Broken Tales of a Kingdom

A short story series depicting tragic characters doomed to fall.

 

 

 

Broken Tales of a Kingdom

By Michelle Brown

 

 

 

The Society

 

When fate is entangled with the witches’ law

The future will not be what you foresaw.

 

 

            As Anette wandered the market in the small town of Plumeville, she took brief glances up from her book to look at the scenery, enjoying the sun that was rather bright that day. She said hello to the shopkeepers chatting with customers and tending their wares. She nodded acknowledgment to the other regulars also doing their daily shopping, and as she walked she threw small crumbs from the pocket of her old red and blue dress with multicolored patches sewn at the waist. Observant birds and brave rodents snuck through the crowds of people to get their fill of crumbs in what they understood as a daily ritual.

            As she passed by strangers �" travelers, warriors, family members of people who lived in town that came to visit �" she averted her eyes and smiled instead at the animals that crossed her path. Those who didn’t know Anette muttered to themselves about her peculiarity, almost taking offense to her treating animals better than them, and her intense love of her book. Those who did know her had become accustomed to her “odd” behavior. But of course she didn’t care either way; she was just being Anette.

            “Good morning, Anette. Lovely day isn’t it?” the man at the bread store greeted.

            “Very much so,” Anette agreed with a smile.

            “Good to see you, Anette,” the woman tending the flower shop called to her.

            “You, too,” she replied, continuing on her way.

            It was about mid-afternoon, the sun high in the sky, when Anette decided she’d rest in the shade of the forest that bordered the southern part of town. Usually the forest was empty and quiet, save for the animals that called it home.

            She found a large tree with moss covering its base to sit on. A few rodents passing by either recognized her, or smelled the crumbs in her pockets, and boldly approached her, giving her expectant looks. She laughed, rewarding for their bravery, and then laid her head against the tree, looking up at the sky. It was a pale shade of blue broken up with white clouds; her view of it was obscured by the trees’ branches, full with green leaves and pine needles. They stood silently and strongly, and made Anette feel at ease.

            She started to doze off when she heard leaves crunching nearby. The animals that had been near her scurried around, but remained near. Anette opened her eyes and saw a woman peeking at her from behind a tree. As soon as she noticed Anette looking at her, she hid behind the tree.

            Anette stared in that direction for a moment before saying softly, “Hello?”

            There was a pause in which Anette wasn’t sure what to do; should she call to her again? Or run? Before she could make up her mind, the woman walked out from behind the tree, revealing herself to a very thin woman with tight, blonde curls, a sharp nose, and big eyes. She was dressed in a blue dress that hung loosely on her thin, straight body; she had no curves to speak of.

            Anette watched her curiously. She seemed harmless.

            “I know what you are,” she said, but not in an angry, or intimidating way; more like she was trying to build a bridge of trust. Anette was unsure of how to respond and just stared at her.

            So the woman said, “But you don’t have to be afraid.”

            There was another pause. Neither moved. They were about ten feet away from each other, staring into each other’s eyes, sizing each other up.

            “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” the woman persisted.

            Anette racked her brain. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about...”

            “The animals...” she motioned to the small rodents who lay next to her digging in the dirt, or rested in her lap. “You can’t fool me.”

            “I’m...not trying to fool anyone.”

            The woman’s face soured. “I can tell. You’re so close to town. What if someone saw you?!”

            “Saw me...doing what?”

            “The animals,” she repeated, stressing each word through clenched teeth.

            Anette looked at the small mouse lying on her lap. What was this woman talking about?

            “But, like I said, you don’t need to be afraid. Because I’m one, too. Not...exactly the same, since you’re a class above me, but you know what I mean. Now quickly, I must get you to the Grand Master. She’ll be so pleased,” she said, closing the gap between them.

            The mouse on Anette’s lap was startled by this woman’s sudden movements and scurried off with the rest of the group.

            “Take me where?” Anette asked, standing and brushing herself off.

            “There’s a place for people like you and me where people can’t bother us, and we can feel free and safe,” she said, roughly grabbing Anette’s wrist and leading her through the forest. “My name is Misty, by the way. What’s yours?”

            Anette struggled to answer at first, focusing on avoiding tripping on the rocks and sticks in her path as she was dragged behind Misty. “I’m Anette, but I really want to know what you’re talking about, and where you’re taking me.”

            She tried to move her hand, but Misty’s vice grip didn’t allow much wiggle room.

            “Anette? That’s a pretty name. And I told you already, it’s a safe house.”

            “But I wasn’t in any danger...”

            “That’s what they want you to think.”

            “Who’s ‘they’?”

            “The humans, of course!”

            “Humans?”

            “Mmhmm. We’re almost there!”

            Anette was about to ask where, but she knew she would receive the same answer. She didn’t see anything but trees and stumps and grass; where could this “safe” place be? A few steps after, a foreboding tower, all in gold, suddenly appeared in front of them.

            “Where did that come from?” Anette gasped.

            “The Grand Master put a cloaking spell on it so those disgusting humans don’t find us.”

            “Who is the ‘Grand Master’? Master of what?”

            Misty let go of Anette’s hand and looked at her with her large, blue eyes. “The Society of Witches, of course.”

            “Witches?” Anette repeated. “There is no such thing.”

            “You don’t have to keep pretending. It’s alright. I know you’re one, too.”

            “I’m not a...witch.”

            “My goodness, you are a stubborn one, aren’t you? Come on.”

            She grabbed Anette’s wrist and dragged her toward the entrance. After several conversations with other witch members, Misty ushered Anette to a large door down a long, wide hallway, and knocked on the door. It echoed off the walls, and then it was silent. But it was the terrifying silence; the unnerving kind. Anette did not dare to speak for fear of an unseen identity.

            Then the large door slowly creaked open. Misty walked right in, and Anette, still unnerved, reluctantly followed; where else was she going to go?

            The room was only lit as far as the light from the hallway reached; everything else was engulfed in darkness. The door behind them slowly creaked shut in the same way it had opened, and Anette felt her chest seize up with fright. Why had she followed this insane woman to this place? What was going to happen to her? Was she going to die? She stood still, and shut her eyes tightly, waiting for the end. It would come swiftly, she hoped, counting each breath, thinking they would be her last. Someone rustled something in the distance, and the sound of a fire lighting caused Anette to open her eyes. The room turned a deep orange, lit by two torches that stood ten feet tall in the thirty-foot room. On the far side of the room sat three witches on tall thrones. There was no other furniture in the room made of white marble.

            “Why are you guys sitting in the dark?” Misty called to them.

            The one on the left wearing deep shades of purple, puckered her small, red lips. Wisps of black smoke fluttered around her pale skin. “We were in a meeting someplace else, now be a dear, and tell us why we needed to be here.”

            “Oh,” Misty replied.

            Anette frowned, not understanding.

            “Oh Selma, the meeting was boring, don’t make such a fuss,” the small woman on the right remarked. Her choice of color was a light green, in which her clothes, accessories, and even glowing aura matched. Her smile was sweet. “You can be rude to the humans, but not to one of us.”

            “The meeting was important, Mabel, boring or not,” Selma countered. “We must always be on the lookout for an evil human plot.”

            “Calm yourself, you’re turning red.”

            “You’ll wish we had more meetings before you’re dead.”

            “Ladies, please, it looks like we have a guest,” the witch in the middle said. Her voice and presence commanded authority. Anette was struck by her grandeur. “Now, Misty, we’re here. Now tell us the rest.”

            “Oh, right, um, I brought a new witch,” she announced proudly, stepping to the side to reveal Anette. “I found her out in the forest using her powers in the open. Thankfully no one else saw her.”

            Anette had her hands folded and rested them on the front of her modest dress. She avoided direct eye contact with these three for fear she might die while stuck in their gaze.

            “Well now, this is a surprise. Please, do not fear,” said the one in the middle. “We’re here to help. So what is your power, dear?”

            “I’m not a witch,” Anette said softly.

            “Speak up!” snapped Selma.

            “I’m not a witch,” she repeated louder.

            The three turned to Misty, whose eyes widened. “Of course she is. I saw her summon animals in the forest,” she stated.

            “I didn’t summon anything,” muttered Anette.

            Misty turned and glared at her, her blue eyes tinged with rage.

            “It seems this young one cannot yet control her powers, which is not so strange. But as you live here and follow the laws, this will change,” the woman in the middle said. “Here at the Society of Witches we embrace all our sisters’ gifts, any one of the seven powers brings us closer together, not creating rifts. Of course staying here is your choice, you may go back to town if you’re brave. But if you choose that, I cannot guarantee you’ll be safe.”

            Her last words dripped with venom. The other two looked curiously at Anette, whose face was still cast downward.

            “I believe I made my point. Along with staying here, you must obey all of the rules, for if you disobey them you will end up a fool. A good example of one, my favorite by far, was a witch who went by the name Star. She was a good witch at first, always working on a book, but one minor infraction was all it took. She took something precious, and put up a fight, so I took away her most precious thing: her sight. So heed this warning, and follow every, single rule, and you won’t end up like this sad story’s fool.”

            She rose from her throne toward a small podium in the center of the large room, sitting between the three witches, and Anette and Misty.

            “Come forth to receive a blessing and be inducted into the Society.”

            Anette lifted her head and felt herself moving toward this baptism. Her body seemed to react out of fear.

            Once at the podium, the Grand Master dipped her fingers in the water and drew a symbol on Anette’s forehead. Anette winced with anticipation, worrying it might harm her. It was over as soon as it began, and Anette and Misty were soon out in the hallway.

            “For future reference, don’t try and make me look like an idiot in front of the Counsel again.”

            “Oh, sorry...I was just...nervous...”

            “I’ll let it go for now. Let me show you to your room. It’s close to mine.”

            Anette followed her through a couple of doors and down another hallway.

            “So what was that all about?” Anette asked, avoiding eye contact with curious witches who looked on.

            “That was the Initiation. It’s to prevent you from using your powers against other witches.”

            “Is it some kind of...safety thing?”

            “A long time ago, some witch fell for a human’s trap and he ended up using her power to destroy an entire city of witches. It hurt our already dwindling numbers at the time. So the Grand Master Witch created a spell that wouldn’t allow witches to hurt other witches using their magic. Have you heard of those awful witch hunts in the towns?”

            “Yeah, I have.”

            “Those were the loopholes some witch found decades ago. Humans can kill witches, so when they had an enemy they couldn’t get rid of with magic, they stirred up the humans with rumors until her enemy was burned or drowned. So barbarian, those humans.”

            “I...didn’t know that.”

            “That’s why every witch has to come here for their blessing. To protect witches everywhere. They keep very good records on the lineage of witches, who inherit their power from their mothers. But some, like you, manage to fall through the cracks. Good thing I found you!”

            “Yeah...”

            “And that doesn’t even cover our feuds with the dragons...”

            “Dragons? Those exist, too?”

            “Of course, silly. Only one family used to live in this country, but I heard the King killed them all. Witches and dragons have had a long-standing feud. Witches can’t kill dragons with their magic, so they often try to convince humans to do it for them.”

            “Why do you guys not get along?”

            Misty shrugged. “It started a long time ago, but we all hate them now. They’re vile and destructive creatures. What’s not to hate?”

            “I see...”

            “Oh, I’m sorry for talking your ear off! I’m just excited to be your sort of mentor, teaching you all the rules and showing you around. I can’t help with training, since your power is animals and mine is water, but I’m sure we could help each other out!”

            “Uh, yeah, sure...”

            “Well, here we are! I’m right down the hall if you need anything! Tour starts tomorrow, nine AM sharp!”

            “Alright...”

            Anette watched her skip down the hallway, blissfully unaware she brought a human to the best kept secret on that side of the country.

            Her room was pretty spacious, but scarcely furnished: a wooden bed and nightstand, and a desk near the tiny window. There was a red rug on the marble floor, and the walls were all white. It smelled of pine, which didn’t bother Anette, but it felt too clean and sterile to be comfortable. She sat on the bed. It was stiff and cold. She thought of her soft, warm bed at home and her eyes began to water. Could she ever go home? Was she allowed in town? Who would feed the animals without her there? What would happen to her when they found out she wasn’t a witch? This last though stopped her tears. Her stomach knotted in panic. If she tried to run, she would be killed immediately, she was sure. But if she stayed, she would be killed eventually; she couldn’t keep up the charade forever. Either way she was going to die. She lay down and closed her eyes. She couldn’t escape her fate.

