#fan retelling

[screpdoodle]

Duality - Chapter Twelve (????)

"Care for another cup, sweetheart~?"

Before Kaos could answer, a porcelain teacup had already been slid his way by a lacy, gloved hand; two others poured steaming liquid from a matching teapot into the cup. Both looked like they should be in some museum, aged black porcelain adorned with shimmering magenta cobwebs; not being served in the back of an eclectic old caravan. Then again, everything in the small ship gave off the same musky vibe… including their 'host'. Kaos had only met Mesmerelda a few times, being one of (if not the only) friend his mother had. He remembered listening in on their late night conversations from the hallway as a child, watching warped shadows cast from the firelight and peering in through the crack in the door as they laughed over cups of glistening mauve tea. Now, staring at his reflection in Mesmerelda's glassy magenta eyes, the memories came bubbling to the surface. Late night meetings when Father was off on expeditions, whispered talks behind locked doors, the puppets. Kaos shuddered. He has never been the kind to dislike puppets, but the ones Mesmerelda specialized in always made a chill run up his spine. 

So the fact that countless were hanging from the ceiling of the small room, eyes all seemingly locked on him, definitely was not helping his nerves.

Mesmerelda finished pouring her own cup, humming softly to herself as her extra set of hands moved to the tune. Kaos looked down at his own cup, the steam curling up from its surface causing his vision to blur.

"Come now, darling. You've barely touched your tea cakes." Mesmerelda cooed, gaze locked on Glumshanks, who sat in the chair beside Kaos. Unlike Kaos, though, Glumshanks hadn't been tied down in countless layers of spider silk.

"O-Oh, I'm fine ma'am." Despite his best efforts, Glumshanks' voice shook. 

He prodded one of the tea cakes set before him, then watched with wide eyes as a single tiny spider crawled out of the pastry and off of the side of the table. Kaos stuck his tongue out, brow furrowing in disgust. Mesmerelda just blinked, her smile never wavering on her angular face. Kaos took a moment to glance around the caravan, from the lacey curtains pulled over the frosted windows to the doilies and eclectic artifacts that lined every possible surface; devoid of dust but gathering cobwebs he knew Mesmerelda had no intention of cleaning. With her second set of arms, Mesmerelda poured her own cup of amber tea, finally sitting down at the head of the table. Shimmering, purple smoke billowed out around her, gathering on the mauve, carpeted floor. She took a sip, licked her lips, then leaned forward.

"So. What brings you two to this little corner of the islands?" She cooed, locking eyes with Kaos across the table from her.

Kaos shifted slightly in his chair, chuffing. "I could ask you the same thing, arachnid."

"Now, that's no way to talk to someone who's practically family."

Kaos just rolled his eyes, squirming against the shimmering webs wrapped around him. He looked to Glumshanks, the troll's eyes still trained on the plate in front of him. He looked back up just as one of Mesmerelda's spindly hands grasped his face, squishing his cheeks.

"My my, how you've grown. I barely recognized you! I'm so glad I did, though; this is no place for a small boy like you." She chided, tilting his head side to side, examining every inch of it, cloying sweetness dripping from her words like venom. "Especially without your mother around to protect you."

"I don't need protection!" Kaos spat, slamming his knees against the underside of the table.

Mesmerelda pulled her hand away in surprise as Kaos' teacup tipped over, steaming liquid quickly seeping into the maroon tablecloth. Her smile fell for only a second before she stood to her full height. She checked her dress for any stray splashes before clicking her tongue.

"Now now Kaos." Mesmerelda's eye twitched as she spoke. "All I'm trying to do is help. Who knows what would have happened if someone unsavory got their hands on you and your… troll. Now, I'm going to clean this up before it stains. You stay put."

With a flourish of her second set, Mesmerelda pulled the tablecloth off of the table, the silverware set atop it barely shifting; though Kaos' topled cup did roll to its other side. Kaos kept his glare locked with Mesmerelda's as she strode to the only other room in the caravan, slamming the door behind her. The whole room shook from the force, the puppets hanging from the ceiling swaying back and forth on their strings.

"You know, I thought I recognized her." Glumshanks commented.

"Eh?"

"Mesmerelda. I snuck out to watch one of her shows once. Quite the talented singer. Never understood the puppet aspect of it though." At the mention of puppets, Glumshanks looked around the room once more, mentally counting all of the garish marionettes that were displayed. "I never expected to see her this close up though."

"Yeah, yeah. Save your fantrolling for once we're out of here."

Kaos pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his feet against the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, then pushed back. The back of the chair thudded to the floor, taking Kaos with it, his head bouncing against the hard wood. Glumshanks just stared at him, his ears drooped and brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak a few times as Kaos continued to squirm, before finally finding the words.

"...what are you doing."

"Trying to escape, what does it look like!? I have better leverage this way!"

"Do you now."

"Don't sass me, Glumshanks!!"

Glumshanks fell silent. He looked to the door Mesmerelda had gone through.

"...maybe it would be best if you go with her? She knows your mom-"

"Mother." Kaos corrected.

"...she knows your mother, it might be the easiest way to get you home."

Kaos gave a single, short laugh before resuming his squirming. "Absolutely not!! That exorbitant arachnid can't be trusted! I'd rather take my chances with the lugs out there to get me home. At least then I wouldn't have to listen to 'oh Kaos look how much you've grown' 'you're too frail to travel on your own Kaos' 'don't touch that Kaos you'll damage the finish'. Bleck." "It just sounds like she cares about your health." Glumshanks carefully pushed his plate away from him, just in case there were any more spiders tucked away inside.

"Mesmerelda? Caring? Don't make me laugh, Glumshanks. If she wasn't buddy buddy with my mother, we'd most likely be dead. Or worse."

Kaos continued to flop like a fish out of water as Glumshanks stood up from the table. Careful not to make too much noise with his chair (not that it would have been heard over the racket Kaos was making), he pushed it back into place, then knelt down beside the small human. He easily worked through the webs with a silver butter knife that had been resting on the table before helping Kaos to his feet. Kaos brushed the remaining webs from his arms, a few straggling strands sticking to his fingers and clinging to his top. As he did so, his vision wandered to the frosted glass, out to the protest that was still going on. Minus one distinct figure. He shook his head. What he had heard was preposterous. There was absolutely no way he had seen his mother or heard her voice. It must have been coincidence, homesickness infecting his mind from the residual stress from the long travel. She was at home, tending to Meyhem's scuffed knees from skyball practice and exchanging empty kisses on the cheek with his father. She was planning to tell Kaos about the new school, how all his hard work was for nothing, weeks of preparation down the drain. And all for what? What was supposed to be few days of manual labor cleaning the garden as punishment before he was thrown right back into it, disgusted stares from his father like he was some kind of monster, getting lost in the middle of nowhere and out of sheer coincidence coming across the only face that didn't look at him like he was some kind of mistake-

"...Kaos? Is everything alright?"

Kaos blinked the tears from his vision. He hadn't even noticed he had balled his hands into fists, his body trembling. Glumshanks had placed a hand on his shoulder, a look of genuine concern spread across his green face.

"Eh? Of course everything's fine!" Kaos forced a grin, brushing Glumshanks off. "I was just thinking of an ingenious plan to get us out of here, in... mostly one piece."

"Mostly one-"

Kaos cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth. With the other, he pointed to the window. "If we can find a way out of here, we can lose her in the crowd. Then, from there, we should be able to hitch a ride on a balloon and it'll be smooth sailing from there!"

Glumshanks pushed Kaos's hand down. "...I don't even want to start on how many ways that could go wrong-"

"Great! So glad you asked, Glumwad!"

"I didn't-"

“Knowing Mesmerelda, as I do, it should be a simple task to slip out while she’s occupied with spot-cleaning her ‘precious, antique’ tablecloth.”

As he spoke, Kaos dragged Glumshanks to the door, pressing his ear up against it and motioning for the troll to do the same. On the other side, he could hear the muffled humming of Mesmerelda, along with the sound of swishing water. Being sure to stay as quiet as possible, Kaos reached up, testing the tarnished silver knob. He held his breath as it turned, then stuck half way with a dull clunk. Kaos furrowed his brow, then tried again, a little more forcefully this time. Clunk. Not giving up, Kaos tried turning it in the other direction, then tugging on the knob, then jiggling it vigorously; forgetting the fact that they were supposed to be staying quiet. Having had enough, Kaos took a few steps back, attempting to run at the door, only for Glumshanks to stick an arm out and block his path.

