom. Laughing as Agnes tried to imitate her and toppled over the side in a heap.
She ran to the front door and heaved it open, letting go as the howling wind gusted in and slammed it back against the wall. âLast one inside's a rotten egg!â
The rain almost seemed to be falling horizontally, the wind was so strong. Holding up an arm to shield her face, Maybelle splashed along the muddy path as fast as she could. Walking along the path, crunching through the snow, leaving behind a neat row of shoe prints and paw prints side-by-side.
âAgnes!â Maybelle screamed, the wind stealing her voice, as she turned down an aisle between the rosebushes. âYou were wrong when you said there was nothing beautiful about you, Agnes. Just look at your roses!â
There she lay, like a mound of dirt, one arm flung around a rosebush as if to protect it, the other curled tight against her chest. She wasn't moving.
âAgnes?â Maybelle dropped to her knees in a puddle by Agnes' side. Throwing her weight against Agnes' huge shoulder, she managed to roll her onto her back. But how would she ever drag her up into the house?
A weak groan escaped Agnes' lips, and her eyelids fluttered, then slid open. âMay...belle?â
Hot tears stung Maybelle's eyes. âThank goodness!â she cried, grasping Agnes' hand in both of hers. âI thought you were....â
Agnes slowly opened her hand, and Maybelle saw that it was cupped around a small, bedraggled red rose. Most of the petals were gone, and those that remained looked wilted.
âLast one,â Agnes grunted. âNot much...time now.â
âIt's all right,â Maybelle said, trying to give her an encouraging smile. âWe can replant. Once you're feeling a little stronger, maybe you can turn the weather back to spring andââ
âNo.â A shudder ran through Agnes' whole body, and her face twisted in a horrible grimace of pain. âNo starting over. No...No use.â
âWhat are you talking about?â Maybelle patted her friend's hand. âOf course we can start over. We can always start over.â
âBut...we sh-shouldn't.â Agnes' voice grew fainter by the minute, and Maybelle had to lean closer to hear. âJust...go back home...Maybelle.â
Icy fingers of dread closed around Maybelle's heart. âWhat? No! I made a promise, remember? I'm to stay here in my father's placeââ
âI release you.â Her big amber eyes rolled to meet Maybelle's, bloodshot and exhausted, but crystal clear. âIt was...wrong. I...was wrong. To make you stay...against your will. So...I...re...lease...you....â
With that final whisper, her eyes slid closed, and her head lolled back onto the ground. A shiver, like a tiny electric pulse, ran through Maybelle's whole body, and she knew that some sort of spell had just ended.
âNo, Agnes!â Frantically, Maybelle chafed Agnes' hands, patted her cheeks, loosened her collar. âAgnes, you don't understand! I'm not here against my will! We're friends, Agnes! I want to be here!â
The huge beast didn't move. This wasn't like the times Agnes sulked and refused to talk to Maybelle. She couldn't even tell if Agnes was breathing anymore.
Desperate to do something, Maybelle tried to heave Agnes into her arms, but the most she could manage was to cradle Agnes' head in her lap. Tears mingled with rainwater on her furry cheeks.
What if she were dead already? What would Maybelle do then? Go back to her family? But there would be no more strolling through the gardens in the evening, no more reading by firelight, no more long conversations or teaching each other games or trying to braid each other's hair or teaching Agnes how to dance or listening to her wonderful singing voice or laughing at each other's silly jokes or....
âDon't be stupid, Agnes!â Maybelle sobbed. âYou're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. No one knows me like you do. No one cares like you do. If I knew this would happen to you, I never would have gone away.â
Maybelle rested her cheek against Agnes' forehead, in between the horns, and rocked back and forth, holding her best friend close. âI'm sorry, Agnes...I'm sorry.... I never wanted to lose you. I just...I just wanted to keep being your friend. Always. Forever.â A painful sob ripped out of her chest as her best friend's body lay cold and still in her arms. âI love you, Agnes.â
Faintly, Maybelle was aware that the wind had died down, and raindrops no longer pounded down on her head and shoulders. The realization of what that meant only made her cry harder. Her fingers tangled in Agnes' mane of hair as she mumbled over and over again, âI love you, Agnes...I love you....â
âLove you too.â
Maybelle looked up at those gruff words, then gave a great start as she realized she held a complete stranger in her arms.
The woman she held was large, with broad shoulders and a squarish jaw. She was no great beauty, especially not with disheveled brown hair straggling all over the place or her body swimming in Agnes' oversized dress, but there was something comfortable and familiar about....