***

            “And how many drops of this poison is safe before it turns lethal?” a plain-looking witch with brown hair, brown eyes, and simple clothing asked Anette.

            They sat out in the front lawn overlooking the swamps just on the other side of the thorn gates.

            “Three,” Anette replied.

            “Correct! Man, you’re good,” she complemented, turning toward Misty who lay on the grass within ear shot. “She’s only been here a month and already she’s on her way to surpassing you, Misty. You’d better work harder.”

            “She can’t even use her powers,” Misty grumbled.

            “It’s not all about the powers.”

            Misty heaved a heavy sigh and turned away from them.

            “Oh, no, I just spend a lot of time studying. Everything here is so fascinating. I can’t believe this place exists without anyone knowing,” Anette said.

            “It’s the power of magic,” the plain witch said, glancing at the sky. “Speaking of magic, time must have magically sped up, for I am late for a training session. See you guys later.”   

            She gathered her things and rushed across the lawn. Misty sat up and looked at Anette. “So you like studying?”

            “Yeah, there’s so much to learn.”

            “I know a place you can learn everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”

            “Where’s that?”

            Misty smiled.

***

            The doors were enormous, at least ten feet high. They were made of wood and ornately carved, each with a small window in the center. Clearly the doors, and even the entire hallway, had been neglected for some time. Dust coated every flat surface, and there were spider webs in every corner.

            “What is this?” Anette asked.

            “This is where all the secret, rare, and powerful books are stored.”

            Anette cupped around her eyes and put her face up to the window to see inside. From the cloudy and limited view she had, she saw bookcase after bookcase, all filled with books of different sizes, shapes, colors, and bindings.

            “Something tells me this room is off limits,” Anette said, noticing Misty’s sheepish grin.

            “Oh, it is. But if you ever wanted to know everything about anything, this room is where it’d be.”

            Anette brushed her hands together to wipe the dust off. “I guess I’ll just have to go without knowing.”

            The sparkle in Misty’s eyes dulled a bit. “I guess so. Come on, let’s go.”

            She walked off, and Anette took a long look at the doors before following her.

            “So you still haven’t figured out how to use your powers?” Misty asked as they walked.

            Anette hesitated for a moment, but quickly composed herself, trying to remain nonchalant. “No, not yet.”

            “That’s so strange,” Misty said.

            “I guess everyone realizes their ability at their own pace.”

            “Yeah,” Anette agreed, shrugging it off. “I actually have a lot to do tonight, so we’ll catch up later?”

            “Oh, yeah, sure.”

            Anette turned toward the rooms, and Misty watched her leave with a guarded expression.

***

            A couple days later while walking back to her room, Anette noticed her bedroom door was open.

            “Did I forget to shut it...?” she mumbled to herself as she walked inside.

            Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. As she passed her desk, she noticed one of the drawers wasn’t completely shut; the one that contained her diary. Slowly she opened the drawer and found it empty.

***

            She wanted so badly to forget the forbidden book room. She wanted to pretend it never existed. But each day she found herself walking passed the hallway leading to this fountain of knowledge. She began dreaming about it, speculating what kind of books were inside. She was going mad.

            One day, Anette finally decided she would go in and have a peek. Just enough to fill her curiosity. That is how she found herself using a lock-pick potion on the ornate doors and stepping inside. It was dark inside, so she felt the wall for a candle, and lit one with a match. Dust had devoured everything in sight; it was caked in layers on every book, every shelf, every nook and cranny. Anette sneezed a few times as she took her first few steps inside. She set the candle down on a shelf and picked up a book at random. It was entitled “The Secrets of the Witch Hierarchy,” and was made with thick, brown leather. She flipped through the pages, eagerly absorbing all it read in its fancy script. It had information about the different types of magic witches could wield, how it passed down from generation to generation starting from the first witches. It even mentioned the Grand Master Witch. Perhaps it was a different one with the same title? It said her power was time, so she couldn’t be too sure.

            “What are you doing here?” Anette heard a voice say.

            She turned and saw Misty standing by the door.

            “Oh, Misty, I was just...”

            “Breaking the rules, I see. I was told to bring you to the Grand Master immediately.”

            “You were?” Anette’s stomach dropped.

            “Come on.”

            Anette felt herself move toward Misty, although she wasn’t consciously telling her body to move. She had been expecting �" and dreading �" this moment since she had arrived. She knew it had to come eventually.

            “Are they going to kill me?” she asked nervously.

            Misty shrugged, but didn’t reply, making Anette more nervous.

            Before long, they reached the large doors that Anette had been inside her very first day. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She now knew so many things she hadn’t before. They walked inside and found it was already lit, the three witches already in their thrones.

            “What is it now?” Selma grumbled.

            Anette frowned at their expectant faces. They clearly had been asked to be here. By Misty. What was she doing?

            “Grand Master, This girl has broken into the forbidden book room and read some of the books found inside,” Misty said with an accusing finger point at Anette.

            The three witches gasped.

            “Is this true?” the Grand Master asked.

            Anette looked away, guilty.

            “Well, then according to the rules, any witch found breaking such a rule is to be executed.”

            “But wait, there’s more!” Misty interrupted. “I have evidence here, her diary, that states she is not a witch, and only kept up appearances to learn more about witches.”

            “Human?” Selma repeated.

            “But that means she cannot be executed,” the green witch pointed out.

            “How do you figure?”

            “The rules state any ‘witch’, not human. We don’t have any rules regarding humans finding out about the Tower, either.”

            Anette looked at them with hope in her eyes; were they going to spare her?

            “Regardless of human or witch, we must kill her,” Selma persisted.

            The Grand Master sat back in her chair thoughtfully, and the room became silent. “As there are no rules dictating how we proceed, I have no choice but to let you leave.”

            Anette quickly bowed and turned to leave, not waiting for her to change her mind.

            “But do take care, and remember your place,” the Grand Master continued. “For new rules are written often and we never forget a face.”

            Anette pushed all of her body weight against the door and ran out of the castle, across the lawn, and into the forest. She left whatever possessions she had back in her room. As she ran, tears fell from her eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was from fear, or from relief. She had escaped the tower.

***

 

            Anette had been home for several weeks. Things had gone back to normal. People asked where she had been, and she said she was visiting family in another town. It was a last minute request, and she couldn’t refuse. They said they were glad to have her back, and so life went on.

            It was around this time that the rumors started. There was a witch among them, people said. But what did she look like? Like one of them, of course! Hiding in plain sight. Who could it possibly be?

            Now when she went to the market, Anette noticed the people she normally greeted giving her wary glances. She thought this was strange, but still tried to act normal. She had things to hide, but they didn’t have anything to do with her. People whispered around her, asked where she had come from, why she had left in the first place. She said she had no family. So where was she really?

            Then one morning they came for her. A group of people in town busted her door in at her home, and took her from her bed.

            “What are you doing?!” she shouted, struggling to break free.

            “Witch! Witch!” they chanted.

            “I’m not a witch! I’m not a witch!” she exclaimed.

            These words echoed in her head, bringing her back to when she told the real witches she wasn’t a witch. Why did no one believe her?

            They brought her down to the lake, and tied up her hands and feet. A man came forward and addressed the crowd, “If this woman is a witch, then she shall survive this drowning. But if she does not survive, then she will be deemed innocent before everyone here and before the divines.”

             “That doesn’t make any sense!” Anette screamed, but the shouts of the people were louder.

            They lowered her in the water, and just as her head was about to go under, she saw Misty in the crowd, covered with a brown shawl, smiling.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blind Dreams

 

What do you do when your life becomes too much to bear?

You throw away reality in return for a cloudy stare.

 

            To the northeast of the largest town in the country, down a long, dirt road on a small farm a young boy named Arthur played in the dirt with his farm tools. He was quite a distance from his house, but within view. He dug a hole, and then filled it up, compacting it down with a few pats with the back of his shovel. He repeated this process, entertained by something so simple. After a few more circulating dirt holes, he rose and ran for a nearby tree for shade. It was a hot day, and Arthur’s face was covered in sweat. The tree he sat under �" was it a pine tree? Palm? Maple? He couldn’t remember the name, but the leaves were wide and provided excellent shade �" sat near the dirt road leading toward the city. The browning grass on the hills went on for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see.

            As Arthur sat in the shade, he looked out into the distance, listening to the cicadas that called out to each other. He tried to imagine what the world looked like. Surely it was more exciting than this farm.

            In the distance, over one of the hills, he saw something approaching. It was too small to make out at first. He squinted, widened his eyes, and then squinted again, but to no avail. He rubbed his eyes, assuming it was sweat running down his forehead that blurred his vision. When they reopened, he still saw the object moving in his direction.

            Patiently he waited under his tree. He thought he heard his name, but when he didn’t hear it again, he thought it was his hot mind playing tricks on him, as it sometimes did. Trees turned into people, dirt turned into water, bugs spoke his language.

            What was once in the distance now came into view: an old, wooden cart on wheels pulled by a black horse. The man driving the cart was old, with a black hat covering his grey hair, and glasses. He wore a long, white shirt under a brown vest made of wool, and black pants. His brown shoes were scuffed and dirty. The cart the horse pulled looked almost as old as the man.

            Just as he reached Arthur under the tree, he pulled on the reins of the horse, bringing them to a stop. He looked down at Arthur. His own brow had beads of sweat forming.

            “Hey boy,” he called.

            “Yes, sir?” Arthur replied.

            “You like books?”

            “My parents think reading is the work of evil forces, like witches.”

            The old man laughed; it was sudden and startled Arthur. “Witches? Ha! Your parents are superstitious fools!”

            Arthur would have defended his parents �" surely �" but was cut off by the old man jumping off his cart. He walked toward the back and Arthur watched him curiously.

            “Come ‘ere.”

            Arthur obediently stood and followed him to the back. The man opened the dark green curtains covering the back and reached inside. The young boy peeked inside and saw an assortment of goods �" books, dolls, potion bottles, clothes �" but the man quickly closed them back up before he was able to get a better look. He handed Arthur a book. It was gold and had a magical aura. Larger than an average book, he had trouble holding it in his young arms.

            “But last time I was caught reading books, my parents beat me.”

            “Then don’t get caught,” was the man’s simple reply.

            He climbed back into the front of the cart. “Now take care of that. There aren’t many left.”

            “But why are you giving this to me?”

            “Because no one in the city would take it.”

            “It’s from the city?” Arthur suddenly regarded this item as important.

            “You betcha. Now take care. And finish it sooner rather than later.”

            He snapped his reins and the horse began its slow crawl down the dirt road. Once they were out of sight, Arthur sat back down in the shade of his tree and set down the book in the crunchy grass. He opened the front cover and, with some difficulty, read the opening passage:

            “To those of great power, and those who are small,

            Also those who rise, and those who fall,

            Beyond all pretenses,

            And with no offenses,

            Read on for tales of greatness and tales of woe,

            With thrilling adventures, delightful heroes, and dangerous foes.

            The world as you see it and as it is written become one,

            With no control over done and undone.

            As the decision to read is entirely free,

            All that you see now belongs to me.”

            Arthur read this passage over several times, unable to grasp its meaning. Perhaps it had something to do with the story, and he would understand once he read it. He wasted no time turning the page to chapter one: Where the Road Ends and Adventure Begins. The main character is introduced. It’s a young boy! And his name is Arthur! What are the chances? He read on. He was also an only child to two evil parents. One day, in the cover of night, he packed what little belongings he had and set out.

            It was many hours before he found lights �" they came from an old inn miles from his home. The sun was just starting to peek up from the horizon. It illuminated the rolling hills of grass, the droplets of dew reflecting the light. He decided he would stay at the inn, knowing his parents were late risers; by the time they noticed he was gone, he would already have a head start. Not that he thought they would follow. He doubted they cared.

            He paid the innkeeper, went to his room �" small and sparsely furnished with old, broken fixtures �" and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

            Arthur heard his name again in the distance. He looked up from his book and couldn’t see anything. Night had fallen. He rubbed his eyes and the daylight returned to his vision. He closed the book and placed it between the tree’s branches. The leaves hid it from prying eyes. Farm tools in hand, he ran back toward his house.