“I think it might be locked.” He whispered.

Kaos blinked, then looked to the door. The sound of Mesmerelda’s humming had stopped for a moment, then resumed as if nothing had happened. Kaos breathed a sigh of relief before pushing Glumshanks off of him.

“Of course it is.” Kaos hissed. “I was just trying to see if I could… coax it into obeying. That’s all!”

“It’s a lock, Kaos. You can’t ‘coax’ it to do anything.”

Kaos rolled his eyes, then tried the knob one last time for good measure, as if something would have changed in the brief moment he hadn’t been manhandling it. With a huff, Kaos began pacing, moving his hands to punctuate unspoken sentences that seemed to be going a mile a minute within his mind. His entire plan foiled because of two inches of (probably spider-infested) wood. He trailed his eyes around the eclectic room, cursing wordlessly, until his gaze came to rest on the puppets hanging above the table; their arms raised by silvery strings that looked thin enough to snap with a good enough tug. Kaos stopped to think for a moment, then looked to Glumshanks, an all too familiar grin starting to form on his face. Glumshanks opened his mouth to object to whatever half-cocked scheme Kaos had managed to think up in that split second; but before he could even utter a syllable, Kaos had grabbed the shears that had been hanging off his hip, pulled his hand back, and chucked them as hard as he could muster at the web of puppets that decorated the ceiling. The rusted blades sliced through the air and any strings they happened to come in contact with, puppets clattering to the ground below. One collided with the teapot, the ancient china shattering below the lifeless mass of wood, the tea spilling out onto the table and the carpet below. The sounds from behind the door stopped all at once. Kaos froze, listening, before diving into the corner beside the door at the sound of a small click, dragging Glumshanks with him. The door swung open with enough force to have torn the wood from the hinges, slamming into Glumshanks’ face, though luckily enough the troll caught himself before yelping in pain, clutching his nose. Kaos peered around his friend, watching with bated breath as Mesmerelda stormed into the room. He couldn’t see her expression from this angle, but just from her tensed shoulders and clenched fists, Kaos could tell she was absolutely seething.

Mesmerelda stopped in front of the table, glowing eyes surveying the damage with a stare that could have sent even the most foolhardy adventurer running home to their mommy. She picked up what remained of the teapot in one hand, then the fallen puppet in another. She held it up by the cut strings, inspecting them, before crushing the remnants of the teapot that she still held. Kaos squeaked, then quickly covered his mouth, his blood running cold. As Mesmerelda stiffened, Kaos grabbed a hold of Glumshanks’ hand, a look of determination crossing his once frightened expression.

“Run.”

Kaos ran through the open door as Mesmerelda whirled around, a high pitched hiss escaping her bared fangs. Glumshanks stumbled to keep his footing, but was soon running in pace with Kaos. The two dove out of the caravan, landing on the sandy ground outside, the beating sun a stark contrast to the chill air that seemed to pour out of the open doorway. Kaos coughed out a mouthful of sand as he scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly, having less than a second before Mesmerelda was on top of them. It was Glumshanks this time that took the lead, pulling Kaos towards the crowd until he seemed to get the idea. As the two of them slipped back into the sea of people, Kaos couldn’t help but look back over his shoulder. Mesmerelda had torn out of her abode, quickly locking eyes with the tiny human. With the hand that wasn’t holding Glumshanks’, Kaos held up an L to his forehead and stuck his tongue out. As they joined the crowd, weaving through the sea of bodies to get to the other side, Kaos could hear Mesmerelda’s shriek over the protest’s chatter; a sound that could have come from death itself. Despite everything, Kaos couldn't help but let a smile slip across his face. Glumshanks, on the other hand, didn’t seem so sure their escape was set in stone. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, slowing just a bit to try to get their bearings. 

“Which direction is the dock??”

“I-I’m not sure!” 

Kaos looked back, the sound of a commotion separate from the protest itself reaching his ears. He could see flashes of magenta and lace through the crowd quickly approaching, the indignant cries of people getting thrown aside as the spider cut a path through quickly growing closer.

“Just pick a direction and go! Go!” Kaos pushed Glumshanks forward. 

He could almost feel Mesmerelda’s gaze boring down on him as he ushered Glumshanks forward as quickly as he could. At this point, Kaos wasn’t as much weaving around people as he was forcing his way through, ducking under people’s legs and shouldering his way through cramped spaces, paying no mind to whatever foul language that may have been getting thrown at him. The only thing on his mind was getting away from that raving mad spider. He could hear Mesmerelda behind them, frantically searching, spouting curses and words Kaos couldn’t quite catch. Before he knew it, the two had reached what looked to be the center of the protest, the dried up fountain surrounded by countless shouting figures, signs held high. Kaos contemplated taking this time to get a better look at what was written on them, but decided against it, not wanting to risk wasting a second of precious time. Instead, he set his sights on the top of the fountain.

“Glumshanks, there!” He pointed. “Help me up there, I’ll be able to see what direction the dock is in!”

Glumshanks hesitated, glanced back over his shoulder, then nodded. The two climbed up onto the lip that once would have held back water, then Glumshanks leaned down, locking his fingers together. Kaos stepped onto the troll’s hands, grasping at the carved folds of the statue's robes to steady himself. Glumshanks’ legs wobbled a bit as he hoisted Kaos up, nearly toppling off of the lip. Kaos grabbed onto the statue’s outstretched arm, kicking off of Glumshanks’ hands and swinging his legs up. He managed to get one foothold, the other dangling down. Kaos could feel his grip slipping, a few bits of the old stone crumbling off and falling into the dried up basen below. Kaos gulped, then swung his leg up, managing to get a hold this time. He lifted himself up with what little arm strength he had, straddling the stone arm before inching his way up to the hand. He looked down at Glumshanks, putting on a brave face as he stood up on the outstretched palm and looked out at the crowd. From up there, he could see their little escapade had finally gathered some looks, a few faces having turned to watch the tiny human make his way up what Kaos could only assume was a sacred artifact or landmark of sorts. Was climbing it seen as an act of defilement? Kaos didn’t have time to think about it, almost immediately spotting Mesmerelda amongst the crowd; and judging by how quickly she was moving, she had noticed him too. Kaos hurriedly scanned the area, finally coming to rest on the docks. He pointed towards them, waving his hand hurriedly as he looked down to Glumshanks. His grin quickly fell though, his eyes going wide as Mesmerelda shot out from the crowd, reaching out to strike Glumshanks, who was too focused on Kaos to notice.

“Glummy, look out!!”

Glumshanks looked back, taking a step back in surprise. Forgetting he was standing on the rim of the fountain, his foot touched the ground lower than expected, causing him to fall back, his head hitting the statue with a thunk. Kaos cried out in surprise, leaning down to check on his troll companion. He seemed to have leaned a little too far however, because the next thing Kaos knew, he was falling through the air. Then, a split second later, he slammed into something slightly softer than the ground he had expected. Kaos shook off the daze, pushing himself up, coming face to face with the spider he had been trying so hard to avoid. Kaos squealed, scrambling back to the edge of the crowd. Mesmerelda was quick to right herself, brushing the sand from her striped dress before turning her piercing gaze to Kaos once again. Almost all of the crowd was focused on them now, even the protesters seemed to be occupied with what was happening, though no one moved to try to help.

“Have I ever mentioned how much of a thorn in my side you are, Kaos.”

“Once or twice.” Kaos did his best to choke back the fear that made his voice shake, doing his best to put on a smile.

Mesmerelda reached down, hoisting Kaos up off of the ground by the collar of his shirt, mere inches away from his face. From this close, Kaos could tell the smell of dust and old perfume wasn’t just from her home, but seemed to cling to her like a cloud, masking the stench of something much more… foul.

“Be grateful your mother and I are such good friends.” She hissed. “Or else you’d be in a much worse state right now for damaging my dear puppets.”