Wait. âAg...nes?â
Moving stiffly, the woman held her own hands up in front of her face and turned them around, as if she'd never seen them before. Slowly, a wondering smile crossed her face, and Maybelle noticed this woman's front teeth protruded slightly.
Not too unlike the huge fangs that had curved from Agnes' lips.
Then she raised her eyes to meet Maybelle's, and there was no doubt. Those were the amber-brown eyes of her best friend.
âAgnes!â
They threw their arms around each other, and they were crying, but they were also laughing, and Agnes was trying to tell her something about a fairy and a flower and a curse, but Maybelle was too distracted by how small Agnes was in her arms. How high Agnes' voice was.
âHow?â she gulped, pulling back and holding Agnes at arms' length. âHow did this happen?â
âIt's all you, silly!â Agnes laughed, swiping her sleeve over Maybelle's cheeks to dry her tears. She still moved carefully, as if afraid of accidentally swiping Maybelle with nonexistent claws. âTrue love breaks any curse, don't you know that?â
âTrue love?â Maybelle sniffled.
Tears spilled out of Agnes' beautiful amber eyes and rolled down her round, rosy cheeks. âWhat love could be truer than this?â she said with a shaky laugh. âThat you'd still want to be friends with someone as beastly as me?â
âOh, you're not as bad as all that.â
Agnes raised her eyebrows. âReally? Even after all those nasty things I said to scare you on your first night here? Or when I threw a chair at you and screamed when you went exploring in the west wing?â
âWell....â Maybelle didn't know how to deny it without completely lying, so she hastily changed the subject. âI don't regret anything, though. I don't regret coming here. I don't regret deciding to be your friend.â
With a watery chuckle, Agnes rested their foreheads together. âI don't regret it either.â
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I honestly hadn't expected to actually get anything done for the four loves challenge this year. But a few days ago something just clicked about The Little Mermaid part of The Selkie Story that I had started and this is what I have for that. It's short. It's vague. There's no names used in it at all. There's zero to a quick run through for editing. This has been another one of those fairly quick written stories where if I look at it for another second, I just can't. I might go back at a later date and properly edit, but not now. I can't currently. I don't even know how well this part even works as a Little Mermaid retelling. Anyways, here it is @inklings-challenge my Selkie Story - The Little Mermaid Part, for the four loves challenge.
He had always found stories of the human world to be fascinating. Enough so that he eagerly awaited the day that he could go ashore and explore.
He was the youngest of his siblings though, so he had a long wait.
His sisters' stories always enthralled him, hearing of their adventures and sometimes close calls with humans and their coats. How there had been a couple of times where a couple of them hadnât been as cautious as they should be and nearly had their coats stolen or taken.
He longed for the day where he could go up and see the human world outside of the form of a seal.
He wasted little time in going ashore when it was finally his day. There was so much that he wanted to do. So much that he wanted to see.
What ended up happening was that he befriended a prince, who had been swept out to sea. He had saved the young man who was about his age. The prince was so grateful that the prince invited him back to the castle with him.
It was a great adventure and he ended up meeting another Selkie on land. She didnât seem to fully understand her heritage though and was trying to find where her coat had gone. Something that he had found only after she had left. It was also something he had hoped to keep from the prince. Though he had been there when they found the small trunk it was in.
The prince didnât know what it was, but he did instinctively. He just knew it was her coat and that sheâd need it back.
He ran into her a few times after that initial encounter. Not always when he was with the prince either.
He liked her a lot. She was smart, kind and knew so much about this world, as she had grown up in it as much as the prince had.
She knew little about the Selkie world though. If only he could tell her outright about everything that he knew. But if he was wrong about her⌠it was too dangerous. He needed to wait. For now he would continue to meet with her and get to know her. Especially as the prince became more busy with preparations for something called a ball.
Heâd never been to anything like that. He was excited to see what it was. When the day came, he learned that a ball was a large formal party and that this one had the intention of trying to help the prince find a bride.
He was pretty lucky that with being the prince's best friend, that he got to remain close to him and see everything from the prince's perspective. So he saw when the possible Selkie girl who was missing her coat came in. She was enthralled by everything as much as he was. It was good to know that this was different to her as well.
He managed to get one dance in with her, before the prince whisked her away for the rest of the evening. He was left to handle the rest of the girls who werenât here to see him, the prince's strange friend.
He didnât see either the prince or the Selkie girl until she was rushing through the ball, running like her coat was in danger. The prince following after. No one able to get her to stop.