            It was nearing dinnertime, but the air was humid and the sun still hung in the sky. These were the long days of summer.

            A woman waited impatiently at the front door, her arms crossed and a scowl on her wrinkled and worn face. Her chestnut hair had strands of grey, and was pulled back into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her clothes showed signs of wear, presumably from years of hard labor. Arthur cautiously approached the stairs where she stood and was immediately struck in the face with her hand.

            “Where have you been?! I’ve been calling your name for hours!”

            A few tears streamed down Arthur’s face. “I was just playing in the dirt.”

            His tears had no effect on her, and she withdrew into the house. “Your father will be angry for the way you’re treating me,” she said from somewhere inside the house.

            Arthur walked inside and shut the door behind him. The old wooden house was falling apart. There were chips in the paint on the walls, wooden floorboards were missing here and there, and parts of the roof caved in while parts of the floor sunk. It was dark. Little light came through the cloudy windows shattered at the corners. Few candles lay about, but were unlit, possibly to preserve what few they had.

            Arthur rubbed his cheek when his mom wasn’t looking. It was bright red and stung.

            “He better bring home enough money this time,” his mom grumbled under her breath as she boiled something on a small, wooden stove. The fire was small and she was visibly growing more irritated with the slow progress.

            Arthur sat in an uneven chair at the dining table. It creaked in protest at his weight. He was a skinny boy, clearly underfed, and with many visible bruises and cuts.

            Shortly after, his father burst through the front door. He stumbled over his feet, swaying from side to side. His eyes were glazed over, suggesting he had been drinking. The mother turned to him with an expectant look. “Well? Did you bring home the money from the crops?”

            He glared at her for a moment, wobbling in place, and threw a small coin purse on the table. It landed with a loud clank, and coins scattered, rolling off in every direction. Arthur reached out to save some, but his hands were slapped by his mom who greedily grabbed them. After counting, she frowned. “This is less than last time!” she shrieked.

            “Alcohol is getting more expensive,” the dad replied simply, taking a seat at the other dining chair.

            “You should not be wasting our money on your drinking! You have a family to feed!”

            “A lot of good my ‘family’ has done me,” he spat at her. “A child who doesn’t know the value of work, and a wife who dried up before her prime.”

            The mom grew angrier. “It is your fault we only had one child. And you cannot even provide for that one! How would you expect to take care of more?!”

            The dad rose suddenly, knocking over his chair. He walked into the other room without saying another word. An oppressive, silent moment passed.

            “Do you want me to put those coins with the rest of the savings, mom?” Arthur asked.

            His mom turned to glare at him. “Not after you stole the last ones, you ungrateful child.”

            “I told you, I didn’t take them. I saw dad do it.”

            His mother reached across the small table and smacked the other side of his cheek. “Don’t you dare talk about your father like that.”

            “Yes mom.” Tears fell from his eyes.

            The two ate their modest dinner in silence.

***

            Arthur awoke from his bed at the inn a few hours later. In his gut he could feel a new beginning was upon him. His face was wet with tears that spilled while he slept. The nightmares came and went, but no longer, he resolved. He would be strong now. He could not go back, only forward. Only forward. After leaving the inn, he consulted his map. The inn was miles away from the nearest city; it would be one, maybe two, day’s journey by foot with few breaks. The word “strength” echoed in his head. He was told he was not strong enough. He couldn’t help his family. He wasn’t enough strong enough to help himself. Strength. What did this word truly mean?

            The light from the sun grew brighter each hour on his journey. The sun rose on schedule, time continued to move without any thought about the people. Birds flew overhead, waking early to catch the literal, not proverbial, worm. They had no concept of time, yet moved with it instinctively. Arthur understood the concept, and, like all humans, fought against it. He continued on.

            When the sun was at its highest point, Arthur knew he would need to find a place to rest, just for a bit. His cloth shoes provided no support or protection for his aching feet on the dirt road with rocks lying at every other step. The pack tied at his back strained on his back.

            In the horizon he saw a small patch of trees, and quickened his pace with anticipation. Shade! Finally! But as he approached a tree, a large creature on four legs appeared, snarling. It was tall and muscular, and bared its teeth, looking into Arthur’s eyes.

            Careful not to make any sudden movements, Arthur slowly pulled his pack to the side and pulled out a medium-sized kitchen knife. It was old and rusted in places, but sharp nonetheless. The creature suddenly rushed forward. Arthur tightened his grip on the knife, and did the same. Just as they were about to collide, the creature let out a loud “Moo!”

            Arthur jumped back and dropped the book, falling on his rear. He blinked as his eyes focused on the large cow in front of him. It stared down at him calmly as it chewed the grass in its mouth. He did not look amused.

            In Arthur’s hand he saw he was holding his shovel, unintentionally gripping it tightly. His fingers loosened and it fell onto the grass.

            “What happened?” he asked the cow, looking around. “Where am I?”

            He couldn’t see his house, but did see the dirt road. But which way was home? He stood up, grabbing his book and shovel, and looked around. In the distance he saw his favorite shade tree, just along the dirt road. He hid the book and raced back to his house, hoping his mother hadn’t been calling him.

            His mother was inside, lying on the couch in the living room.

            “Did you call?” Arthur asked.

            She didn’t look at him. “It’s all your fault,” she said.

            “What did I do?”

            “It’s all your fault,” she repeated. Her words slurred. “It’s your fault.”

            He looked at the table and saw empty alcohol bottles. She grabbed one and threw it at the wall; it shattered. Arthur started to back up toward the door when the dad walked into the room.

            “What was that?” he demanded.

            “It’s all his fault,” his mother continued to say.

            The father turned his glare on Arthur, who looked at him with fear in his eyes.

            “I just walked in,” Arthur said.

            “Come here.”

            Arthur turned to escape out the door, but his father was quicker and roughly grabbed his arm. “Don’t you talk back to me.”

            Arthur averted his eyes.

            “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

            He looked at his father’s sunken eyes. They were dark and red rimmed. The hope of his youth had long since died, leaving a shell of a man.

            “I’m sorry,” Arthur said in a quiet voice.

            His father looked at him for a moment, and then angrily thrust him backward. He stormed off back to his room.

            Arthur took a deep breath and sat at the dining room table. No tears threatened to overflow, he didn’t shake. He just sat and thought about where his next adventure in the book would take him. Yet a strong feeling burned inside his gut. He felt angry.

***

            Months had passed and Arthur grew stronger. He had battled many foes, rescued many people, and began to understand what true strength was. Still, he felt he was missing something. His parents had left a hole, and he often wondered if it could be filled. He never stayed in a town for too long, never made promises to fair maidens he couldn’t keep. He was kind and virtuous, people said. He had the strength of ten men with ten hearts!

            Maybe they were right. Maybe he had accomplished what he had set out to. Maybe...it was time to find a new place to call home.

            While travelling to a new town called Streamwood, he was greeted with what appeared to be a deserted town. Yet the houses, made of stone and wood, showed no signs of neglect. The air was cool, and the smell of salt water hung in the air. Was this town near a body of water? He hadn’t been that far west before so he couldn’t say for sure.

            An old woman walking by caught his eye. He approached her.

            “So, I take it you are here to slay the twin beasts of Calio?” she said in a wavering voice. She was hunched over and was covered by a knitted, brown shawl.

            “The twin beasts?” Arthur repeated.

            “Oh, I guess you aren’t.”

            “Please, tell me more. Are they hurting people?”

            “Just look at the town. You have good eyes, use them!” she pointed her cane toward his face. “They live in the cave, just past the town into the forest. They come down here and take two people at a time, bringing them back to their cave and eating them. We have no one to stop them, so everyone bars themselves up in their homes to save themselves.”

            “I will slay them,” Arthur said.

            “Oh, divines thank you, brave warrior. May they smile favorably on you in your quest.”

            “Thank you. They are in this direction?”

            She nodded and waved him off. He walked through the empty town, then into the forest. The sun was covered by clouds, and Arthur was sure to take several deep, cleansing breaths. He had been in the hot sun for most of his journey, and this temperature suited him much better. Perhaps he could stay there?

            In the woods he came upon the large mouth of a cave. He didn’t see anything around, and quietly crept inside. There was a small candle lit inside, allowing him to see.

            He drew the large sword from his back �" one he had found while plundering a bandit hideout �" and took slow, quiet steps. There in the middle of the cave, he found the twin beasts lying on a rock, fast asleep. They were a little larger than a human, with horns on their head and covered in red fur. One was a little smaller than the other, suggesting it was the female.

            Arthur lifted his sword over the male, and dropped it, slicing its neck. The beast cried out, almost emitting a human-like sound. Arthur quickly raised his sword once more and took off the rest of the head, cutting off its scream. The female beast was jolted awake, her red eyes full of confusion and anger. Arthur didn’t wait for her to react and stabbed her in the stomach. She let out a little cry, and slumped over.

            He had slain the beasts and saved the town!

            He walked out of the cave, but was not greeted with the bright, cloudy day. It was still dark. Almost as though his vision was dimming. He blinked and realized he was in his parent’s bedroom.

            “Where’s my book?” he said, dropping to his knees and feeling around the floor. “I just had it.”

            Something dropped next to him making a loud clanking noise. He looked over and saw a machete  lying there. It was red at the end. He kept searching and his fingers felt the leather binding, the familiar shape. He hugged it, holding it close to his chest. He opened his eyes, but it was as though they were still closed. He was smiling.

            As the decision to read is entirely free,

            All that you see now belongs to me.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buried Crown

When your days are counted by moments, not seconds, minutes, and hours,

You will be overtaken by those who waste no time and seek power.

 

            Cecile didn’t measure her days by minutes or hours, nor her months by calendars. Only one day a year stood out in her life, and it was her birthday. She didn’t know when it was, but received a congratulations from her caregiver every year around the same time. She was given a special treat brought down to her underground dwelling from a large wooden basket on a pulley system from thirty feet up. The treat was an example of the beautiful things that the world teased her with; the world itself never embraced her with a face-to-face meeting, as much as she wanted one. But she never blamed the world. She wasn’t bitter, but hopeful. Hopeful that some day she might be able to see the world. But she did feel isolated, and often day dreamed about what adventures she could have if she was out there, out where the sun shined, and the sky spread out above as far as the eye could see.

            One morning Cecile woke in her comfortable bed, one of the highest quality fabric and pillows filled with plush feathers. She lit a lamp near her bed, and grabbed a book she had been working on the night before.

            “I wonder what will happen next,” she said aloud, flipping through the pages.

            Her dwelling, lavishly furnished, remained in darkness save for her one lit lamp. There were other lamps scattered around, and sometimes she liked to light them all to flood her room with a bright and warm light. It never failed to put her in a good mood.

            Hours passed and she grew weary of reading, so she decided she would clean. She dusted the furniture, swept the floor, and rearranged things. She painted pictures, hanging them on a wall already covered with other paintings; she hummed to herself and danced around the room; she wrote in a small diary and commented on it as she went, filling the otherwise lonely silence of the room. Then she set up a small chair underneath the hole to the sky above, sat down, and enjoyed the very small view she had. If she was lucky, birds would fly by, chirping their happy songs. She watched the clouds roll by, completely at the mercy of the wind.

            “It’s beautiful...” she said.

            She started to nod off when she heard a loud clank. A pair of hands grasped the iron bars and lifted it up. Cecile pushed her chair out of the way, and smiled anxiously at the old woman who came into sight.

            “Hello dear,” the old woman greeted.

            “Hello! Good to see you!”

            “Guess what day it is.”

            Cecile gasped. “Is it my birthday?”

            The old woman’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “It is. And it’s your eighteenth birthday, too. That’s a very big deal.”

            “It is? Why?”

            “It means you are now officially no longer a girl, but a woman.”

            “Wow, that’s exciting! I don’t...feel any older.”

            “You’re still young, wait until you get to my age. Then you’ll really feel it.”

            Cecile laughed.

            “I brought you the usual special treat, and a new book. It’s a very popular one around the town right now.”

            “Oh, wow!” Cecile held up her hands and grabbed the dropping basket, setting it on the ground.