Still holding Kaos off of the ground, Mesmerelda turned to look at Glumshanks, who was just starting to come around, rubbing the back of his head where it had collided with the statue. Her glowing eyes narrowed, before a smile crossed her face. A hungry smile. Kaos kicked his legs, struggling like a worm on a hook to squirm his way free of her grip. His breath was catching in his throat, the world seeming to close in around him. All he could do was watch helplessly as Mesmerelda approached the troll, his friend, a malevolent glint to her gaze. She knelt down, holding Kaos arms length away, moving her hand to force him to watch. She couldn’t hurt him, but Kaos was quickly realizing she didn’t have the same concerns for Glumshanks…

With her free hands, Mesmerelda grabbed Glumshanks roughly by the face, lifting the barely conscious troll from where he was slumped. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Kaos couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight, Mesmerelda’s hungry gaze locked on his only friend, fangs glinting in the bright afternoon light, poised and ready to devour. 

Tick tick tick

Before he knew what he was doing, Kaos cried out in defiance, grabbing ahold of the arm that held him aloft. He tightened his grip as much as he could, feeling his hair standing on end, before a shock ran through him and his vision went black. The next thing Kaos knew, he was laying in the sand, head pounding and vision spinning. He could make out Mesmerelda’s form a little ways away from him, curled into herself and motionless. Before Kaos could really process what had happened, he felt familiar hands lifting him to his feet.

“A-Are you okay? What happened??” Glumshanks looked Kaos over for any damage before pulling him into a tight hug.

Kaos stood there, still a little dazed, before putting his arms around Glumshanks in turn. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall the last thing he remembered. With his vision a little clearer, Kaos looked around. The crowd had finally started to disperse, with the little town center back to its usual goings-on. The protesters left their signs stuck in the ground around the old fountain as they left, like a sort of makeshift fence, though the only thing it would really be able to stop was a light breeze.

“How… How long was I out?” Kaos wormed his way from Glumshanks’ grip, taking a step back.

“A few minutes, I-I think…” Glumshanks stood up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You… you saved my life, didn’t you-”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Glumwad.” Kaos sneered, punching Glumshanks in the ribs playfully. “I knew if she got her teeth through you she was gonna move to me next.”

“R-Right.” Glumshanks couldn’t help but chuckle.

The two started the short trek down the street, to the docks. As they passed by Mesmerelda, Kaos couldn’t help but stop. He could see the slow rise and fall of her side, shaking breaths still passing past her lips. Kaos smirked, then gave her a kick to the ribs for good measure, before running to catch up with Glumshanks. As they walked, the two of them exchanged a glance, then looked away again. Though neither of them could hide their smiles.

Kaos couldn’t stop staring at his hands. He sat on the floor of the small balloon he and Glumshanks had managed to hitch a ride on (the pilot had said their previous passenger hadn’t shown up, so they didn’t mind), his back up against the woven side of the basket and knees drawn up to his chest. He wiggled his fingers, watching them move. As thrilling as it had felt in the moment, a sinking feeling had started to flood in where one of accomplishment had once rested. What had really happened? He scrunched his eyes closed, trying to think, to focus. One moment he had grabbed onto Mesmerelda’s arm, and the next they were both on the ground. It didn’t make any sense…

Tick tick tick tick

Kaos clasped his hands over his ears, groaning. He wouldn’t be able to focus on anything with that infernal racket starting up. Kaos tried to think, to focus on that day. That protest, the fountain… that figure. He had almost forgotten about that figure. The one that was so familiar, yet so foreighn. He was sure he had seen them before, but at the same time, he was sure his hunch was far from the truth. There was no way. Kaos pressed his head into his knees, only to shoot his head up at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Glumshanks knelt down beside him, a concerned expression on his features. Kaos brushed him off, getting to his feet. Kaos turned, resting his arms on the top of the basket, though he had to stand on his tiptoes to do it. He stared out into the endless expanse of blue around them, the hues of the late day sun painting the sky and the islands that were scattered about it. Glumshanks did the same, standing beside him (though in contrast, the troll had to hunch his back instead.) 

“...It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” Glumshanks said.

Kaos nodded in response, sighing. He couldn’t help but imagine what adventures could lie on each island around them, what secrets they could be holding, lying in slumber for someone to discover them. Maybe picking one at random and seeing what awaited him would be better than heading home. Certainly, whatever was there wouldn’t be worse than Mother’s wrath. If it really had been her at that protest, would she have seen everything? Kaos hadn’t seen the hooded figure when he climbed the statue, but that didn’t mean it wasn't still there, watching. Would Mother confront him outright when he got home, or would she hide it to use later? To lord over him or back him into a corner of obedience, to strike him down at his lowest?

Kaos shook his head, feeling the ticking right on the edge of his mind, clawing its way out of the abyss. He stared out into the sky, needing to focus on anything but that.

“Where’d you two say you were headed again?” The pilot spoke up, the fwoosh of the burners growing louder as they gave it a little more power. “The isles of whos-a-whatsit?”

“Umbra Isles.” Kaos rolled his eyes.

“Ain’t that the place that borders the Outlands? What would a kid like you wanna do there-”

“None of your beeswax, airhead.”

The pilot put their hands up in defense, turning back to the steering rig they had set up. Kaos huffed, watching the clouds drift past. He couldn’t help but reach down, letting his hand run through the vapor as they passed through. He looked up, noticing Glumshanks’ furrowed brow.

“Don’t worry troll, I’m not gonna fall out.” Kaos snickered, though he did put his hand back in the basket, if only to make Glumshanks more comfortable.

Glumshanks breathed a sigh, letting himself relax.

“Remind me to never go on another adventure with you.”

Kaos paused, then burst into laughter, his nose crinkling as he grinned. Glumshanks couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“You’re a laugh riot, Glummy.” Kaos patted Glumshanks’ back with a little too much force, though he didn’t seem to notice. He wiped his eye, then sighed. “...You’ll write to me, right? Once we get home?”

“Of course, I’ve still got your number.”

“You do?”

Glumshanks rolled up his sleeve. Sure enough, there they were, just as Kaos had written them down the first day they had met. He snickered, a fuzzy feeling flooding his chest. Glumshanks pulled his sleeve back down, taking extra care not to smudge the ink, before looking out into the sky once again. Kaos joined him, albeit standing a little closer than before. He could see the color of the sky starting to shift, the blues fading into purples which would soon shift into familiar, faded reds. These were his last few moments of freedom before probably being locked in the dungeons for life, and Kaos was doing his best to try and cherish them. Kaos closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face, the slight breeze in his hair, the crackling of the balloon’s burners mingling with the general sounds of nearby islands. It wasn’t long before Kaos felt the balloon beginning its slow descent, his smile falling with it.

“Sorry kid, this is as far as I’ll go. I trust you know your way from here?”

Kaos opened his eyes as the basket bumped against the side of a rock, before floating down and coming to rest on the patchy grass below. He gave the area a quick once over before sighing, hopping out of the basket.

“Yeah, it should do.” 

Kaos turned, facing away from the balloon. He definitely recognized the area, having spent a day or two climbing the rocks with his siblings and searching for griffin eggs (much to Mother’s absolute dismay), but it was still a good hour or so away from home. Better than nothing, he supposed. After taking a few steps away, he looked back over his shoulder at his troll companion.

“Try not to die without me, kay Glumwad?”

Glumshanks chuckled lightly as the balloonsman closed the basket door. 

“I’ll try my best.”

Kaos looked back ahead of him, the sound of Glumshanks explaining where he needed to be taken quickly fading into the background as he made his way under rocks and over gaps in the earth beneath him. He didn’t bother hurrying, knowing the outcome would be the same if he came home in an hour or by nightfall. And so, Kaos took his sweet time, inspecting the plants that grew from cracks in the stones around him, grabbing samples of anything that happened to catch his eye, and watching various creatures scuttle to safety at the sound of his footsteps as he passed them by. The familiarity of the area didn’t dampen his adventurous spirit, though it did remove a bit of the mystery of what could be lurking around each corner. After a while, Kaos could make out his home only a few islands away, silhouetted against the red sky. Kaos sighed, hopping down from the rock he had been balancing along the edge of, mustering up every last ounce of courage he had to face what lay within. He considered one last time to make a break for it, or possibly even lie down right here and hope something would come along and gobble him up whole; but he pushed those thoughts away once again. He was no coward. Any punishment his parents had for him, he could face. Even if he would have much preferred being a meal for a pack of rabid greebles.