The ball took on a very different feeling after that. The prince was listless and wouldnât pay attention to anyone, and wouldnât even talk to him.
All of the girls had completely lost interest in him now that the prince was available again, though he was ignoring all of them. Instead he was talking to the guards about finding the girl who ran.
Over the next few hours he was left in the dark. Those hours turned into the next couple of days. The prince had no time for him and the Selkie girl hadnât been around either. There was only so much he was willing to explore on his own.
Then finally, the prince was back⌠with the Selkie girl. The pair of them were claiming that they were going to get married. He was rather stunned by this revelation.
He and the Selkie girl had more in common than the prince had with her. But as he watched the two of them prepare for their wedding over the next few weeks he realized that they really did care about each other. In a way that he didnât necessarily understand. She had an interest in the prince that she had never shown him.
So he knew that he would be returning to the sea once the pair married. It wouldnât be fair to them for him to remain and pine after someone who wouldnât return his affection.
He left the night of their wedding heavy hearted.
His siblings welcomed him home with open arms, having worried that his coat had been stolen and had been prepared to try and search for it. Even though it meant risking their coats again.
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Tell Your Dad You Love Him
A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event
An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.
Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the kingâs office with an air of affected casualness. âI wonder what the old war horse wants today?â Rowan was saying. âMore about next yearâs political appointments, I shouldnât wonder.â
âThe older he gets, the more he micromanages,â Gordonia groused fondly. âA thousand dollars says this meeting couldâve been an email.â
They filed in single-file like theyâd so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down.Â
âI have divided everything I have in three,â the king said. âI am old now, and itâs time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.â
A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived.Â
The king went on. âI know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.â
âYes father?â said Rowan.
âTell me how much you love me.â
An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.
Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her fatherâs hands in her own. âFather,â she said, âI love you more than I can say.â A pause. âI donât think thereâs ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. Youâre a good dad.â
The old king smiled and patted her hand. âThank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, havenât we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.â
Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out. âFather! Thereâs not a thing in my life which you didnât give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, thereâs no need to understate the matter. I love you more thanâwhy, more than life itself!â
The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. âHow you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.â
Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, sheâd wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasnât like him. For all that he was a politician, heâd been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.
When the kingâs eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. âDo you really want to hear what you already know?âÂ
âI do.â
She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. âDad, youâre likeâlike salt in my food.â
âLike salt?â
âWellâyes.â
The kingâs broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. Sheâd watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset?Â
But no. Coriander held her fatherâs gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?
âI donât know why youâre even here, Cor,â her father said.
Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. âWhat? Fatherââ
âIt would be best ifâyou should go,â said the old king.
âFather, you canât really meanââ
âLeave us, Coriander.â
So she left the kingâs court that very hour.
 .
It had been a long time since sheâd gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Corianderâs thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didnât know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didnât feel real yet, but her fatherâhow could he not know that she loved him? Sheâd said it every day.
Sheâd played in the hall outside that same office as a child. Sheâd told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and sheâd wanted so badly to be like him.Â
If her father doubted her love, then maybe heâd never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all. Â
A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasnât there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what elseâ
With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Corianderâs thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.
Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her fatherâs kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. Thereâs nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.
 .
When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.
She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad becauseâbecauseâ oh, thereâd been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exileâ
She shuddered and sat up dizzily. âOh, mercy,â she murmured. She hadnât been dreaming.
She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guestâs matted, tangled hair.
âDear, dear,â said the woman. âHereâs my hand, if youâre still unsteady. Thatâs good, good. Donât be afraid, child. Iâm Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. Iâm she who dressed youâyour fine gown was ruined, Iâm afraid. Would you like some breakfast? Thereâs coffee on the counter, and weâll have porridge in a minute if youâre patient.â
âThank you,â Coriander rasped.
âWill you tell me your name, my dear?â
âI have no name. Thereâs nothing to tell.â
Katherine clicked her tongue. âThatâs alright, no need to worry. Folke and Iâve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I donât know if youâve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, donât get up. Hereâs your breakfast, dear.â
There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.
 .
She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.
Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.
âFeeling better?â Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.
âMuch. Thank you, maâam.
âNo thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. Youâre free to remain here with us for as long as you need.â
âOh,â was all Coriander could think to say.Â
âYouâve been through a tempest, havenât you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?â
Coriander shifted uncomfortably. âIâm from nowhere,â she said. âI have nothing.â
âYou donât owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till youâre ready. Now, why donât you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.â
 .
Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.