            The old woman pulled back up the rope, leaving the basket with her; it took her a couple minutes before she had the entire rope at the top, and then put the bars back on the hole.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow,” the old lady said.

            “Thank you!”

            She disappeared, and Cecile turned her attention to her basket of goodies. The food was sealed, other items were put in their places, and Cecile hurriedly sat on her bed, book in hand. It was a leather-bound book with gold writing on the front and the spine. It was called “The Prince,” a very promising name indeed.

            She read through the first chapter, snacking on some of the food that was brought to her. Before she knew it, her eyelids felt heavy and she struggled to pay attention. Finally calling it a night, she extinguished the lamp and fell asleep with the book lying next to her.

***

            The next day, Cecile woke with fresh excitement to continue her book. She eagerly picked it up and continued where she left off. Time seemed to move at the speed her book dictated; she lost herself completely in the story.

            When she finally read the words “The End,” she felt fulfilled, but also sad it had to end. The best books can do this to unsuspecting readers.

            Her stomach growled, so she ate some of her food left from the day before, and thought about the book. She cleaned up, and put away the book in her bookshelf, filled with her favorite stories. She couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought the old woman usually arrived by then. She looked up at the hole and saw no one. Perhaps she was running late.

            When she moved onto her other activities and still didn’t hear the bell, she became worried. Maybe she was hurt. She wasn’t often this late. But what could Cecile do? She was stuck down there, and any means of escaping were at the top with the rope. No, she would just have to be patient. Perhaps she was mistaken and it was still too soon. As she walked back to her bed, she heard a sound coming from above.

            “Hello?” a voice called out; it wasn’t the old woman’s.

            Cecile cautiously glanced up. “Hello...?” She saw a man.

            “Hello, are you alright, miss?”

            “Oh, yes, I’m fine...but who are you?”

            “Well, I was out for a walk, and I noticed a rope up here lying on the ground, and I was curious. I thought maybe someone had been climbing down there and was stuck. And it seems I was right. Would you like me to throw the rope down for you?”

            “Oh no, I’m not allowed to leave,” Cecile quickly responded.

            “You’re...not allowed?”

            “No, the old woman says I cannot leave.”

            “Old woman? Are you in danger? I assure you I can handle any problem you are dealing with. Especially if it’s an old woman. She isn’t your mother, is she?”

            “I don’t think so...but I really shouldn’t...”

            The man paused. “I would feel horribly wrong to just leave you down there. I think I’m willing to take the consequences, whatever they may be.”

            Cecile felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach as he removed the bars and threw down the rope.

            “For the sake of my conscious, could you please take the rope?” the man persisted.

            The rope dangled in front of Cecile, tempting her with all its might. The world in her books, the stories she had read about for such a long time would finally come to life before her eyes. Before she could think about it further, she felt herself grab the rope and be pulled up by the man.

            As soon as she was completely up, she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hands. “It’s so bright...” she complained. “I can’t see anything...”

            “Just slowly ease into it, your eyes will adjust. How long have you been down there, by the way?”

            Cecile sat on her knees, her eyes still covered. “My whole life, I think,” she replied. “The sun is a million times as bright as my lamps, how do you stand it?”

            “Like I said, you’ll get used to it, don’t worry. It’s hard to believe you’ve been down there for so long, but you do look rather pale. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course. It’s a rather beautiful color, in fact. As pure as snow.”

            Cecile felt her face grow warm. Slowly her hands moved aside so her eyes could see. The man sitting in front of her was every bit as charming as his voice; even the most perfectly described prince in her books could not compare to him. He had dark hair swept to the side by the winds, and blue eyes that looked upon her with compassion. His features were soft, yet distinguished.

          “Thank you for obliging me. I cannot call myself a gentleman if I were to leave a damsel in distress, now can I?”

            “I guess not...but I don’t know what to do now. I have nowhere to go, and I know no one besides the old woman,” Cecile’s face grew more pale. “The old woman! We have to get out of here before she finds us and puts me back!”

            Cecile stood up and started running.

            “Where exactly are you going?” the man asked, catching up to her.

            “I want to see the city,” she announced.

            “Do you know which way that is?”

            Cecile slowly stopped walking and frowned. “No...”

            “First thing’s first. Tell me your name.”

            “Cecile.”

           “Nice to meet you, Cecile. I’m Frederick,” he replied, bowing slightly. “And I’d be happy to take you to the city, if you like.”

            “Yes! That would be great!”

            “Alright then. We need to be going that way then.” He pointed behind them.

            “Oh...right. Lead the way.”

            As they walked, Cecile tried to contain her excitement, but found this to be an impossible task. She looked at everything in wonderment. Bright and vibrant colors everywhere; fragrant scents she had never smelled before wafted through the air; light breezes of warm air grazed her skin.

            “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

            “What is?” Frederick asked.

            “Everything.”

            Frederick smiled. “So may I ask why you were kept down there?”

            “I don’t know.” Cecile bent down and picked a flower, smelling it with a deep inhalation.

            “You don’t know?”

            “No, the old woman just said I was a secret, and if anyone found out I was there, people would die.”

            “She didn’t elaborate who?”

            “No.”

            “Very strange. But that may have been a lie to keep you down there without a struggle...for whatever reason.”

            “Maybe. But she was genuine.”

            “I’m sure it seemed that way.”

            Cecile considered this for a moment, but the world distracted her with its mystery and beauty. She couldn’t focus on anything.

            For the first time her white skin was exposed to sunlight, which reflected off in a blinding effect. But all she felt was its warmth, just like the lamps in her room if she drew too close. It was a new, exciting sensation. Her brittle hair blew to the sides with the breeze, and when at rest it came unevenly to her low back; it was obviously cut by her without a mirror. Even with youth on her side, the skin on her face was drawn against her bones, sinking in at her cheeks in a ghostly way. But the way Frederick looked at her made her feel like she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

            “So...tell me about yourself,” Cecile said.

            “Oh, excuse my rudeness. What would you like to know?”

            “How about...your childhood?”

            “My childhood?”

            “All the books I’ve read say in order to get to really know someone, you should ask about their childhood.”

            “I see. Well, my childhood was alright, I suppose. A lot of fighting in my family, but I made it okay. I lived in a nice part of town, and was well looked after.”

            Cecile nodded as he talked. “That sounds nice. What’s it like having a family?”

            Frederick took a long pause before he replied. He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “Family is about putting aside your own wishes for other people. So having a family is both a burden and a joy. But, seeing as you’ve spent all of your life underground, you probably don’t know who your family is.”

            “No...”

            “Do you want to look for them? Or try to figure out who they are?”

            Cecile’s smile faded into a thoughtful frown. “I...don’t know. I want to know them, but...they gave me up for a reason. And if they see I’ve escaped, they might put me back...”

            “I understand. It’s very complicated.”

            “You’re very kind.”

            “I am only doing what a gentleman would do.”

            “You’re like all of the princes in the stories. Helping girls in trouble...things like that.”

            “I am hardly a prince, but I appreciate you saying so. We’ve been walking for a while now, are your legs alright? We can stop to rest if you’re tired.”

            “Oh no, I’m good. More than good, I’m great! I have never felt more alive and free!”

            Frederick made no response, but smiled at her, letting here enjoy the moment.

            “I’m also excited,” Cecile continued. “To see the city. I have read so many books and have waited so long to see it. All the people, all the things to see and do...you must love it.”

           “I am sad to say I’ve grown weary of it,” he said, which caused her face to fall. “Or, more like accustomed to it. I was born and raised there, so it is not as new and exciting to me as it is to you. For you, it’s special. Hold on to that feeling.”

            Her spirit seemed to revive with her smile, and she continued to trudge along happily beside him.

            “So what would you like to see?” Frederick asked.

            “Everything you can possibly show me.”

            “Then it will be a long day. Are you prepared?”

            Cecile fervently nodded her head.

            “Alright then.”

***

            The town they entered was nothing like Cecile imagined, and in the worst way possible. It was bustling with people, but they were all dirty, sick, and depressed. People coughed in their direction; some growled or hissed; others spat needlessly on the ground. The poorest among them reached out to touch the two as they passed.

            “Why do they grab at us?” Cecile asked.

            “Between my attire and your skin color, we must look like royalty to them.”

            “My...skin color?”

            “Wealthier people have prominent white skin, because they don’t have to work outside in the sun.”

            “Oh...”

            “Most of them are harmless, though, so stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”

            “Alright.” She held the fabric at his elbow as they walked, avoiding the dirty hands of the poor.

            Along one part of town there were rows of stalls selling various things from food to gifts. They were all run by people who didn’t look as poor as the beggars on the streets, but were loud and aggressive about selling their wares which caused Cecile to shrink away.

            “If you see anything you like, let me know,” Frederick said in a soothing voice.

            “Okay,” she replied softly.

            But it was hard for her to look at their wares when their hideous faces drew so close to hers. She didn’t want to look at them, but they were persistent. They were as transfixed by her as she was repulsed by them.

            After it was clear Cecile wasn’t enjoying herself, Frederick, said, “I know a nice place to go, if you’re interested.”

            “Yes,” she quickly replied.

            Past a few more streets and down the road they found themselves outside of a bar. Inside sounded busy, full of life. Cecile’s good nature returned to her, and she smiled at Frederick.

            “They have the best food and drinks here, and everyone is friendly.”

            Cecile nodded.

            “And, just so you know, I don’t normally come here to drink at this hour.”

            “Oh.” Cecile frowned. “Is this a bad time of day?”

            “The fact that it’s day is the bad part. People don’t usually drink until nightfall.”

            “It’s okay, we can be different. Different is good.”

            Frederick flashed his charming smile, his white teeth glistening in the sunlight. “I like the way you think.”

            They entered the tavern and pushed through the hoards of people by the door. They occupied every nook and cranny of the place, drinks in hand and smiles on their flushed faces.

            “These people don’t seem to mind being here at this hour,” Cecile pointed out.

            “They have what we would call alcohol problems.”

            “Oh, I see...”

            The air was stuffy and hot, and reeked of smoke and beer. There were sweaty men being waited on by women whose stomachs were sucked in by corsets, and breasts spilled out the top of their dresses. Most men were dressed very poorly in dirty brown and beige rags. Their tanned complexions and rough skin suggested a life of hard labor. Cecile snuck a glance at Frederick as they searched for an open table. He was clean and respectable looking; she mentally noted that she was lucky he had found her, and not one of these ugly men.

            Luck seemed to favor her again as they found a small table in the corner with two chairs. Cecile took a good look around, observing how the furniture looked, how the people acted, and how the room made her feel. She felt many emotions all mixed up in her stomach, and her face felt hot. Even with the city not being all she thought it was going to be, her positive attitude could not be broken. She couldn’t falter, not then. Everything was just new, that was all.

            “How big is the town?” Cecile asked.

            “Fairly large. It is the largest in the country, but there are other, smaller towns scattered around.”

            “So you’re from here?”

            “Yes, I was born and raised here. When I was in my early teens, my cousin, who lived near the castle, took me in.”

            “That’s nice of him. Are you two close?”

            “I suppose so. He’s twice my age, and took me in when my parents were murdered, so I’m sure I was a burden at first, but we’ve come to understand each other.”

            Cecile paused. “Murdered?” she repeated.

            “Yes. Like I said before, my family has been plagued with constant feuding, and sometimes things...got out of hand.”

            “I’m so sorry...”

            “It’s alright, I am older now, much more wise.”

            “I think you are very wise.”

            Frederick smiled at her, and a bar maid dropped two mugs of beer on the table and walked off; they were filled to the brim and spilled slightly with the woman’s rough and hurried gestures.

            “But we didn’t order anything...” Cecile said.

            “Every table gets a glass,” Frederick said, raising his by the handle and looking at her expectantly.

            Cecile followed suit and raised her own. They clanked them together, and took a big gulp. Cecile stifled a cough, forcing the foul liquid down her throat. “This is awful!” she exclaimed, inadvertently slamming down the mug back on the table.

            Frederick laughed freely at her soured expression. “It’s an acquired taste.”

            “I don’t know why anyone would want to spend the time to acquire it!” She wiped her mouth off with her arm, but the taste coated her tongue and couldn’t be wiped off.

            “If you don’t like it, don’t feel pressured to drink it. But to get the full real-world experience...” His voice trailed off.