#skylanders #bring back the skylands #second leaf #duality #fan retelling #fan continuation #fan fiction

[rustic-space-fiddle]

WIP of Penelope with her forever-unfinished shroud.

#epic the musical #epic penelope #greek mythology #greek myth retellings #epic the musical fanart #art #fan art #sketch #digital art #procreate art #rustic space doodles #artists of tumblr

[retellingthehobbit]

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 16: The Song of the Lonely Mountain First chapter / Previous / Next

To view full comic: Webtoon/A03 / Tumblr post with links to all chapters

Other blogs: TikTok/Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

*crumbles into dust after finishing this* Thank you for reading! This The Hobbit webcomic adaptation thing takes a lot of effort to put together and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every comment. I also really appreciate the people who’ve spread the word of this comic to their friends! <3

And finally, we’re at the Song of the Lonely Mountain! Within Tolkien’s canon, The Hobbit is an in-universe book that was “written” by Bilbo Baggins, who occasionally lies/embellishes/exaggerates things. The tonal differences between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are explained by Bilbo and Frodo/Sam being different kinds of storytellers, with different relationships to “the truth.” This idea is the core of how I’m adapting the novel!  Bilbo is an unreliable narrator who is literally ‘drawing’ from his own limited experiences;  the different art styles reflect the different perspectives of other characters.   The “dwarf art style” in this chapter is inspired by stonework/metalwork in general— but especially by a mix of art deco, Celtic art, and European folk art. 

The central tension of the comic is between Bilbo and Thorin, who each have wildly different ideas about what kind of  story they’re in. Thorin is in a grand fantasy epic, while Bilbo is in a lighthearted children’s book adventure.  The tragedy is, obviously, that only one side of the story ever gets to be fully told.

On a sillier note, a few years ago I had my first gay crush on a lesbian who sang while playing the piano. This chapter is dedicated to the piano lesbian. I hope they’re doing well, wherever they are. XD

I think I might need a bit of a break but I’m hoping for the next chapter, titled “Dawn,” to arrive on January 13th. And your comments/support really do help motivate me to get more done! ^_^

#lotr #the hobbit #bagginshield #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbit #lord of the rings #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET #anyway *crumbles into dust* #the slowest burn bagginshield fic of all time??? #it will become canon in approximately 84 years #i would say its the most high effort fanfic in the hobbit fandom but ive got lots of competition for that #god works hard but Hobbit fans work harder and etc etc #long post

[lunarbuck]

Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)

a dark little red riding hood retelling

pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)

wc: 3.3k

summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.

warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying

a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!

beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3

my masterlist

The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village. 

After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.

The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.

As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.” 

You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask. 

“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.

“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.

“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.

“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.

“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet. 

“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?

“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.

Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows. 

You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.

The Wolf

Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter. 

I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me. 

Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.

When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait. 

I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.

So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait. 

And wait, and wait.

Until I hear the door creak open. 

“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt. 

“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.  

Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.

“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.

My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways. 

“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.

I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back. 

“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.

She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw. 

I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.

“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.

“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.

“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.

“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge. 

I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.

After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.

My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her. 

Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.

I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air. 

“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.

I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.

“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.

“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips. 

“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch. 

“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal. 

“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed. 

“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt. 

“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock. 

I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell. 

Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts. 

She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.

“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”

“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”

I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.

“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”

“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.

I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this. 

I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.

“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust. 

I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream. 

She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.

My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.

“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.

I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”

She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed. 

Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny. 

I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.

Just the way I like her.

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[beholdingslut]

if you’re going to be writing a retelling of the odyssey i feel like the least you could do is read it

#we’ve been over this before i think. she’s a huge madeline miller fan #sarah underwood on her ‘odysssy retelling’ btw

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

This, Cinderella thinks, is a fairytale.

The nobles are bowing to the Prince, to her, and the air smells like the desserts on the table to her left. The music is still going, a sweet flute that serves a placeholder until the greetings to the prince are done. Over the bowed heads of the dancers nearest them, Cinderella can see her stepfamily curtsying to the arrival of the Prince.

Curtsying to her.

“I am glad that my tardiness did not hold up the festivities,” the Prince says. He inclines his head to the dais where the Queen and King sit. “We should resume.”

The Queen and King.

The Queen is as beautiful as the rumors say. Her long, black hair, streaked with grey, falls around her shoulders like vines, pinned into curled shapes against her violet gown with pins that sparkle like the night sky. She wears a simple gold circlet that glitters in the candlelight. Is it encrusted in jewels?

The King wears a heavier crown in burnished copper. His eyes remind her of the Prince’s, hawkish and knowing when he looks at them. He’s dressed completely in black except for the sash that crosses his chest. That is the same violet as his wife’s cape and his son’s jacket.

Cinderella is prevented from curtsying by the way the Prince presses her hand against his arm. She bows her head as best she’s able, heart thundering in her chest. Somehow looking at the Queen and King reminds her of the rainbows in the meadow. They swim in her vision as if obscured by power.

“Hold your head high,” the Prince whispers to her. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear and when she glances at him out of her peripherals, his eyes are warm. “You’re with me.”

Cinderella has never been with someone. She’s always been trailing behind, packages in hand, or at their knee with a hairbrush and sewing kit in hand. Even as a little girl she was never with her parents. She always felt like she was a step behind them, watching as the distance between them grew into an ocean.

She doesn’t feel like that now. The Prince’s arm is warm under her fingers and the gaze of so many people makes her face hot even if she knows the Prince’s magic protects her from being recognized. Cinderella has never felt so keenly in her own skin as she does in this moment.

Cinderella pulls her shoulders back and looks right over every noble to the blooming mosaic on the other side of the hall.

Well done, the voice in the back of her head purrs. There’s satisfaction curling in Cinderella’s stomach that feels foreign and heavy. She likes standing tall. She likes feeling bold and confident. Very well done.

“I know I promised you champagne,” the Prince says. He waves his hand and the music begins to play again. The nobles don’t resume their dance right away, their eyes fixed on the Prince’s every move. Expectant? Hopeful? Envious? The Prince only has eyes for her. “But I am jealous your first dance wasn’t with me.”

“Perhaps if someone had been on time it would have been,” Cinderella says. The Prince snorts and Cinderella’s smile widens. “Your highness.”

The Prince leads her onto the dance floor. The band is gently coming together again, string instruments rising underneath the lonely flute, the pianist adjusting on their bench in preparation. The nobles part for them like water, sliding back into their places without a word.

The Prince comes to a halt in the center of the dancefloor. If he notices the way the nobles stare, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He slides his arm out from under Cinderella’s hand, but doesn’t relinquish it. He kiss the back of her hand and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Cinderella must be beet red. She breathes in through her nose and smiles on the exhale. “Yes.” Then, because he is her friend, “You’ll be the first to have a dance from me, if that makes you feel better. The rest only shared one with me.”

Does the Prince’s gaze soften? Candlelight catches in his eyes, setting them ablaze. “Having or sharing, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “As long as it’s with you.”

Cinderella is speechless. The Prince takes the opportunity to sweep them into their first dance together, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hand aloft. She’s not ready or at all prepared for it and has to rely on his grip for support when she stumbles.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Cinderella hisses. She kicks at his shin and scoffs when he evades it easily. “Ugh.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how this dance goes,” the Prince says, tone mild. He’s smiling when she turns her glare on him. He whispers, “You’ll need to be faster if you want to kick me.”

Laughter bubbles in her chest. Cinderella fights it down. “You’d better show me how this dance works before I give into the temptation.”

“My pleasure.”

Dancing with the Prince is better than any of the other dances, though she doesn’t think she can bear to tell him that when he’s grinning like he knows it. He doesn’t guide her like Cy, her first masked partner, pulling and navigating her through the steps like a teacher might. He doesn’t make it a competition like Iz did, doesn’t change the rhythm whenever she manages to catch up to his pace. He isn’t considerate like Morrigan, waiting for her to catch her breath after a particularly tricky step.