The grass turned gold and the geeseâs thick winter down began to come in. Corianderâs river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Corianderâs shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.
âIâm here because I failed at love,â she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel less distant. âI loved my father, and he knew it not.â
Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didnât correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song sheâd learned to play on the harp. Sheâd been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and heâd hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.
As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what sheâd meant when she called him salt in her food.Â
 .
Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. âLooks like the old kingâs sick again,â he commented casually. Coriander froze.
She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than sheâd ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.
Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. âWhatâs wrong, Rush?â
âWhat if he dies,â she choked out. âWhat if he dies and I never got to tell him?â
She looked up into Folkeâs puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.
When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. âBless you, dear,â she said. âI never would have guessed. Maybe itâs best that youâve both had some time to think things over.â
Katherine shook her head. âBut donât you thinkâŚ?â
âYes?â
âWell, donât you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldnât have needed to say it. Heâs my father. Heâs the king.â
Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. âHeâs only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; heâs not omniscient. Why didnât you tell your father what he wanted to hear?â
âI didnât want to flatter him,â said Coriander. âThat was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.â
The goodwife clucked softly. âOh dear. Donât you know that sometimes, itâs more important to be kind than to be right?â
.
In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldnât let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards Kingâs City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands.Â
Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her fatherâs. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.
âIâm here about a job,â said Coriander. âMy nameâs Rush.â
 .
The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servantsâ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.
Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway.Â
It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, âGirl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasnât it got any taste?â
When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. âWhy,â she would say, with a look of complete innocence, âIt seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!â She imagined how her fatherâs face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say.Â
Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now.Â
The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. âCoriander,â he whispered.Â
âDad. You know me?â
âOf course.â
âThen you understand now?â
The kingâs wrinkled brow knit. âUnderstand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.â
Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.
She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room.Â
âIf you knew what I meantâby saying you were like salt in my foodâ then why did you tell me to go?â she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters.Â
Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. âI shouldnât have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.â
Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what heâd said to her.Â
âAs for the salt,â continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say âI love you' before he dies?âÂ
Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, âThat's really all you wanted?â Â
âThat's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.â He took another bite of his unsalted supper. âThat was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if Iâd said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.â
âBut father!â gasped Coriander, âThatâs not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!â
The king sighed. âPerhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing youâve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.â
âBut thatâs what Iâve been afraid of all this year,â Coriander bit back. âHow could you doubt? If it was real at allâ how could you doubt?â
The kingâs weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. âDeath is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.â
.
Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years.Â
She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. âCoriander,â he murmured. âI half-thought I dreamed you last night.â
âIâm here, Dad,â she replied. âIâm not going anywhere.â
Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl.Â
âI love you,â he said.
âThat was always an I love you, wasnât it?â replied Coriander. âMy hair.â
The king nodded. âYes, I think it was.â
So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. âYou too,â she whispered.
âWhy salt?â The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint.Â
She frowned. âYou like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honestâaccurateâto avoid false flattery.â
The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldnât. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.
âWould it really have been false?â the king said at last. âWas there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?â
Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. âIt was my fault,â she said. âI didnât know how to heave my heart into my throat.â She still didnât, for all she wanted to.Â
.
When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.Â
Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. âLove you⌠so⌠much⌠You⌠and⌠your sisters⌠Donât⌠worry⌠if you⌠canâtâŚsayâŚhowâŚmuch. I⌠know.âÂ
It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.
âIâm glad you know,â she said. âIâm glad. But I still want to tell you.â
Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. Kind words. She would tryâŚÂ
âI love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I donât want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like youâŚâ
A warm smile spread across the old kingâs face. His eyes drifted shut.
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Hank & Gracie
Another holiday, another @inklings-challenge. I missed the deadline for the Christmas challenge, but I can revisit that next year. This is my entry for the 2024 Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This is a retelling of Hansel & Gretel. As always, I do appreciate criticism and suggestions. Enjoy!
Iâm Hank. I live with Ma and my liâl sister Gracie. We live in an apartment in the middle of the city. Sometimes thereâs a dog or a cat, but itâs mostly just us. Pa used to live here, but Ma said he ran off after some hussy. I donât know what a hussy is, but I donât like âem. I donât like Pa, either. I miss him.
The apartment is on the second floor of a tall brick building. I think I counted thirteen floors on the building. Iâd look in the elevator, but Ma wonât let us go on it.