            Cecile looked back at the glass, inhaled deeply, and took another chug. She pushed down a gag, and her eyes shut tightly, willing herself to remain composed.

            “That’s the spirit!” He took a drink of his own without any problems.

            By the end of the first drink, Cecile felt woozy. She opened her eyes wide, trying to focus despite the room shaking. Her face and stomach felt warm, and the rest of her body felt numb. She had no experience with alcohol, no tolerance, and an empty stomach. She had no chance.

            “How are you doing?” Frederick asked, noticing her awkward demeanor.

            “Yep, feeling great...” she said with a hiccup.

            “Sounds like it.”

            “By the end of it...it was not bad. But pretty good. I see why you think it’s good,” she explained with a slight slur.

            “I’m glad. I told you it’s an acquired taste.”

            “Yes, sir, and I...have acquired it. I will take another. Bar maid!”

            “I think if you want to keep that one down, you should probably quit while you’re ahead.”

            “Nooo, I can do another one, no problem.”

            “No, no, I insist.”

            He took the mug away from her despite her protests, and turned to see where the bar maid was so he could give her their empty glasses. He spotted her swatting away frisky hands of drunken men, and was raising his hand for her attention when he heard a loud thump! He turned and saw Cecile’s head lying on the table. Frederick sighed and shook his head with a smile.

***

            Her head throbbed, her body ached, and she was cold. When Cecile regained consciousness, she had trouble opening her eyes because of the intense pain she felt. Each movement took a lot of energy, yet staying still was excruciating. She saw iron bars and immediately thought she was home. But it looked different. She sat up and found herself in a small jail cell. There was a window above the cement bed that allowed the winds to enter unperturbed and Cecile’s skin was covered with goose bumps. She reached up to her forehead, and found an unusual bump that hurt to touch. She did a mental check on the rest of her body and there were parts that hurt more than others. Small dark colored spots covered her body, and it ached. Her brain worked overtime to prevent her from passing out from the intensity of pain. She crawled on her knees to the bars and wrapped her hands around two of them.

            “Hello?” she cried out in small, cracked voice. It echoed off the bare walls. She waited. And waited. And waited. No one came. She sat down and started nodding off when she heard a clanking of metal doors.

            “Is she in there?” a man’s voice asked.

            “Yes, I found where they hid her,” replied a familiar voice.

            “Frederick...?” Cecile whispered, rubbing her eyes.

            “Does Benedict know about this?”

            “No, but when I tell him, I’m sure he’ll be pleased we’re taking care of one of the queen’s daughters. The only person who would notice is the old woman, and she is no longer a problem.”

            “I don’t know, this may not be a good idea. Usually things start out okay, but a secret like this could be Benedict’s undoing...and yours.”

            “You’re too superstitious. Just take care of her so we can move our plans along.”

            “Alright.”

            Cecile’s arms slid down the bars and she lied on the cold, hard floor. Her heavy breath scattered the dirt on the floor. She looked up as she lay there out the window at the starry sky. Her vision was blurred with tears, and she wished more than anything that she was back in her small dwelling beneath the ground, still thinking that the world was great place full of promise.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grim Vanity

While you waste away with a nice façade,

Not everyone will be fooled, only seeing a fraud.

 

            As Lydia sat in her tent and ate a bright red apple, she internally likened herself to a beautiful princess from a fairy tale, but amended that she was more real. And stunning. And certainly not dumb enough to fall prey to some witch. No, she was a warrior of the King’s army, the only woman in fact, and possessed a combination of wits and brawn that made her infallible.

            Her white teeth sunk into the apple, her full, pink lips sucking the extra juice that escaped from the sides. The apple was in its prime of ripeness; a perfect apple for a perfect princess.

            Her pleasant afternoon snack was interrupted by a voice outside. “Lydia, you are needed for training the newcomers.”

            She sighed. “Alright,” she called out.

            With one last bite there was only the core left. She exited the tent, and men nearby were struck in the heart by the very sight of her. She was blessed by hair so golden it resembled the physical form of sunshine; her eyes were two almond-shaped pools of blue, the windows to her soul; her figure, full in all the right places, swayed side to side gracefully as she strode past. She had walked out of every man’s dreams. And she knew it.

            The hundreds of thousands of war tents scattered around housed all of the warriors fighting for the King. They ranged in size and color, but were evenly spaced, allowing every man room to breathe. This part of the country had open fields as far as the eye could see, so there was plenty of space available. Groups upon groups of men stopped what they were doing and watched her walk by, grateful for a glance of an angel, and she was happy to give them that.

            She arrived at an open, circular dirt field where men in uniform armor stood in lines, hands at their sides, faces forward. They lost their uniformity as the woman warrior approached them. They were clearly awestruck.

            “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she greeted, taking the place at the head of the group.

            “Afternoon, sir,” the group replied, second guessing their greeting momentarily.

            “Welcome to your new home for the foreseeable future. As a member of the King’s army, your job here is to defend the homeland, as well as fight your enemies, the barbarians to the East. When you wear our King’s symbol, you represent the entire country, and that is something none of you should take lightly. You are putting your lives on the line for the common good, and if you want that life to last long you will follow the orders of your captains, for they have experience to guide you through difficult and trying times. If you listen, work hard, and don’t die, you will find yourselves quite happy here. Now,” Lydia clapped her hands together and looked at their young faces with an evil smile. “I am here to see what we have to work with, and whip you into shape as best as I can. And since you all were lucky enough to have me as your trainer, keep in mind my three rules: no crying or whining at any time; there is no such thing as cheating in war; and always enjoy what you do. You decide your own fate, and you chose this path, so make peace with that fact. You will be given tools and knowledge to defend yourselves, but what you do with it, and how you use it is entirely up to you.”

            The group was completely transfixed by her; whether it was by her speech or her looks, one could only guess. But she had them eating out of the palm of her hand.

            “Alright, everyone, grab a sword, shield, and helmet, partner up, and let’s get started.”

            The newcomers scrambled to collect their things and impress their heaven-sent trainer.

            “Great speech,” another captain, Felix, complimented; he stood next to her with his muscular arms crossed. “I felt their fear from over here.”

            “Thanks. I was inspired by your speeches, so I decided to...borrow your words.”

            Felix laughed. “I’m flattered. Oh, I have a letter for you,” he said, handing her a folded piece of paper. “From what the courier said, he won’t be back until nightfall.”

            Lydia’s smile faded. “Oh.” She placed the letter in the pouch at her hip. “I’ll read it later. Thank you for delivering it.”

            “Anything for you,” he replied.

            Lydia’s smile returned; it was a smug smile full of pride. “You’re so sweet.”

            Felix, who looked like many of the other burly men with his rough facial hair, large muscular build, and uniform of metals and furs, looked at her with lust in his eyes. Yet he stifled it, burying it deep within his soul. She was already with another man, a great warrior of their company, and laying a hand on her meant certain death. Her presence pained him greatly, as though the gods dangled forbidden fruit in front of his face. And she knew it.

            Training the men proved to be simple enough; basic fighting techniques, drills, careful warnings... Everyone complimented her fighting and teaching techniques. They were lucky to have met her, and looked forward to fighting on the same side as her.

            Come nightfall, she returned to her quiet tent lit dimly by the candle on her small, wooden desk. It flickered with each small breeze that seeped in through the seams of the animal skin and cloth tent. Her limbs ached, her feet felt heavy, and her head throbbed. Once the armor was removed and thrown carelessly to the floor, she reached over her shoulder and pressed the top of her back with her fingers. Deep pain reacted to the pressure. She audibly exhaled, a small cry escaping her lips. This work was rather difficult for such a delicate figure. Another gentle wind entered the tent, and blew out the candle. She shivered a little, the cold air creating goose bumps on her skin. She suddenly felt large, warm hands on her hips, holding her from behind. She gasped softly, and a voice whispered in her ear, “Did you miss me?”

            “You’re back,” Lydia said breathlessly, melting from his touch.

            “Didn’t you get my letter?”

            “I did, I just haven’t had a chance to read it.”

            “Oh, I see.”

            “I was busy training the fresh meat all day. No one promising, however. Pity, really.”

            “Mmhmm...”

            He kissed her shoulder, his lips moving up to her neck. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and her skin tingled with pleasure. She turned to face him, and put her hands up to his face, her fingers taking in each detail slowly. They lingered moment on his chin where a prominent scar blemished his otherwise perfect face. He pulled her down to the mess of pillows filled with feathers on her bed, and they took their time reacquainting themselves with each other’s body.

***

            The loud clanking of armor woke Lydia the next morning. She laid on her bed alone; the man �" even in her head she could not bear to say his name �" had already left without a trace. She rose and found his letter from the day before. In it, he had written that he could only stay with her for one night before he was called back to the front lines. She carefully folded up the letter and placed it in a small, wooden box full of other letters.

            After she had readied herself, she left her tent and found the other captains.

            “We received orders,” Felix informed her.

            “And they are?”

            “We start at the town of Tavares, due north, near the border. We will meet a man who will give us the exact location we need, and then we march on the enemy camp.”

            “How many do we bring?”

            “Twenty to the town, then we send word back, and one hundred are to march.”

            “I shall go with the twenty,” Lydia stated.

            “We will draw up the list and leave at once.”

            The chosen captains gathered the things they needed, and set off. Tavares turned out to be a long trek from their base camp. The nineteen men and one woman walked in formation through the open fields. They encountered few trees and animals, and no people. There was only rolling hills of grass. It was dead man’s land. More than once one of the men offered to carry Lydia, and she took them up on it. She always worked hard; it was time for others to carry the burden.

            The town of Tavares was small and poor, and the people equally so. The warriors were visibly repulsed by the poverty, and shrank away from the filthy people. By nightfall they had finished their task, and decided to finish the night off at a bar. It was run-down and dirty, but the promise of beer was too good to pass up.

            The twenty of them took up the entire bar, pushing out any local residents that had been previously occupying the space. The bar maids squeezed between the group as they rushed back and forth from the kitchen to get the ever-expanding orders. Their bill would be paid in full with money straight from the King, so none complained.

            At some point during their fun, Lydia felt rather warm, her cheeks flushed from the hot, crowded environment and the alcohol. She had her fill of teasing the men with shoulder touches and arm taps. You could tell in their red, drunken faces that they pushed down their urges with all their might. Years as warriors had taught them restraint and discipline, but with each drink it became more and more difficult to stop them from coming to the surface. And she knew it.

            She pushed her way out of the bar into the alleyway in which the bar was located. There were very few people on the streets; it was late, and all of the working class were sleeping at that hour. Lydia knew most, if not all, the town was part of the working class.

            One woman in particular stood near the window looking in the bar at the jolly group of men. She was a young woman with a dainty face and full, red lips. She was a pretty little thing, seemingly not dragged down by her circumstance, nor hard labor. Not yet, anyway.

            Lydia met eyes with her, and examined her thoroughly. She saw her beauty, and she hated her.

            “What are you looking at, wench?” Lydia spat.

            “I was just...looking, miss. I heard there were handsome warriors defending our land in town, and I wanted to see�"”

            “If you could weasel your way into one of their hearts?” Lydia cut her off in a mocking tone. “You are clearly not good enough for any of those men. Why would they even look your way when they have me?”

            “You...are with all of them?” Her voice was as quiet as a mouse’s.

            “Their hearts all belong to me. I am the most beautiful thing anyone has ever seen, blessed by the gods with beauty and power as a warrior. Do you really think you stand a chance?”

            Each word rose in volume, spilling out of the drunken soldier’s mouth. The bar was so loud no one from inside could have possibly heard their conversation. Lydia displayed a smug smile, looking down at the shrinking figure.

            “They only favor you...because of your looks,” came the quiet voice.

            Lydia hesitated. “What did you just say to me?”

            The delicate flower of a woman suddenly gained confidence and challenged Lydia’s glare. “You have let their shallow affection for your physical appearance cloud your eyes, foolish girl.”

            Lydia stared at her, and then became angry. “I will fight you, I am not afraid of some pathetic worm!”

            “Your hubris will be your undoing,” the woman replied, her malicious eyes changing colors. “The mighty warrior thinks she’s grand, but your selfish soul does not understand. But soon, yes soon, sure as night will fall, no one will praise you again, no one at all.”