Dancing with the Prince is like…it’s like being in the meadow. It’s like laying underneath the oak tree and watching the sun through the leaves, his gentle voice in her ear and the feeling of his magic chasing the chill away. It’s the feeling of being together where anything she says or does will be welcome or celebrated.

She doesn’t know when the other dancers join them, but she notices when the Prince nearly runs into a pair. She neatly takes the lead, spinning them to avoid a collision. The Prince startles and then scowls.

“I would have noticed,” he says. His gaze is dark on the dancing couple as if he’d like to curse them for the near accident.

“But you didn’t have to,” Cinderella says. Somehow she knows he isn’t that irritated. She thinks about spinning him but decides against it. She’s never tried spinning her partner before and is afraid of throwing him into the swirls of skirts and tailcoats that now surround them. She follows him away from the couple who nearly collided with them, surrendering the lead easily. “I did.”

“You did,” the Prince says, an inscrutable look on his face. It only lasts for a moment before he’s quirking an eyebrow at her. “Another song?”

Cinderella doesn’t feel tired at all. “Yes.”

They dance.

-----.

The night is a dream.

Cinderella holds onto it even after the Prince escorts her back to the Emerald Castle, after Helga pulls the pins from her hair, after she gulps down water and fruit before climbing into bed. They never did manage to have a glass of champagne. Cinderella can’t bring herself to regret the missed opportunity.

I’ll just have to try it tomorrow, Cinderella thinks with a thrill. Tomorrow. She’s going to the ball tomorrow.

She danced with the Prince all night. He delighted in each song with her, always keeping up with her mood and inviting her into faster steps or higher leaps. They talked and they laughed and, looking back, they must have seemed like children to everyone else. Cinderella felt like a child, free and excited in a way that she hasn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

She closes her eyes and can’t wait for the Prince to come pick her up for the ball tomorrow.

-----.

The carriage lurches and jumps as it transitions from the smooth Royal Road to the rougher cobblestones of the royal town. The silent occupants seem to wake up from their stupors all at once, the jostling as good as cold water on a dreamer.

“Mother,” Drizella whines. She doesn’t understand what went wrong. She did everything her mother said to do! She curled her hair and wore her lilac dress and didn’t dance with anyone other than the Prince. Except— “He only danced with her all night!”

“I have never been so embarrassed,” Anastasia says. She bites her thumb. Visions of the woman in green spin across the back of her eyelids every time she blinks. “We wore the same color! How dare she?!”

Baroness Ramsey doesn’t answer her daughters. She promised herself when she married the Baron that she would never allow anyone to guess at her non-noble past through her conduct. So she lets her face remain impassive and thinks carefully before she speaks.

Inside she is seething.

“That woman was in the wrong,” the Baroness says at last. She lays her hands daintily over her lap. “A ball like this – well. It’s for all noble ladies, isn’t it? The Prince was meant to dance with others. I’m sure the King and Queen will talk with him tonight. Tomorrow…”

She trails off. Her girls misunderstand as she meant them to. They perk up at the mention of tomorrow and the idea that the Prince will be different then. Anastasia begins debating what jewelry she will wear to compliment her gown tomorrow, going over the pros and cons of each one (“That woman wore gold tonight and won’t tomorrow, so the gold necklace might be the safest choice. But the prince wore silver tonight and might again and if I wear silver we could match.”) while Drizella pulls at her curls, lost in the daydream of what tomorrow could bring.

Inside the baroness is not so sure.

“A second invitation will be sent to those the Prince has taken an interest in. Expect news by dawn.”

They are not high nobility. It is only through the baroness’ hard work and clever deals that they’re nobility at all. Perhaps it would be different if her husband were better at networking like her, but he’s not (if he’s still alive at all) so they have no advantage through title alone. Their only advantage lies in her daughters’ beauty being recognized and – thanks to that woman – that didn’t happen.

Maybe I was hasty to leave Cinderella at home, the Baroness muses. Cinderella would have caught the Prince’s eye. There’s always been something…unsettlingly compelling about that girl. To be honest, the Baroness has always been a little afraid of Cinderella. Even as a child she always seemed to look through the Baroness rather than at her. With her golden hair and odd, light eyes, Cinderella would have been enough to compete with the woman who had captured the Prince’s attention. Then, when the second invitation arrived, the baroness could have kept Cinderella away to leave the real work to her girls.

She eyes her daughters. No. She could not have chosen any differently. It’s been hard work ensuring her daughters never grew afraid of their strange stepsister. Imagine if they were forced to watch the prince be bewitched by her? The baroness was right to leave Cinderella at home, dressed plainly, rather than allow her daughters to see through the soot and rough clothing to the strange, menacing woman beneath.

“We will stay up all night until the invitation arrives,” the Baroness announces. She won’t be able to sleep anyway. “I want each of you to go over every detail of tonight. Who did you notice? What could you have improved on? We will need to be even better tomorrow.”

Anastasia and Drizella complain, but the Baroness tunes them out. She knows what’s best for her daughters. If she says that they need to go over noble greeting they say, every pin, every broach, every conversation, they will.

It will come, she tells herself. The Prince may not have noticed her daughters, but the Queen was certainly interested in them. She seemed particularly interested in Drizella. Perhaps she will be the one to choose the prince’s bride. Yes, that must be it. She was too attentive to my daughters for that not to be the case.

The second invitation will come. The carriage squeaks to a halt outside of their inn and the baroness waits impatiently for the coachman to open the door. Yes, her earlier concerns were born from anxiety. Obviously the Prince won’t choose his own bride. Clearly! He’s a prince and princes must marry based on their parents’ wills. She, a baroness, wouldn’t allow her daughters to choose their husbands. Certainly the Queen, a fellow noble mother, feels much the same.

Cheered, the Baroness doesn’t yell for the coachman to hurry up helping her daughters down from the carriage. Anastasia does it instead and her Capital accent is even beginning to sound convincing! Drizella nearly falls when the coachman supports her step down too weakly, but her recovery is much quicker than it would have been two years ago.

Yes, the baroness must not lose herself to anxiety. She’s raised her daughters well and that will all pay off when she sees one of them married to the prince. Perhaps she should talk to the Queen herself tomorrow? Mother to mother?

Yes, that’s the best plan. She’ll leave her girls to the business of catching the eye of the prince. If they prove successful, wonderful. If not?

The Baroness hides her smile. There’s a reason she came to the ball despite the invitation not including mothers of the potential brides.

-----------.

Three important invitations are delivered at dawn.

One is snatched by the Baroness who breathes a sigh of relief that she must hide from her daughters.

The second is handed to Helga who rolls her eyes at the redundancy and promises to deliver it to her charge once she wakes.

The third is delivered via raven to a lone man on the road on horseback. He holds his arm above his head as soon as he recognized the purple ribbon tied around the bird’s neck, barely flinching when its talons cut through his thin, traveling shirt.

“A summons?” the man asks. The bird does not answer. It takes off as soon as he unties the message from its leg. He flips the letter over to examine the seal. His stomach lurches. “From the Queen?”

He can’t ignore a letter from the Queen. With a sigh, the man turns his horse gently before even breaking the seal. The Queen only accepts replies in person. A bitterness coats his tongue.

Another letter has brought him back to his ancestral home. A very important letter from someone he’s been forced to leave alone too long. And now, barely four days’ ride from the sender, he’s forced to ignore her once again.

I’m coming, Cinderella. Just a little longer.

Baron David Ramsey has been away from home for too long.

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

#Cinderella fan fiction #my writing #cinderella retelling #this is turning into a full novella #this is why i write short stories #BECAUSE BOOKS GET SO LONG #long post

[anniflamma]

"Prayers? You?" David asked, breathlessly as he kissed and embraced the very reason he'd found strength to survive his recent ordeal. "Have you found the Lord in my absence?"

"I think he was here all along."