âThatâs for folks who need it,â she said. âDonât you let me catch you playing on it.â
I tried climbing the stairs to the top instead. They went on forever! But me and Gracie, we made it. The door said 14 at the top. The door below said 12. We looked all over for 13. Spent all day, but somehow it was missing. Gracie cried. She does that a lot. Ma found us while we was still looking. We got in big trouble.
âHenry James, you know better than to fool around and get lost while looking after your sister! What are you gonna do when you get lost for good? Huh? Now dinnerâs cold!â
Ma sure yells a lot. She says Iâm the man of the house. I have to be big and look after Gracie. Iâm seven, and sheâs only four. I say it ainât fair, but Ma says it ainât fair she have to work, but she does it anyway. Itâs hard to get past Ma. She knows everything. I wanna be like her when I grow up.
Ma works hard. Sometimes sheâs home, cleaning up the apartment and cooking supper, but most times sheâs gone. During the day, itâs some office. At night, sheâs waitinâ at some tables. That seems easy enough, but when I asked if I could wait at the tables, Ma just laughed.
âThank you, child, but you ainât old enough yet.â
âBut you could stay home and be with Gracie, Ma.â
Ma just looked tired, shook her head, and drank her coffee. She drank a lot of coffee.
âSomeday, maybe. Just not today.â
As much as Ma worked, she didnât have a lot of money. Bills and rent, she said. Sheâd always talk about the bills and rent when we got holes in our clothes or made a mess or asked for a piece of candy. Bills and rent. They just keep going up and up. Sometimes it gets hard. Sometimes Ma canât get nothing but the roaches in the cabinets. Weâd go to churches more, then. Sometimes they have free food. Ma would cry every time she got a bag of somethinâ. Sheâd cry more at home, when we was supposed to be asleep. Youâd think sheâd be happy. Ma does strange things sometimes.
The other day, Ma was at the office. She told us to behave and be good. It was payday, so maybe she would bring us home something nice. We didnât have no food for a couple of days. I was hoping for some chips from that new shop that opened down the street. Some big white guy named Pete opened it and named it after himself. He was a little fat and covered in hair. He sure liked to laugh a lot, especially at Maâs jokes. Ma said he was trying too hard. His store sure was nice, though. All sorts of candy and chips and soda, more than Iâd ever seen in my life. Not even the grocery store has that many. Pete certainly didnât have a bin of celery. Yuck.
Sometimes, when Ma wasnât looking, Pete would slip me and Gracie a piece of candy.
âOn the house,â he whispered with a wink. âOur little secret.â
Weâd pocket that candy and hide it when we got home. When Ma was asleep or away, weâd eat it. It was real good. The candy smelled nice, too. Weâd save the wrappers and smell them, especially when we was hungry. Weâd dream of something nice to eat when Ma got paid. Itâd help us hold on for just a little longer. Weâd stash those wrappers under our mattresses. Ma would have a fit if she saw them. She might wonder if we stole them from Pete.
Since Ma was getting paid today, maybe she was gonna get that special something from Peteâs. But that was a whole day away, and we was hungry, and it was hot out, and we didnât want to do nothing. But we was hungry. It was gonna be a long day. Then Gracie came up with a great idea.
âHank, you go hide!â she said. She went to a corner and started counting. So, I went and hid behind the couch in the living room. It felt cooler back there.
âReady or not, here I come!â she yelled.
I heard her go through the kitchen and her room and my room. I tried to hold my breath, which was hard to do because I was trying not to laugh. Then my belly growled really loud.
âFound you!â Gracie said. She crawled behind the couch and tagged me.
âNo fair!â I said. âYou heard my belly!â
âStill found you. Now you go, and Iâll hide.â
âOkay, okay.â
I crawled out from behind the couch and went to the corner.
âOooooneâŚtwooooooâŚâ I started. I have to count real slow for Gracie. She gets mad if I go too fast. It doesnât help her much. She giggles and laughs while sheâs looking for a place to hide. I know where she is, but if I go too fast, sheâll get mad. She gets mad if I take too long, too. I play at looking around in other rooms first before I find her, and then she laughs and calls me dum-dum for taking so long, but she isnât mad. Gracie is as strange as Ma sometimes. Canât please nobody.
This time, Gracie hid under the kitchen sink. I stomped down the hallway to Maâs room.
âWhereâs Gracie? Is she in Maâs room?â I open the door to Maâs room real slow so that it creaks real loud.
âNo, not here,â I said, quickly closing Maâs room. Ma doesnât want us to go in. She has a way of knowing even if she ainât there. I stomp to my room.
âIs Gracââ
She screamed and fell out onto the kitchen floor. I ran to see what was happening.