            Before Lydia could react, the woman disappeared, leaving Lydia with a sick feeling in her stomach. Perhaps it was from the alcohol. The alcohol! She brought her hand up to her aching head, and thought the conversation had been her drunken imagination taking control; goodness knows it wouldn’t be the first time. She returned to the upbeat atmosphere of the bar, the woman quickly faded into obscurity in her mind.

***

            On the way back from the town with the goods in tow, the weather was dark and rainy. The large rain drops relentlessly pelted them, the sting of the cold turning their skin bright red. The group was grateful it wasn’t bright, for their heads were hung over from the night before, but their soaking armor, which only became heavier the more water it absorbed, wasn’t much of a consolation. They were too tired to think, let alone stay in formation. Easy targets.

            They were about halfway back to base camp when one of the captains heard a noise behind them. The stormy weather didn’t allow more than a few feet of vision in all directions, and they weren’t prepared. A group of enemy warriors attacked the King’s men, knocking two down on the spot.

            “Ambush!” one captain shouted.

            Half the group fled, while the other half stayed to fight. Lydia’s long blond hair stuck to her face and made it impossible for her to see. She was part of the group who fled. She could hear the cries of the men who stayed back, and of unfamiliar voices shouting in an unfamiliar language, presumably their enemies. The miles of grass had turned to slushy mud. The bottom of Lydia’s heavy boots suctioned down with each step. She fell many times, rushing faster than her body could keep up with. The rain didn’t let up. It poured and poured with no end in sight. Lydia was miserable. Her muscles were sore, she was cold, and she had no idea where she was going. The rain and darkness clouded landmarks that would point out the right way. At some point she lost consciousness. The muddy fields faded from her eyes, and the sound of the rain faded from her ears.

***

           How long had it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? No, surely it had only been a few hours. The bright sun, however, contrasted so harshly with the rain from before (whenever that was), it was night-and-day of a difference. Lydia found herself covered in dirt, caked on in layers, and lying on the ground in a tent. She took a moment to gather her strength. As she slowly rose, she felt stiff and sore, but was thankful she was dry. She didn’t bother checking her hair, or wiping off her armor or her face, for the men would show unrelenting attention, and she would milk it for all it was worth; she had gone through quite the ordeal, after all.

            She exited the tent, and passed by some men, but very few took notice of her, busy with their own things. She frowned. Where were their manners? She walked up to Felix, who looked her way warily.

            “Yes, soldier, what can I help you with?” he asked.

            “Soldier?” Lydia repeated.

            “You’re part of the group that made it out of the ambush, right? Yeah, I remember carrying you back when the rain cleared. Glad to see you’re alive and well. A little dirty, but that’s nothing we can’t change.”

            “Felix, it’s me, Lydia. What are you talking about?”

            The captain’s face soured. “The only Lydia I know went missing on that ambush, and we are pretty sure she is dead, so if this is some kind of joke, I will not tolerate it. Someone give this man a bath. You will be tested this afternoon if you wish to stay here. We need to make sure everyone is reassessed on their fighting skills so we don’t have another mishap.”

            With that he walked off with the other captains, leaving Lydia speechless. One of the captains ushered her toward the common bath tent.

            “We already have water ready for you in the tub. I’ll bring you some clean armor when you’re done.”

            Lydia was too confused to thank him. After he left, and she was alone in the bathing tent, she rushed to a mirror that hung nearby. Staring back at her was an ugly man. He had sickly eyes with red rims, a round face, pencil thin lips, and a large nose that was not proportionate to his other features. The hair on this man’s head was black and patchy, giving him an aged appearance. Was this some kind of sick joke? How was this even possible?

            She immediately thought of the woman in the town. Her rhyming words must have been a curse, and she, a witch.

            She shivered and felt as dirty as she looked. Her clothes were stripped, and she entered the bathtub. She looked down at the body; it was ill-shaped and discolored, large in the stomach area, but with skinny legs, and hairy. She closed her eyes trying to wish it away. When she wiped all of the dirt off, she felt refreshed, as though she was baptized. She jumped out of the tub to the mirror and saw the same man looking back at her; this time he had no dirt to cover up more of the imperfections that hid underneath. Water dripped from the body, and a draft caused it to shiver. A new set of clothes and armor were thrown into the tent, just missing Lydia’s feet. She dressed herself and exited, looking for the captains. No one looked her way. No one cared about who she was, or what she was doing. She had become just another faceless soldier.

            The captains were at their usual post, talking amongst themselves. Felix saw Lydia approaching, and threw her a sword, and then a shield. She didn’t react quickly enough, and the two fell at her feet. They laughed as she picked them up. She glared at them for making her feel like a fool. She would show them. Although her body looked different, she still felt the ability to control it was the same.

            The captains presented one of the newer recruits �" one of the ones she had trained recently, in fact �" and ordered everyone else to give them some room. She would have been offended by their choosing an amateur to fight her, but she resolved to show them the error of their ways.

            Her opponent readied himself, his shield raised slightly, and his sword aimed at her. She took her sword and shield, and prepared them, glaring him down. He took the first swing, and she blocked it with her shield. He managed to get a few more hits in, grazing her multiple times before she took to the offensive. He was good at dodging, and managed to evade each swing. Even though she hadn’t beaten him, she thought she had done well, and was eager to hear their long overdue praises.

            After a few more exchanges, the captains decided it was over. They thanked and dismissed the other man, and asked Lydia to come to them.

            “If you are usually in pain after your past battles, it is because your form is terrible,” Felix said. “You leave many openings, and if you were in a real battle with a more skilled fighter, it would have not taken them five minutes to exploit them. Your attack pattern is predictable; you need to vary your attacks in order to confuse your enemy. Take this advice to heart and you will get better as long as you never give up.”

            Lydia was about to protest, but a courier ran up to the group before she was able to. The courier’s face looked haggard.

            “The royal family has been murdered,” he reported.

            Everyone went silent.

            “Who shall we follow now?” Felix asked.

            “One of the daughters escaped, and she sits on the throne. The capital is now working on plans to end the war, as the queen has expressed her concern of continuing a ‘useless war.’”

            “Which of the daughters?”

            “Sophia, sir.”

            “Ahh, she is but a young woman.”

            Murmurs of her beauty began to spread through the camp, piercing Lydia in the heart the way she used to pierce the hearts of men. They were already moving on to another woman, and she could no longer compete, for her beauty had been stolen by a jealous witch. But why was she punished? The witch had mentioned her hubris, but what did she know? How could she possibly judge Lydia from one encounter? She knew nothing! And neither did the captains, who carelessly brushed off her skills in battle. They had gone out of their way to compliment her before, clearly in awe of her skills. They were just grieving the loss of her more...presentable self, that was all.

            Then the witch’s words echoed in her mind:

            “The mighty warrior thinks she’s grand, but your selfish soul does not understand. But soon, yes soon, sure as night will fall, no one will praise you again, no one at all.”

            These words had come to be, and now she was cursed forever in the body of an ugly man who had no respect and no skills to speak of. Her life and future were over. And she knew it.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wishful Monarch

When you’re at the end, considering extremes

The last thing you’d expect to betray you are your dreams.

 

            On nights when even trees scratching on her window frightened her, Sophia knew she had her brothers and sisters to run to. With them, she found peace. As she grew older, she was no less frightened, but was embarrassed to run through the halls crying. The maids and guards whispered among themselves that she was a coward, a poor fit for the daughter of a King. She was often scolded by her parents, who heard the whispers and didn’t want their name tarnished. Even though she was the youngest of her siblings, there was no less leniency; they had expectations and she would abide by them.

            She had two older brothers and one older sister, a normal family size for a royal family. She was closest to her brother James, who was only a year older than her. Their sister, Elizabeth was the next oldest, three years above James, and then there was their brother, Henry, who was one year older than Elizabeth, and was the Crown Prince. He was groomed from birth to take the throne, so his siblings saw very little of him. Yet they still had a close connection, and Sophia prayed for their happiness every night before bed.

            After she turned sixteen, she noticed her parents’ watchful eyes, as well as those charged with watching her, started to slack. She could sneak out to the courtyard, or even the front lawn, without anyone noticing. She knew it was because Henry was twenty-one and was to learn more about his duties and politics rather than just general education. He was constantly in war meetings with their father, and their mother was focused on making sure his every need was met by the servants. The other children were all but forgotten.

            One day James found Sophia reading in her room and greeted her.

            “Are you busy?” he asked.

            Sophia looked up from her book. “I’m almost done, what is it?”

            “Come on.”

            Sophia closed her book and jumped up. She followed him out of the room and down the hallways.

            “Where are we going?” Sophia carried the bottom of her dress so that she wouldn’t trip.

            “Henry is on break.”

            They dodged guards and servants who walked in the middle of the hallway, doing their jobs. Their loud footsteps echoed off the walls full of antique paintings and décor.

            Down the stairs, and out the French doors leading to the back courtyard, they walked into the sunlight. There were many people admiring the gardens, and the view of the castle. At that time of day, it was open for the public. Many recognized the princess and prince, quickly bowing to them as the children ran past.

            They found a tree off the beaten path, away from other people, and James looked up. Sophia followed his gaze and saw Henry and Elizabeth up in the tree.

            “How long do we have?” Sophia called up to them.

            “A bit. They didn’t see me come out here,” Henry replied.

            “Oh, good.”

            Sophia and James moved around to the other side of the tree, away from the line of sight of the castle.

            “So how is the war going?” James asked anxiously, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

            “No progress,” Henry replied, swinging his feet that dangled from the thick branch he sat on. “Even the war ministers are annoyed with having these meetings so often when there hasn’t been any news in years.”

            “Why don’t we just end it?” Elizabeth asked in an annoyed tone.

            “Father won’t. He says we will go until we win, no matter how long it takes. He made me take an oath that I will do the same, so even when he dies, I will continue his war.”

            Elizabeth shook his head. “Men love their wars.”

            “War brings us glory,” James protested. “You don’t make history for sitting at home and sewing.”

            “People don’t die from sewing. Sewing fixes things,” Elizabeth countered. “Don’t you agree, Henry?”

            Henry stroked the small stubble of facial hair on his chin in the manner of the old men. “I believe war has its good points, but I can see the diplomatic side working, as well.”

            “You’re too soft,” James rebuked.

            “And you’re too power hungry!” Elizabeth said.

            “What do you think, Sophia?” Henry asked.

            All eyes turned to her, and Sophia felt her face flush. “I...um...agree with Henry.”

            Henry smiled at her, and the other two rolled their eyes.

            “That is what you all will have to get used to: agreeing with the King.”

            “You are not King yet,” James reminded him.

            “Soon enough.”

            “But none of this matters since you already took the oath, right?” Elizabeth asked.

            Henry sighed a little, but didn’t reply. They didn’t need him to confirm it. They all knew. And in their mixed group were different emotions. While they thought silently, the voices of the people roaming the grounds were heard for the first time. Idle conversation, nothing exciting.

            “Have you started your fencing classes?” Sophia asked.

            “Why yes, I have,” Henry replied.

            “And you’re keeping your promise to teach us what you learn?” James asked.

            “Yes, even you girls,” Henry said with a sly smile. “But remember: it must remain a secret.”

            “We’ll come up with some kind of schedule for learning techniques,” Elizabeth said in an excited tone. “I’ll organize everything.”

            “James will be in charge of getting the equipment, and Sophia will find the best places to hide while we practice.”

            Sophia and James nodded, and shook hands. Henry and Elizabeth reached over to shake their hands, and then reached down to do the same gesture with their younger siblings, too far up to actually reach them.

          “Then it’s settled. By order of the future King, I now deem this plan just in the eyes of the law, and the divines.”

            The other three siblings looked at him with excitement, feeling his declaration somehow made it real. The sound of loud men talking near the castle interrupted their conversation. Sophia and James squinted, looking around the tree, and saw the King. He wore long, red robes, looking around the courtyard. He was accompanied by two guards, closely following behind.

            “Shoot, are they coming?” Henry asked.

            “No, they are looking, though,” James reported.

            The King didn’t seem to notice them, however, and soon returned into the castle.

            “I’d better get going before they send out a search party,” Henry said, jumping from the tree. “Keep working on the plans, and we’ll all be masters in no time.”