#the prince's psalm #mlm books #art #fanart #digital art #fan comic #short comic #mini comic #gay #biblefandom #david/jonathan #david and jonathan #david x jonathan #queer retellings #suggestive content

[olivsie]

Something I like about epic the musical is that it Gives it's changes to the original text an actual Purpose

( The first couple paragraphs are basically a rant regarding retellings. If you only want to hear about epic Skip to paragraph 4)

1. I am a bit annoyed by the lack of. Understanding as to why RETELLINGS aren't the most historicaly accurate things in the world. Sorry to break this to you, but that's both just how they work and I would guess how they reach success. Ancient Greece is a much different culture than our own, And most of us would be terrified to actually live back then. When you are Trying to create content That is based on ancient Greece And you want it to be successful/ At least reach a wide, and notably, MODERN audience. You're likely going to have to take some creative liberty And change a few things. Don't get me wrong, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO LIKE RETELLINGS KNOWING THAT FACT ( Me personally, I'm not the biggest fan of Miller's novels Even though I do like epic) BUT IT IS SOMETHING TO BE AWARE OF. And because of that I don't think I would ever expect a retelling to be perfectly accurate And I don't. I had interest in mythology LONG before epic the musical But I didn't actually read the Odyssey until getting into epic. I did not expect it To be just like the musical, I knew Odysseus was going to be much more of an asshole, along with other characters. The odyssey and epic are different pieces of media to me And I am not less of a mythology nerd for liking epic ( Though I will admit that sometimes I take tiny little fun facts of mythology And like to think of them in the context of epic, but that's just for fun.)

2. The Only time being a fan of retellings is wrong as if you genuinely believe they are perfectly accurate And refuse to listen to anything else ( Which has definitely happened, And mythology nerds have the right to be annoyed at that)

3. Some people only like to consume real mythology media, Others like both real mythology and retellings, Others only like to engage with retellings (I would hope they have the self-awareness to know It's not real mythology, From what I've seen some do and some don't, Unfortunately)

4. Ok. now on to what the title of this long ass rant says

I like that epic the musical Retells the story, Not only to both cater to modern audience But Also with its OWN purpose of man versus monster.

Obviously, this is not the point of the original text. Mythos Odysseus does not give a single fuck About the stuff that epic odysseus does. I don't know why the creator Decided to rewrite it this way, (If he's ever said why let me know) But I would assume he wanted to make something about the oddessy And this was simply a very creative way to Translate that for modern audience.

I like this because, yes, holy damn. It does have changes from the original text. But it's not JUST changing it. It's changing it with a purpose

It feels reminiscent of some kind of Dramatic play. the way that epic characterizes.

Polites' kind nature is Representative of the Concept of being merciful Represented in his lines such as " This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms" /"There is so much guilt inside your heart, So why not replace it?"

While in contrast you have eurylochus with more ruthlessness and cautious nature, this is Found in some of his lines such as "You rely on wit, and people die on it" /"we don't know what's ahead" / "I say we strike first. We don't have time to waste so lets raid the place-" /"Let's just cut our losses, You and I and let's run"

And then you have Odysseus, the man/monster. The first act of this Musical is his internal struggle With what He should be On that scale. And the other characters Represent this struggle in the song monster

" Is the cyclops struck with gilt when he kills, is he up in the middle of the night? Or does he end my men to avenge his friend and then Sleep knowing he has done him right?

When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs, is she going insane? Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain?

When a God comes down and makes a Fleet drown Is he scared that he's doing something wrong? Or does he keep us in check So we must respect him and now no one dares to piss him off"

He then Applies this to himself

" Does a soldier use a wooden horse to kill sleeping trojans cause he is vile? Or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?"

And this marks his turning point of deciding that Ruthlessness It's ultimately worth it if it means Getting home, as aeolus says "The end Always justifies the means"

It's in my opinion, a very creative way to go about retelling a myth. Is it accurate? Absolutely not. For example, circe (From what we know) is not protecting When she turns men into pigs, For all we know, she could just do it because Shits and giggles.

Her character and most others in epic is changed from the original. But it's not ONLY changing for the sake of apeling to the modern Western audience and being successful like Many other retellings. It is also and mainly changing for the sake of influencing the plot that Jorge Rivera herrans crafted For the sake of Retelling epic. It is creative and I enjoy it despite knowing it's not accurate.

#epic the musical #odysseus #the oddyssey #tagamemnon #the iliad #greek mythology #again you do not need to like epic the musical or any other retellings #you are allowed to only like greek mythology itself #as a history enjoyer i understand the frustration and think its COMPLETELY valid to be annoyed when someone uwu's a figure #hell i would be annoyed if someone did that to the EPIC THE MUSICAL version of odysseus #he's still an asshole he's still a killer and a liar in epic just a lot more guilty about it then he would be in the oddessy #if all retelling fans had self awareness that its just a retelling and didn't “soft boi” either myth or retelling #i think we'd all be much happier

[karikiii]

It’s a sad song, it’s a sad tale…

#hadestown #broadway #musicals #hadestown fanart #fan art #my artwork #art #digital art #orpheus #eurydice #artist #my art #greek myth retellings #greek myth art #greek myths #musical theatre

[sixthratesoma]

redesigned some of the wonder woman cast!!! included a persephone take for fun

#wonder woman #fanart #greek myth retellings #comic art #fan comic #original character #comic books #comics #diana prince #cassandra sandsmark #athena #circe #digital art #character design #dc comics #dc fanart

[kerrtesy]

What would Bowser and Luigi's rel- body guarding life be like one a day to day basis?

You know that one dude that just seems to have a job at every store. Like you just see that one dude everywhere no matter where you go. That's him, he mainly helps out with the paperwork and acts as a glorified nanny to the koopalings, along with a few other things.

He does help out in fights but he is very much a glass cannon. So negotiations and spying are his specialty. In relation to Bowser majority of his job is like this:

Hope this answers your question! ^ - ^

#i actually want to include bowsers inside story in this #but there's no way luigi would let bowser eat a random mushroom given out by a cloaked dude who just popped out a cave #so im trying to figure out how to rework that story for this setup #i would like to state that i adore bowsers inside story i think its an amazing game #ive just never been a fan of retelling a story exactly how it goes in the original if some of the factors/characters are different #asks #mario and the phantom

[retellingthehobbit]

She!

#the hobbit #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbit #belladonna took #'does you redrawing belladona mean she's going to appear in the comic again?' #>:3 #>:3333333333333 #but yeah belladonna took and lady dis stans RISE UP #belladonna took fans grab your. walking sticks #(I’ve decided she has a walking stick) #lady dis Stans grab your. axes #(I’ve decided she has an axe)

[toytulini]

no but for real not to beat a dead horse that i havent seen and dont plan to but they keep trying to do live action atla and i just Do Not Get It? its already been done? quite well? the original cartoon is very good and it doesn't feel like its actually really lacking in a way that a remake would improve upon, and it doesnt seem like either remake has improved upon it, and it doesnt feel like they ever get the tone right either? and why are they only ever trying to adapt atla? why not the comics? or korra ? the adventures of fire lord zuko. i mean fuck i dont even like that they turned toph into a cop but they could do a Toph crime drama procedural. probably shouldnt i dont think that would be good but at least it would be like. a new idea. fucking, adapt the kyoshi novels maybe. i wont forgive you if you fuck them up of course, but im already not forgiving the live action ATLAs so like idk. why not try something new. something a little more original.

#toy txt post #i dont understand why it has to be adapted to live action in the first place honestly but like maybe even just try Something Else #maybe even like a brand new show even. could try that. how many different original new shows have the streaming services #filmed and produced and then didnt release for weird tax cut reasons again even tho i thought that was one of the things the writers and #sag aftra were trying to fix with the strike? and then the companies all just keep doing it anyway...? cool? #fucking do a live action about The Cabbage Guy and his life #why does it have to be a retelling of the original show that was already good? i dont get it #im trying not to be too harsh here bc im sure theres plenty of one piece fans who feel that way about the live action vahgddjsvuvdjevj

[tomtefairytaleblog]

Once you know that Marissa Meyer based The Lunar Chronicles (and specifically Cinder, the first book) on an old Sailor Moon fanfic she wrote, the inspiration can be fairly obvious (most obvious being the missing princess from the moon and the threat of war between Earth and the Moon). That being said, there’s enough of Meyer’s own inspiration/ideas in there to help make it stand out (the futuristic setting, for one thing).