âWhat is it? What is it?â I said.
âItâs on me! Get it off! Get it off!â
I saw a roach crawl across her shirt. I didnât think too much about it. I got up and swat the thing. It smacked against the wall and fell on its back. I got up to it and stomped on it, and again, and again, and again. Iâm sure it was dead, but I gave it a couple more just to be sure. I swept it into the dustbin and closed the door under the sink.
Gracie cried and cried. I looked around her and pat her clothes in case there was another one that was hiding. I sat by her and held her.
âItâs gone, Gracie. I got it.â
âDid you kill it?â
âYeah, I killed it.â
âIt tried to eat me, Hank!â
âItâs gone, Gracie.â
Our bellies growled. It was gonna be a long day.
After a while, Gracie calmed down.
âIâm hungry, Hank.â
âMe, too.â
âCan we go to Peteâs?â
âWe ainât got money.â
âAwwâŚâ
We sat for a minute.
âDo you want to go hide again? Somewhere without bugs?â
âOkayâŚâ
âIâll count to a hundred so you can make sure itâs real safe. If it ainât, you yell, and Iâll take of it. Okay?â
âPromise?â
âYeah.â
She got up, and then she got this grin on her face.
âOkay, you count to a hundred!â
So, I did. I went to my room and counted loudly to a hundred. It takes a long time to count to a hundred. I figured Gracie might have gotten bored, because she stopped giggling after a while. I heard doors open and close, but there was no screaming. Ainât no bugs gonna get her this time.
âNiiiiinety-eeeeeightâŚniiiiinety-niiiiiineâŚoooooone huuuuuundred! Ready or not, here I come!â I called out. She opened and closed a lot of doors. She must have hid in a closet. She wasnât giggling like she usually does. Maybe she fell asleep waiting, or got mad waiting for me. I donât know, but I put on my act just in case. I stomped out into the hallwayâŚ
âŚand the front door was wide open.
I ran and looked out the open door into that hallway. Nothing but a bunch of doors to other apartments. I closed the door and went to the living room closet. She wasnât there. Kitchen closet. Nope. Under the sink. Nope. My closet, her closet, Maâs closet, under Maâs bed, all nothing. I got real scared. Maâs gonna really let me have it if I canât find Gracie. My bottom can already feel the paddle.
I ran out into the hallway.
âGracie! Gracie!â I called out. One of the neighbors told me to shut up. I ran down the stairs.
âGracie!â I called out again. The old landlady was standing in her doorway, eating some kind of pudding.
âShe went out a little bit ago, hon,â she said, pointing to the outside door. âAinât your momma home?â
âNo, maâam,â I said. âMaâs in the office.â
âMm-hm,â she said, going back into her apartment.
I ran outside.
âGracie! Gracie!â
I looked left, and then right. The street was empty. There wasnât anyone walking out. It was too hot. There was a parking lot next to our building, so I looked there first. Not a lot of cars. Everybodyâs out to work or something, so there werenât a lot of hiding spots. I looked, but she wasnât in any of them.
âHey!â
The landlady called me to the outside door.
âYour mommaâs on her way. You better go find your sister,â she said.
âWhere did she go?â
âDonât know, hon, but you better be lookinâ,â she said.
âOh, noâŚâ I said. So, I ran. I ran down to the corner, watched for cars, crossed the street, and kept running. I slowed down by another parking lot. Ma told me I better watch for cars or Iâd get knocked into next week. I saw that happen to somebody. I waited to see them next week and the week after, but they never showed up. I donât want to end up like that.
Then I saw it. A candy wrapper. It looked like one of the ones Pete would slip us. I smelled it, and it smelled kinda good still. It felt a little wet. I think somebody licked it. And then I saw another down the sidewalk. And another. And another. It was a trail of candy wrappers. Looked like there was some in the street, too. They was leading somewhere. And so I started running again, following the trail. I picked up each wrapper along the way. This went for a couple of blocks, and then it ended, right in front of Peteâs.
There are a lot of tall buildings around with lots of apartments, but Peteâs was a house with a garage. He turned the garage into his little store. Lots of people normally come by to buy something from him, but itâs too hot today. Ainât nobody around. Pete was sitting at his counter with a fan blowing in hairy face.
âOh, itâs Hank!â
âHi, Mr. Pete,â I said, trying to catch my breath. I bent over and coughed. Pete pointed his fan at me. It felt good after running in that heat. His store was full today. There were shelves of chips and sweets and drinks and other stuff. My belly growled hard. Pete put a trash can in front of me, so I threw the candy wrappers away.