            With that he sprinted across the courtyard toward the castle. Sophia looked up at her sister.

            “What do we do now?” she asked.

            Elizabeth shrugged. “Whatever you want to do.”

            “What are you going to do?”

            “I think I’ll enjoy it up here for a little while longer.”

            “Come on, Sophia, let’s go back inside,” James said.

            They returned to the castle, strolling down hall after hall, aimlessly enjoying the afternoon sun that shone through the many windows.

            They eventually arrived in a large dining hall, and walked casually across the dark brown and deep purple rug that covered the floor. In the middle of the high-ceiling room was a maple dining room table twenty feet long and decorated in a very particular manner. The room smelled of musk and bread, and Sophia recalled memories of her early childhood when she would sneak food to feed the stray animals she found wandering the courtyard. She kept them hidden in her room, until they inevitably escaped, and she would be sad until she found another. The wood beneath the rug creaked under their weight, suggesting its old age.

            The kitchen just on the other side was bustling with servants readying dinner that would take place shortly.

            “What are we having today?” James asked one of the chefs, looking over the food they were preparing.

            Everyone in the room bowed to them, and then continued preparing.

            “Roast lamb, sir,” replied the chef.

            “Smells good.”

            “It will be ready soon.”

            “Come on, Sophia, let’s go get ready. I’m starving.”

            “Okay.”

            Sophia smiled to the servants and followed her brother out of the dining room and up the stairs.

            “Do you think father will talk about the war at dinner?” James asked.

            “He talks about it at every meal,” Sophia replied.

            “I guess so, but I’m still excited.”

            “Why?”

            “Why not? I’ve told you a million times, war is a great thing.”

            “I know.”

            “Good, and if you’re smart, you’ll see I have made valid points regarding the war.”

            “Just now?”

            “What? No, since I started talking about it years ago. You’ll come to my side.”

            “Why hasn’t Henry?”

            “Because Henry is trying to act cool and pretend he’s considering both sides when I know he’s biased.”

            “But he made the oath, so either way he will continue the war.”

            “And we should all be thankful for that.”

            They arrived at Sophia’s room, just down the hall from James’s.

            “I’ll see you in a bit,” James said.

            He walked down the hall, and Sophia entered her room, closing the heavy door behind her. Her spacious room was a theme of dark colors, especially dark woods, and was very dusty despite the constant dustings by the servants. The setting sun’s light from the window illuminated the particles of dust that floated in the air. It was warm and welcoming.

            She opened her armoire full of dresses, and picked out one for dinner. The mirror nearby showed her petite figure in the tight, red dress. The silk creased in some areas and laid smooth in others, flowing around her figure in an attractive way. As she stared at her figure, she was discouraged by the noticeable frailty and weakness. She wasn’t strong like James, or nurturing and full in figure like Elizabeth, or even reasonable and intelligent like Henry. She didn’t have strong opinions or ideas of her own, and could be swayed by whoever talked to her last. It was a severe contrast to her father, who was a powerful and fearless man, with strong opinions on everything, and a legendary stubbornness. Did that make a good leader? No, it couldn’t be; they were stuck in a tiresome war that did not have an end by his own doing. And since Henry was forced to take up this task, it would continue through her life, and maybe even through the lives of her children. So much time, and so many deaths.

            A tinge of jealousy burned inside of her. She was the youngest, and would most likely be shipped off to some other country to marry for political alliances, so she would never be queen of her homeland.

            She walked to the window and put her hand on the glass, feeling its warmth from the sun, and looked into the distance. Her eyes rested on the patch of mountains in the west, and something caught her attention. It was quite a distance, but she swore she could see a faint shadow of a creature circling above the mountains. What could that possibly be? She squinted her eyes to see better, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

            “You coming?” came James’ voice from the other side.

            “Yes,” Sophia replied.

            She adjusted her dress, smoothing down the fabric with her hands, and walked toward the door.

***

            “And then I told him I’d send my army after him if he greeted me like that again,” the King’s voice boomed at dinner, followed by a roar of laughter from the entire company present.

            Sophia tried to keep the food on her fork steady as James shook her shoulder, asking if she got the joke. She got it, but she was hungry, and also tired of her father’s jokes. They all had the same ending. As she chewed, she looked at Henry, who sat at the King’s right. He laughed at all the jokes, nodded his head at all of the political points, and smiled at the war ministers who sat on that end of the table. Even in her naivety, she knew a pawn when she saw one. He meant well, but with all of these hands in the pot at once, he had no choice but cook the soup they made the recipe for. And it saddened her.

            After dinner, everyone parted ways and turned in for the night. Sophia walked with James to their bedroom hallway.

            “That was an amazing dinner,” James gushed, his eyes full of excitement.

            “It seemed like every other dinner to me,” Sophia replied.

            “What? You must be joking, it was riveting!”

            Sophia just smiled and nodded, not wanting to argue.

            “Anyway, have a good night.”

            “You, too.”

            James walked down the hallway, and Sophia returned to her room. She was very tired, but she couldn’t shake this odd feeling from earlier. Was it sadness? Anger? Jealousy? She dressed in her long, red nightgown and looked out the window, up at the stars. They twinkled brightly in the dark sky, flickering intermittently. One of them flashed across the sky, and Sophia quickly folded her hands, closed her eyes, and bent her head.

            “I wish that I would become Queen,” she whispered, concentrating with all of her might.

            When she opened her eyes, the shooting star disappeared, but she hoped she made it in time for her wish to be granted. She believed in such things.

***

            Frantic birds chirping outside her window awoke Sophia the next morning. She quickly rose to close the window, silencing the maddening sound. There was a knock at the door.

            “Princess Sophia, the King has requested your presence at a family meeting in his study at noon,” came a maid’s voice.

            “Alright,” Sophia called back.

            What would she do to fill her time before then? She already finished her book, and hadn’t made plans for the day. Dark clouds in the sky threatened rain so going outside wasn’t an option. Her thoughts drifted to the conversation from the day before. That’s what she would do: find places for them to secretly practice fencing. The earlier everyone finished their parts in the plan, the earlier they could start.

            She peeked out into the hallway where guards roamed the halls, tall spears and swords in their hands and at their waists. Their deep red uniforms were decorated with the lion head symbol �" the King’s symbol. They marched in rehearsed synch in their usual route, and Sophia had no trouble avoiding prying eyes in her quest.

            She tried the small area one floor down, all the way to the left of the hallway where she hid when James went on a week-long trip with Henry and her father, and she couldn’t make it to Elizabeth’s room on the other side of the castle. But, upon reexamination, she found it was too small. Oh, what about the one on the fifth floor with the false door? That was a comfortable place when she was pickier about what she ate, and would “just happen” to miss dinner on nights where the food was not to her liking. No, eventually they repurposed it into servants’ quarters. She was running out of time; her family would be meeting soon.

            That’s when she thought of a room near her father’s study. She opened the trap door, making sure no one was around, and walked down the stairs. As far as she knew, no one else was aware of this place. It was one of her favorite places to hide because of the privacy, and the amount of space it offered. She lit a lamp lying on the ground that she left last time she visited, and walked further in. The lamp’s light illuminated the dusty rug on the ground, and the small wooden furniture in the corner. Her enlarged shadow cast on the wall made the space seem smaller, and more comfortable. It was perfect.

            As she turned to leave, she heard heavy footsteps above. The thick, wooden floors muffled most sounds, but she swore there were screams. Someone called the guards. And a sword fight? What was going on? Was she in danger?

            As quietly as she could, she extinguished the flame and set the lamp down. The room plunged into darkness. She tiptoed up the stairs and sat at the top step, listening through the trap door. Something was wrong.

            Minutes passed. There were loud thuds, and the screams slowly died down. Sophia felt her heart in her throat, unable to move.

            “Did you kill all of the children?” came a deep man’s voice, startling Sophia.

            “Yes, they said all of the family was meeting in there, and I killed the other daughter where they were keeping her. Two daughters, two sons, including the Crown Prince.”

            “Good, good. And now that we broke their line, they will have no choice but to name my family the new royal family, and me, the King. Let us leave before the National Guard gets here.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Their footsteps faded into the distance. It became quiet enough that Sophia could hear her heart beating loudly in her chest. The trapdoor softly squeaked as it opened, and Sophia pulled herself out. Her footsteps were slow and timid.

           In the middle of the hallway, the bodies of two guards lay on the ground, swimming in pools of their own blood. She felt numb. It was as though she was in a terrible dream. She couldn’t wake up. A few more guards lay dead outside her father’s study.

            Just in the office were the bodies of the King and Queen by the door, sprawled out in unnatural and horrifying poses. Beyond them she saw Elizabeth. And Henry. And then James. They had cuts all over their bodies, and holes in their chests. Their clothes were torn, and a thin layer of blood covered the ground and some of the furniture. The air reeked of a vile unfamiliarity. And iron. Was this the smell of death?

            She didn’t know how long she looked at them. Time seemed to stop, but that is not the way time works. The National Guard must have been shouting orders for minutes; they responded quickly to the cries of help from citizens, as they were stationed near the castle. But Sophia didn’t hear them. She was on her knees, staring at the sight before her. Some of her parents’ blood soaked the bottom of her red dress, deepening the crimson color. She didn’t notice.

            A hand softly touched her shoulder and she jumped, momentarily coming back into reality.

            “Your Highness, what happened?” It was one of the guards.

            “Gone. They’re gone,” she whispered.

            Her voice sounded foreign to her, the words not connecting to her paralyzed mind.

            “We must get you out of here. It isn’t safe.”

            “He’ll come back. He wants the throne.”

            “You know who did this?”

            Sophia didn’t respond, but stared blankly at James’ upturned face. It was scrunched in pain, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. What was she supposed to do now? Who was going to save her? Counsel her? Comfort her?

            The guards must have picked her up and brought her to the safe house hidden near the castle, for she couldn’t remember walking. It was a small place, and easy to guard. She laid in a bed, staring at the wall. No thoughts, no feelings, no reactions. Just silence.

***

 

            Days passed and the masses were comforted. The panic had subsided. It was the day of her coronation. As Sophia went through her closet, her fingers touched one of her many red dresses. Red was her father’s color, the color he required all of his soldiers to wear. It was the color of royalty, he said, and of the blood of his enemies. She had always worn it, out of habit, but it was a new time now. Instead she chose a purple dress; still flattering for her figure, but gave her a new feeling.

            As she walked down the aisle to sit at the throne, murmurs from the crowd gathered to see the coronation spread. There were doubts about her lasting long, shock at her dress color, and comments here and there about how young she looked. Was she ready for this responsibility?

            She sat at the throne once held by her father. One of the ministers put a crown on her head, and handed her a scepter.

            “In the name of the divines, I now crown Sophia, daughter of the late King, as the one and true Queen.”

            The crowd clapped and cheered, caught up in the excitement of the moment.

            The word “Queen” made Sophia think about the wish she had made days before. She had wished to become Queen, and fate, with its sick and twisted sense of humor, gave her just that. But what was the point of this power when she lost everything she loved? It was too late to wish for a reversal on this wish; that wasn’t how the world worked. And now, as she looked at the faces of her subjects as one of the most powerful people in the world, Sophia never felt more powerless.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ashes

When men follow their heart and not their head,

Of course everyone winds up dead.

 

            “Damn it,” Helen cursed, shuffling through her table full of papers labeled “Soldiers’ Orders”; some were signed by the King, and some by the new Queen. “Where the hell could he be?!”

            She looked over a map nearby and cross-referenced it to some of the letters. The map was marked with little red dots in towns, and some in the middle of nowhere.

            “No, no he’s never there! Where the hell is he?!” she shouted. “Ugh!”

            She created a ball of fire in her hand and threw it at the table, instantly igniting it. The fire crackled, and she watched it burn.

            “The King’s men are here!” came shouts from outside.

            Helen’s ears perked up and she peeked out the small window by her front door. Large men in uniform walked in synch down the street, just outside her window.

            “Fire!” someone shouted.

            Panic spread through the crowds gathered to see the warriors, but Helen was too busy searching the faces. The door to her house flew open and one of the warriors noticed her standing by the window. Helen’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the scar on his chin. Finally.

            “Miss, are you alright?” he asked in a deep, concerned voice.