But it did make me think: Bill Ellis (who I mentioned on here before) wrote an essay about Princess Tutu where he said that Cinderella--the fairy tale Cinder retells--is an archetypal precedent to magical girl transformations. Cinderella and Sailor Moon have premises unique to themselves, but then I thought about the basics of both stories: both Cinderella and Usagi start out as girls who are at a low point of their life (Cinderella is mistreated by her stepfamily, while Usagi is chronically late for school and failing tests--one is arguably worse than the other, sure, but the point is, neither of them is doing great in their own way). Then both of them encounter magic (fairy godmother, talking space cat, etc.) that gives them, as Ellis puts it, the skills they need to accomplish whatever they need to do (go to the ball, fight evil). For an added bonus, no one at the ball ever recognizes Cinderella, similar to how no one ever puts it together that Usagi is Sailor Moon, despite her never covering her face (though she did have a mask in the early chapters of the manga). Also, there’s a prince in both stories.

With that in mind, it’s not hard to see how it was easy for Meyer to take inspiration from Sailor Moon in her Cinderella retelling. (Interestingly enough, the original fanfic was a Puss in Boots AU, because as Meyer pointed out, both Puss in Boots and Sailor Moon have talking cats.)

#the lunar chronicles #cinder #sailor moon #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #usagi tsukino #linh cinder #marissa meyer #naoko takeuchi #cinderella #charles perrault #magical girl #magical girls #fairy tales #retellings #bill ellis #princess tutu #random thoughts #text #I don't know if I ever specified on here #but I am a Sailor Moon fan #just finally got around to watching the new adaptations

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

Cinderella wakes to birdsong.

It brings her to tears. She tangles her fingers in the soft bedcovers, pulling them up and over her face. Her tears blur the gentle light seeping through the fabric so that she feels like she might still be dreaming. Her body is pleasantly sore from dancing, but not hurting like it does after a day of chores. Her hair smells of the gentle oils Helga patiently brushed into it rather than fireplace soot. The gnawing loneliness that’s accompanied her for so many years is wonderfully quiet, soothed by the long evening spent in the arms of her friend.

The Prince.

Cinderella huffs a laugh, disbelieving, and pulls the sheets away from her face. Her room is pleasantly cool, the air brisk though the windows aren’t open. She breathes in deeply. Her friend is the Prince. Her impossible, magic-wielding friend who saved her life and listened to her worries and always made her laugh is the prince.

And he’s a hell of a dancer too.

Even the memory of their dances thrills her. Cinderella jumps out of bed , unable to bear the sudden surge of energy coursing through her, and braces for the shock of cold stone against her bare feet. It never comes. Instead, the floor hums with the sort of warmth she’s begun to associate with magic. Cinderella laughs and sways to the window, humming portions of the previous night’s songs under her breath.

The people! The music! The colors! Her memory is a kaleidoscope of everything beautiful she’s ever seen in her entire life. At the center of it all is her friend and his gentle smile, his hand outstretched for hers.

Cinderella eases the window open. She’d been too nervous to take a proper look outside yesterday, but today is a different story. For all the elation she feels, there’s also something settled inside of her. A sort of contentment that sits at the bottom of her stomach where it won’t be easily swayed. So she opens the window without worrying if she’s allowed to do so and takes in a lungful of fresh morning air.

“The late Queen’s gardens,” Helga says from the doorway. Cinderella turns to find Helga with a breakfast tray balanced on one hand and a letter held in the other. Helga’s eyes sparkle. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

They are. Cinderella was listening to the birds and not looking at the garden, but she knows it’s true. The greenery is lush and well-maintained, the flowers blooming big and beautiful along a carefully swept path. She can hear water from beyond a row of hedges. A fountain?

“Everything is beautiful,” Cinderella says. The Prince’s green eyes against the night sky comes to mind and Cinderella’s heart flips. She clears her throat. “The grounds. The castle. It’s all very beautiful.”

Helga hums and closes the door with her foot. “Would you like to sit by the window then?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. The idea of eating the croissant and eggs Helga brought while listening to the birds and watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze is so wonderful that Cinderella doesn’t see the problem right away. She frowns and looks around the bedroom. Besides the bed and the vanity, there’s not much more furniture in the room. “I can help you with some chairs…?”

Helga laughs and waves the hand holding the letter. “Don’t be silly, dear. It will only take a moment.”

Cinderella has to bite her tongue to keep from yelping when Helga lets go of the tray suddenly. It doesn’t fall. Instead the food hangs in the air as if set on an invisible table. Helga whips out her wand and flicks it at the stone near the window.

A chair and a small garden table rise from the floor, melting in reverse. The table is set with a series of dainty forks and a crystal glass. After a moment’s thought, Helga waves her wand again and a bottle of orange juice appears.

“Wow,” Cinderella says.

Helga is frowning. “Yes, well, it will do. Somehow, I always conjure garden furniture even when I had the loveliest tea table in mind…” She busies herself setting up the breakfast tray. “Come now, sit, sit, sit. Before everything gets cold.”

Cinderella doesn’t move. She’s never noticed it before because of the low lighting at night, but Helga’s magic looks a little like her friend’s magic. There aren’t as many colors and it’s very faint, but when the sunlight catches it just right, the air shines. As she watches, the shine sinks into the floor until the chair and table look as mundane as can be. Cinderella is fascinated. “How does that work?”

“How does what work?” Helga asks absently. She holds the orange juice up to the light, squinting at it. “I swear I meant to conjure peach juice…”

“The conjuring magic,” Cinderella says. She waves her hand to the table and chair. “That looked different than the floating magic you do.”

That gets Helga’s attention. Her gaze snaps from the orange juice to Cinderella. “Looked?”

“The magic came up from the stone,” Cinderella explains. She waves her hands in a vague approximation of it. “Then, when you finished, it went back.”

Helga doesn’t answer right away. She stares at Cinderella very hard, her gaze piercing, as if trying to see if Cinderella is being serious or not. She chews her cheek and finally says, “You’ve seen a lot of magic?”

Deny it. It’s not a voice, not really. It’s an ancient instinct and Cinderella works very hard to make sure that none of it shows on her face. Carefully, Cinderella shrugs. “No. But my friend uses a lot around me. Sometimes I can guess where it is.”

Slowly Helga’s shoulders relax. “…from exposure makes sense,” she murmurs under her breath. Then, louder, “You shouldn’t look at magic, dear. It can hurt your eyes.”

It doesn’t hurt. Cinderella smiles. “I’ll try not to.”

Satisfied, Helga says, “To answer your question, it looked different because that wasn’t a spell. I don’t have magic, remember?” She twirls her wand. “I use this to direct what my Lord lends me. What I did just then was—well. This castle is very old, yes? It’s got magic of its own that I can ask for help from time to time.”

“The castle did this?” Cinderella asks. She studies the table and chair with renewed interest. They look solid and well-made and the food seems edible. She thinks about the way the magic rose from the ground. “I wonder…”

“Pardon?”

But Cinderella is already extending her hand. The single chair next to the window looks lonely. It would be so wonderful if there was another chair for Helga to sit and have breakfast with her… “If you would?” she asks the castle.

Where the magic curled and bent to Helga’s will, it explodes under Cinderella’s. Another chair springs into existence faster than Cinderella expected. The table extends another foot with a pop! and a second bottle of orange juice appears next to a second glass.

“Oh my,” Cinderella says. She flexes her hand. The magic twines around her fingers before slipping back into the stone floor. She grins. “How wonderful!”

Helga blinks very quickly. “Yes…yes, wonderful.” She studies Cinderella, almost speaks, and then seems to reconsider. Finally, she says, “I take it the second chair is an invitation?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. Perhaps she should have asked Helga before she acted, but she didn’t feel as if she needed to. Like Helga said, the castle was right there to help. “I would enjoy the company.”

They settle at the little table, Helga pouring juice and serving the breakfast pastries she brought. Cinderella’s feet are warm from the magic sitting so close to the surface of the stone and her heart is warm when, unthinking, Helga spreads jam over a croissant for Cinderella.