âLooking for a snack?â he asked, laughing.
âNo, sir,â I said, still breathing hard. âNo, sir. Gracie. Did Gracie come by here?â
âOh, your sister? Sheâs fine! Sheâs inside having a snack!â He laughed some more. âWhy donât you pick yourself something out? Get a drink, too. Iâll put it on your momâs tab.â He winked at me.
âMaâs coming home. I need to get Gracie,â I said.
âNow, now, donât you worry. Hey, take a look at this!â He got up from behind his counter. He grabbed my shoulder with one of his massive hands, and then he pulled me over to a box with little bags. The box looked new. The bags said âfried pieâ on them. I could smell them.
âJust got these in today. They make the dough and pie filling at the factory, put âem in a fryer until theyâre nice and crispy, and then coat them in a sugary glaze. Theyâre something else, and I got a nice, cold Coke to go with it. Youâll have that down in no time.â
I shook my head yes. That sounded amazing. I really wanted that.
âNow, donât you worry about your momma. Iâll be watching over you two and explain everything to her when she comes by,â he said, laughing.
âYes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Pete.â
âDonât you worry about it, Hank. Here,â he said, handing me a fried pie. He led me to the fridge and handed me a cold Coke. He then pointed to the door to his house.
âGo on in,â he said. I was so hungry, I couldnât wait. I went to the door and opened it carefully so I didnât drop the Coke or the pie. I stepped in, and then there was this big pain in the back of my head.
-----
I woke up. I didnât know how long I was asleep, but it was much later. Probably sunset. I was on Peteâs kitchen floor. I donât remember falling down or going to sleep, only that I had a Coke and a fried pie. I looked for those, but they werenât there. The back of my head hurt real bad. I felt around. It was kind of sticky. I donât think it was that pie, though. It didnât smell like it. I think it was my blood.
Past a door was the living room. It was hard to see in the setting sunlight, but I could make out Pete. He was crouched in front of a fireplace. There was a fire lit. He looked like he was sweating from all the heat.
âYou keep behaving, and I wonât have to hit you again,â he said. âYouâre gonna fetch a good price.â
He laughed, but this laugh made me shiver. He wasnât looking at me. He was looking at someone else, someone who was next to him. There was a moan, like someone who wanted to cry. He was fiddling with something, and then he had a shirt in his hands. It was Gracieâs! He threw it into the fire!
âWhat did you do to my sister?â I yelled. He jumped to his feet like he was ready for a fight.
âI think you need another nap,â he said, getting a bat. It looked like a bat, but a little smaller.
I got up and ran into the living room. He brought that bat down on me, but he missed. I got something from a bin next to the fire, a little shovel. He swung his bat again. He hit my back. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It was hard to breathe. He swung again. I made myself move out of the way. I grabbed that little shovel with both my hands and swung it hard, not thinking too hard where it might land. It struck him right under his belt just as he tried to swing at me again. He cried out, and then he tripped and landed head first into his fire.
I never heard a person scream so loud in my life. His arms flailed, flinging burning wood into his living room. The room started to smoke up. Some of the paper lying around caught fire, and the curtains, and the couch. Lying in the middle of the floor was Gracie, without her shirt. It looked like someone punched her a bunch of times. Her eyes were black, blacker than our skin. There were bruises and rashes all over.
âGracie! Come on!â I said.
âI canât. It hurts,â she said. I picked her up the best I could and got out to the garage, and then through the shelves of Peteâs food. And then we made it outside.
âHenry James!â Ma yelled. âWhatâGracie Joy! Who did this? What happened?â
âIt was Pete, Ma! Pete triedââ
âYouâre dead meat, kids!â Pete yelled. Black smoke came out of his house as he stumbled out. His hairy face was now red and burnt, and some of his body, too.
âWhat happened to you, Pete?â Ma said.
âThese little shopliftersââ
âShoplifting?â she said, looking at Pete like he was crazy.
âHe burned Gracieâs shirt in the fireplace! He beat her up!â
âWhat?â she said, glaring at him with the full wrath of God.
There was a gunshot. A policeman stood in the street, and the pistol he shot up was now pointed at us.
âNobody move,â he said. Another cop was in their car on the radio. There were sirens approaching.
-----
It was after dark when we got home. Ma held Gracie in her arms as she led us in, turned on the lights, and closed the door.
âGo fill the bath, Hank,â she said.
I looked down. I knew what was coming and I just couldnât wait for it anymore.