“Oh,” Helga says when she notices. She’d been staring into space as she prepared Cinderella’s breakfast and, now, jolts back to herself. There’s a light flush on her cheeks when she says, “Excuse me, my mind was elsewhere. Do you like strawberry jam? I can go to the kitchens for fresh pastries—”

“It’s perfect,” Cinderella assures. She remembers her mother’s hands around a crystal jar of jam, a whisper of just a little before dinner. She takes a bite of her croissant and feels a thrill at the sweetness of the jam. Just like she remembers. “Delicious.”

“An invitation came for you at dawn,” Helga says after a few moments of silent eating. Her eyes sparkle as she draws the envelope out from her skirts and holds it so the sunlight reflects off the golden seal. “I wonder who it could be from?”

The second invitation. The Prince told her it was coming, but Cinderella’s heart flips when she sees it anyway. She takes the envelope from Helga as if it were made of butterfly wings and opens it carefully. The faint smell of oranges drifts from the card inside.

The Baron’s Daughter is hereby cordially invited to the Castle on this day for a continuation of festivities…

Then, at the bottom, her friend has written I’ll pick you up in his own handwriting.

Cinderella strokes the letters of her friend’s writing. Each one is elegantly shaped and perfectly placed. She can imagine him as a boy sitting politely during his lessons, quill clutched tightly in hand, and brow furrowed as he practiced each letter.

“What was he like?” Cinderella asks.

“Pardon?”

“I want to know how the Prince was as a boy,” Cinderella says. When the silence stretches, she looks up from her invitation to see unease on Helga’s face. “Helga?”

“That’s…difficult for me to say,” Helga says.

“Were you not with him as a child? I assumed from the way you spoke…”

“No, I was,” Helga says. She tucks her hands under the table and looks out the window. The sunlight falls across the older woman’s face, highlighting the way the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth deepen when she frowns. “The Prince now and the Prince then are two very separate people. I don’t want to scare you away with stories of a person who no longer exists.”

Cinderella waits for Helga to say more. When the silence again goes on for too long, she prompts, “What do you think would scare me away?”

Again, Helga hesitates. There seems to be a war going on behind her pale eyes. Cinderella thinks that she must be twisting her apron under the table.

“He wasn’t kind,” Helga says at last. She busies herself wiping a stray smear of butter from the table. “Anything more, you’d need to ask him.”

Helga means to end the conversation there. Cinderella could let it end – should let it end – but the words echo. He wasn’t kind.

Cinderella’s first thought is good. She’s glad that her friend wasn’t kind. Cinderella has lived her entire life being kind and she’s seen what rewards are at the end of that road. Good that her friend knew better than to let others extract kindness from him like blood, good he didn’t sleep next to an empty hearth praying for the ones who put him there to return kindness with affection, good that he protected himself in a way Cinderella never could.

Cinderella’s second thought is why? Why did Helga sound apologetic? Did she think Cinderella would think less of him?

“When I was a little girl,” Cinderella finds herself saying, “I spent many hours in the garden.” She looks out the window and sees a different garden than the former Queen’s. She sees roses and sprigs of lavender as far as the eye can see. Her mother’s garden. “My mother had quite the green thumb. The things she could grow! I was so young then and didn’t have much reference, but it seemed as if every flower bloomed bigger and every bush grew fuller under her touch.”

“That’s quite the gift,” Helga says.

Cinderella hums. She loved her mother best in the garden. When her mother waited for her father by the window, she seemed colder and more distant. In the garden, her mother smiled. “It was. If we lived anywhere else, we would have had butterflies all year round. But being where the estate is, we only had a few weeks in spring and a little in fall when the butterflies would pass through the garden on their way to the Capital.”

“I didn’t realize you come from so far west,” Helga says.

Cinderella nods. “Near the mountains.” She finds her gaze being pulled toward the west as she talks. How far away is her home? At least a week’s ride by carriage. “I always waited for the butterflies to visit. One day, when I was very young, I woke up to see they’d come during the night. I raced outside to see them up close. There weren’t many of them yet, just a few, and I had the good luck to spot one resting on the ground.” Cinderella’s lip curls. “Only it wasn’t resting any longer. It had the misfortune to land on an anthill. The ants were hungry, I suppose. They were tearing the butterfly apart piece by piece.”

Even now she remembers the sick horror that filled her at the sight. The vicious hold the ants had on the blue wings, pinning the poor thing to the ground. The way the butterfly’s antennae waved in panic. The smell of the ants as they poured from their mound to feast.

“How awful,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella carefully, her hands still in her lap. “What happened then?”

“Nature,” Cinderella says. She feels as if her mouth is not her own when she says, “There’s nothing awful about nature. The ants needed food after the harsh winter and the butterfly was unlucky. It wasn’t the ants’ fault that they killed the butterfly. It was simply nature.” Cinderella breathes in through her nose and stiffens like a woman freed from a trance. “That’s what my mother said when she caught me killing the ants.”

A sense memory: her shiny black shoes coming down on the damp, red dirt as she collapsed the ant hill. The flecks of mud that splattered her ankles when she crushed their exoskeletons under her heel. Her mother’s hand hot on her shoulder. The percussive force of her mother’s shout ringing in her ears.

“She told me that I needed to try and understand the ants,” Cinderella continues. Her feet aren’t cold and muddy now. They’re warm from the magic coating them, tucked neatly under her chair. “She understood I was upset about the butterfly, but being upset was no excuse for the violence I responded with. I shouldn’t have punished the ants for what was in their nature to do.”

“A wise woman.”

Cinderella smiles with closed lips. The sun is well and truly risen now and its harsh rays feel hot against Cinderella’s cheek and collarbones. “A kind woman.”

“Ah,” Helga says, understanding.

Cinderella wonders what it is Helga’s understood. “Hm?”

Helga weighs each word carefully. “If I may offer my two cents, my lady?” When Cinderella nods, she says, “Your mother was right that it was in the ants’ nature to kill.”

Why is she disappointed in Helga’s response? Cinderella sips her juice to hide her frown. “That’s true.”

“However,” Helga says, “nature does not protect one from another’s nature. Yes, it was in the ants’ nature to eat the butterfly. But perhaps it is in your nature to kill ants for tormenting butterflies.”

Cinderella sets down her juice and gives Helga her full attention.

“Considering that,” Helga says lightly, “was it so wrong to kill them for hurting something that meant so much to you?”

Oh. Cinderella swallows, desperately willing away the ache in her throat. Her lip trembles. Helga is looking at her with such deep understanding that Cinderella feels shaken to her core.

All these years and she understands now why her mother’s words bothered her so much. Her mother always seemed to think Cinderella should behave as if nothing affected her, not her mother’s absence, not her father absence, and not the violence of the ants against the butterfly. Helga is saying the opposite. Of course, Cinderella acted that way. Of course! Like the ants, Cinderella also had a nature. Cinderella, like the ants, also had a right to act the way she did.

A knot she didn’t know existed unravels in her chest. Cinderella doesn’t need to sit quietly when an injustice is being done to her or others. She doesn’t need to make excuses for the aggressor or understand their motives. She can act. She can defend. She can protect herself.

(It was never about the ants at all.)

Cinderella clears her throat. “Yes.” Thank you. She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I’d like to wear the blue dress tonight.”

“We had to rush getting ready last night,” Helga says. She reaches across the table to place her hand on top of Cinderella’s. It’s cooler than the sunlight but warms Cinderella all the same. “Why don’t we take out time getting ready, hm?”

“I’d like that,” Cinderella says.

--------

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

#long post #my writing #Cinderella fan fiction #cinderella retelling

[the-monkey-ruler]

Monkey King: Arena of Heroes (2022) 跨越神话 的冒险之旅

Date: April 7, 2022 Platform: PC / iPhone / iPad / Andriod Developer: Playbest Limited Publisher: Playbest Limited Genre: RPG Theme: Stylized / Anime Also known as: Legends of Wukong: Demon Arena Type: Retelling

Summary:

Epic Oriental Mythology RPG Monkey King: Arena of Heroes is here! Join Monkey King and Tang Monk on an epic journey from ancient China to the West in search of sacred sutras! Take part in intense 6v6 RPG card battles, collect hundreds of heroes, and build up your team on the way to the champion of four realms. Don’t miss out on the lifetime free daily 10x draws!

Source: https://www.monkeykingaoh.com/en

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_KE8nWKYTM

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