âWhatâs the matter, son?â she said.
âArenât you going to paddle me?â I said.
âWhy would I do that?â she said.
ââCause I lost Gracie, and then all this happened, and Mr. PeteâŚâ
Ma laid Gracie down on the couch, and then she knelt down and held me. I cried.
âThis all started because Gracie snuck out,â she said.
âButâŚI could have paid more attention,â I said.
âWe could all do better. Be thankful that you both made it out okay,â she said. She didnât say anything for a minute, and then she let me go, held my face, and wiped my tears with her thumb.
âAinât enough paddles in the world to replace what happened today. Mr. Pete was an evil man who did evil things. You donât understand the half of what just happened, but you will, and there wonât be enough paddles in the world to replace that.â
âMa, Gracieâs all beat up,â I said.
âAnd you rescued her. You took responsibility. You looked for her, found her, and even after Mr. Pete fooled you, you wisened up and fought him for your sister. You know where you screwed up, and you took responsibility. Son, you donât need the paddle.â
âIâm sorry, Ma.â
âIâm sorry, too, son. If things were better, I could be at home, and none of this would happen. It ainât fair, but itâs what we got. You might not feel it right now, but you did good. Now go fill the bath. We need to clean Gracie up.â
âIâm hungry,â I said.
âWhen we all get cleaned up, we will go to the diner,â she said.
âReally? Yeah!â
Maybe I was too happy about it, but Ma didnât shush me like she usually did. She said I already grew up a little too much. My bath felt good, like a bath never did before. The burger and shake was real good. I slept hard that night.
I miss Pa. I wish heâd kick Mr. Pete.
But he ainât here.
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2024 Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge: Official Announcement
The Event
The Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge invites Christian writers and artists to retell or illustrate a fairy tale that features at least one of the four loves:
Storge: Familial love
Eros: Romantic love
Philia: Friendship
Agape: Self-giving love
All stories and artwork will be reblogged to the main Inklings Challenge blog during the month of February.
For Writers
Writers participating in the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge are invited to retell a fairy tale from a Christian worldview in a way that features at least one of the four types of love. This could involve retelling a fairy tale that features on the chosen type of love or changing a fairy tale that traditionally focuses upon romance, family or friendship to focus on a different type of love. Retellings can be in any genreâfantasy, science fiction, historical, contemporary, etc.âand should retell the original tale, rather than any modern adaptations. There is no maximum or minimum word limit, but because of the short time frame, the challenge is best suited to short works.
For Artists
Artists participating in the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge are invited to create artworks related to a fairy tale. Artworks can take any formâillustrations, moodboards, photographs, crafts, etc.âso long as they are related to a fairy tale. Artworks can feature a scene from the traditional tale or adapt the fairy tale to a different setting or genre. Artists who are also writers can also illustrate their own works if they desire.
Posting
Retellings and artwork can be posted to a tumblr blog anytime after February 1, 2023. Writers and artists are encouraged to post their works by February 14, 2024, but works can be finished and posted after that date. Works will be shared to the main Inklings Challenge blog until the final deadline of February 28, 2024.
All stories and art will be reblogged and archived on the main Inklings Challenge blog. To assist with organization, creators should tag their posts according to the following guidelines.
Mention the main Challenge blog @inklings-challenge somewhere within the body of the post (which will hopefully alert the Challenge blog).
Tag the story #inklingschallenge, to ensure it shows up in the Challenge tag, and make it more likely that the Challenge blog will find it.
Tag the type of love that is featured in the work: theme: storge, theme: eros, theme: philia, and/or theme: agape
Tag the fairy tale that is being retold or illustrated within the work.
For writers, tag the completion status of the story: #story: complete or #story: unfinished
And thatâs the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge! Any questions, comments or concerns can be sent to this blog, and Iâll do my best to answer them.
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Okay, all 35 of you, I'm holding you to it. Let's do this.
Will there be another Four Loves Fairy Tale Retelling Challenge this year? I had such a blast writing for the last one; I'd love to do it again with another fairy tale!
I've been thinking of it as a one-time event--with the main Challenge and the Christmas challenge coming right on each other's heels, I didn't want to overwhelm people with writing challenges. But I did love last year's event, so if there's enough interest, we could throw something together.
So let's make it a poll:
For reference: The Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge invites Christian authors and artists to write stories or make artwork retelling or illustrating a fairy tale. These retellings should highlight at least one of the four types of love--Storge (familial love), Eros (romantic love), Philia (friendship), or Agape (self-giving love).
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