            “Yes...or...I mean, no...” She feigned weakness in her legs and fell to her knees.

            “Let me help you,” he said, and took her in his arms, lifting her up.

            He carried her out of the house; by then the entire back was consumed by smoke and the flames licked at the sky. Some people brought buckets of water to combat the fire to save the houses next to it. The house already on fire was too far gone. The burly man carried Helen to a bench out of the reach of the smoke. She faked a few coughs and smiled apologetically at him.

            “I’m so sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. My candle must have fallen over on my desk...”

            “I’m just glad you’re unharmed.”

            “Thanks to you I am. Can I have the pleasure of knowing my savior’s name?”

            “I am Antony the Great.”

            “Antony? What a perfect name for such a strong and fearless man.”

            “I am just doing what a man should,” he persisted, seemingly brushing off her compliments; he was no stranger to praise from others.

            But for a moment he took a closer look at her features, and realized what a beautiful woman she was. Her face, the perfect oval shape, her bright red lips...he resisted the urge to kiss her. She was unworldly beautiful.

            Helen noticed his eyes linger on her face, and shyly smiled. “I suppose I must find a new place to live now that my house is doomed to ashes.”

            “You can stay with me,” Antony said. “I want to make sure you’re looked after.”

            “Oh my...surely you have a wife that wouldn’t want another woman in the house.”

            “I do not have a wife. I once loved a woman, but she...was killed in battle.”

            “A woman warrior? She must have been quite the woman.”

            “She was, but fate is a cruel thing.”

            “I don’t know.” Helen placed her hand on his. “Fate works in mysterious ways, often in our favor. We just need to know where to look.”

            Antony looked down at her hand, and then at her face with a fiery passion in his eyes. “I want to marry you.”

            “Marry? But we just met.”

            “You are the one for me, my true love. It was love at first sight.”

            Helen took her hand off his and placed it in her lap, looking downward. Antony waited anxiously.

            “I felt it, too,” she finally replied, looking at him with eyes that implied much.

            “Then we must marry. The sooner the better!”

            “I do wish to marry you, but...”

            “But...?”

            “I vowed that I would not marry until the dragon in the mountains was slain to avenge my father’s death.”

            “Your father was killed by a dragon?”

            Helen bit her lip and nodded her head solemnly.

            “Then I will slay the dragon and avenge your father. And then we can marry.”

            “You would do that for me?”

            “Our love is strong. I will vanquish the beast and return to you at once.”

            “Oh, I love you!”

            “And I, you.” He leaned forward and gave her a passionate kiss. “I must leave at once. I cannot make you wait too long, lest you find another man.”

            “My heart belongs to you, and only you.”

            One last kiss and he went away. Helen waited until he was out of sight before she smirked. “Foolish man. Just like his girlfriend. But if luck is in my favor, he will be victorious,” she muttered to herself. “Then witches will forever be rid of those dragons.”

            A few people walking by stared at her beauty, but noticed her mumbling to herself.

            “What is that woman doing?” a small boy asked his mother.

            “Shh, don’t look at her, she’s mad,” she replied, covering his eyes and hurrying him along.

            “But mom...”

***

            “Alright men, we’ve been tasked with an important mission that some of you may not be up for. Fate has given me another chance at love, and I intend to take it!” A few cheers. “There is a dragon that lives in the mountains to the west. We must slay him so that the country may feel they are safe!”

            “There’s a dragon in the mountains?” one soldier asked.

            “I thought that was just a myth,” another added.

            “No, it’s real! My uncle claims he saw it!”

            “Your uncle has one eye and hears voices!”

            “My uncle was in the Great War! You’d be wise to watch your tongue!”

            “Men, men, please calm down,” Antony shouted. “Perhaps the dragon does not bother us now, but who knows if peace will last forever. We must kill it before it kills us.”

            “Yeah!” shouted a few.

            “We must show that monster that man is the most powerful being on the earth!”

            “Yeah!” a few more chimed in.

            “Now men, let us go and kill the beast!”

            “Yeah!” the entire room roared.

            “Shouldn’t we stay here and help the people?” one soldier piped up. “Shouldn’t we do something that is already a problem, and not something that may or may not become a problem?”

            There was a pause, and then an outrage of cries of “Shut up!” and “Idiot!” as he was beaten and pushed to the back of the room.

            “Then let us be off,” Antony instructed.

            The group cheered and followed him out.

***

            “So what does the dragon look like?” one soldier asked as they climbed up the mountain.

            “It’s large and scaly, and each of its teeth are as long as a grown man. Its eyes are as black as night, and once it sees its prey, it will track and find it until it is eaten,” Antony described. “Its body is harder than diamonds, its tail is covered with spikes, and its entire body is protected with a powerful magic.”

            “Does it speak?”

            “It speaks an ancient language of the dragons, a terrible sound to our ears.”

            “How do we kill such a thing?”

            “Its underbelly is the softest part of its body; we must pierce his heart. Or somehow suffocate him if we cannot reach his stomach.”

            “That seems impossible!”

            “It only is if you think it is.”

            “...I think it is.”

            “How do you know all of this, Antony?”

            “When I was young, I wanted to be a warrior. My hero was said to have slain a dragon. I read all I could find about dragons so I could someday kill one and get my name in the history books. It is just fate that has pushed the moment to now to get both the fame I deserve, and the woman I love.”

            A chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs” rang through the group. They could think of no one greater than their very own Antony, and hearing him talk about his time before greatness felt like they knew him more intimately. But in a completely manly way, of course.

            “Do you think we can win?” one soldier asked.

            “I know we can win if we just work together. Listen to my orders and you’ll make it out alive.”

            “Yes, sir!”

            By then the group was halfway up the mountain, already having traveled for several days. They still had their spirit, but needed encouraging words to maintain it.

            The mountains had patches of snow on the ground, but most of the grassy and rocky paths were clear. It was cold (cold enough for the snow not to completely melt) and many of their men shivered. It was silent, save for the group of about one hundred men’s footsteps. Sometimes birds flew overhead, and small rabbits or squirrels crossed their path. It would have been a beautiful stroll if they weren’t worried about the threat of death looming over them.

            “What are all these animals doing here?” one man asked. “Don’t they know a dragon lives here?”

            “They’re animals, not humans. They aren’t smart like us,” another soldier replied.

            “They have their instincts.”

            “Well, my instincts say you should shut up.”

            “...what?”

            “Exactly.”

            Antony ignored the bantering and frowned at the animals. What were they doing there?

***

            Curled up on a cave floor, a mighty dragon slumbered soundly. The grey scales on his body rose and fell with his breath, the nostrils on his square nose expanded and contracted in synch. His long, spiked tail swept back and forth on the floor as if it had a mind of its own. His large head rested on his hands with dull claws in need of a good sharpening. He looked like a peaceful animal sleeping, dreaming of unknown happy things. A few rodents scurried by the mount of the cave, stirring the dragon. He opened his golden eyes and they searched for something out of the ordinary. The passing animals looked frightened.

            The dragon, whose name was Prince, slowly stood up and stretched. The cave was large enough for three dragons, so he had as much space as he liked to move around.

            The ground shook with each step, although he tried his best to step lightly. The cave overlooked much of that side of the mountain. The trees stood in long rows, supplemented with lush patches of grass, and vibrant colored flowers. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but didn’t doubt the skittishness of the animals. Something had to be scaring them. It could be travelers passing, or a pack of wolves moving into other territories and terrorizing the community of animals living there. Whatever it was, it would solve itself, Prince decided, reentering his cave. And if something did need his intervention, he would be there to help. He wasn’t going anywhere.

            He didn’t have to wait long. The groups of animals running past grew in numbers, crying as they went. Prince was about to get up and investigate again when he heard voices. They were obviously human voices, all deep, too, so only men. Good, he didn’t want to have to deal a bunch of witches. He had to deal with them as a baby dragon so many years before, and although they couldn’t kill dragons with their magic, they certainly tried, with the help of humans. To some degree they succeeded; he was, after all, the only dragon left in the country.

            The men crept up the mountain, and came into Prince’s view. He looked them over, seeing their armor and weapons, and sighed. Why couldn’t he rest in peace?

            “Dragon, we have come to slay you in the name of the Queen!” Antony shouted.

            Prince’s head rose, but he remained lying down. “The Queen?” he repeated in a loud, booming voice that commanded power over the puny men. “Has the King passed on then?”

            The men froze, shocked that he spoke their language. They whispered fervently among themselves, wondering what they should do. Antony glared at them, rendering them silent, but no less astonished.

            “Yes, the King was murdered and only one of his daughters survived.”

            “That is a shame, but I cannot help but think the King got what he deserved. He was not known for his kindness.”

            “Tell me, dragon, how are you able to speak our language?”

            “I have been alive for a very long time, and have met many of your kind. I believe in diplomatic means to solve problems, but you cannot do that when you don’t speak the same language. Wouldn’t you agree?” Prince asked.

            “Yes, I suppose so...” Antony said through gritted teeth; his men began talking about reconsidering, and he felt he was losing control. “But you cannot deny the fact that your mere existence poses a threat to us humans. You would be able to burn our villages, destroy our land, kill our families.”

            “I have no interest in doing anyone any harm,” Prince replied. “I keep a simple life up here, eating vegetation that grows back every year, and keeping balance to the mountain’s ecosystem.”

            “You don’t eat meat?” one soldier asked.

            “No, I see no need to kill other beings for the sake of my nourishment when so many plants are available to do the same job.”

            “But how can we trust what you say is true?” Antony challenged.

            “Did you see animals on the way up here?”

            “Yes, we did!” cried one soldier.

            “If they thought the mighty dragon of the mountains would eat them, they would not be here.”

            “But that doesn’t prove you do not eat humans,” Antony persisted. “Many people go missing; you could kidnap and eat them.”

            Prince couldn’t help but laugh, the ground below the soldiers shaking from the immense sound. “Picture for a moment if you will, a dragon of my size sneaking into a village, taking a man, and then carrying him away to be eaten without a single soul noticing! If you believe my abilities are so incredible, you must realize how dangerous I am, and that you could not stand a chance.”

            “He’s right, maybe we should leave,” one solder said.

            “He doesn’t seem like he’s doing any harm,” another agreed.

            “Silence!” Antony commanded.

            Prince’s pupils shrank as he focused on Antony, seeing he was the leader of the group.

            “Tell me, why does the Queen wish me dead?” he asked. “Do you have documentation on those thin parchments you humans write on?”

            “The Queen didn’t directly order it,” Antony started.

            “Ah, I see, this is about you then.”

            “It is about the safety of the people.”

            “Let me guess, you want to be a hero, perhaps trying to win a girl’s heart. I’ve heard your fairy tales, I am aware of how they go,” Prince said, rising and stepping toward the men who cowered at him towering over them. “The man wants to prove himself, and since he is so simple minded and cannot think of a clever way of showing this, he kills something bigger and more powerful than he. And that’s where dragons come in. I would be very surprised if I was incorrect, but, please, enlighten me.”

            His face grew near Antony’s and the small man could see his reflection in the dragon’s large eyes.

            “He’s right,” a few soldiers whispered to Antony.

            But the stubborn leader kept eye contact with Prince. Prince broke it, throwing his head back and emitting another powerful laugh. “Men are so predictable.”

            “Dragons are no better,” Antony replied.

            “You are right,” Prince agreed. “This is why I live my life differently than other dragons. I wish to stop the cycle of violence that both humans and dragons contribute to. This is why most humans in your country don’t realize my kind exist. I am the only one left in this area, and I do not bother anyone. Yet you insist I am a threat.”

            “So where does that leave us?” Antony asked.

            “I do not wish to fight,” Prince said.

            “Then do not fight. It will be over quicker that way.” Antony drew his sword. “Men, this is it!”

            A few also drew their weapons, but most hesitated, unsure of what they should do. He wasn’t a threat, and it seemed inhumane to kill him, especially when they could talk to him and confirm he was no threat.

            Prince began to walk back into his cave and Antony rushed forward with his sword, and shouted, “Arghhh!”

            Prince turned quickly, and his large, spiked tail hit against the side of the cave. The ground shook, and the men lost their balance, falling to their knees. Antony stood between his men and the dragon, trying his best to steady himself, but failing. Rocks above hit against other rocks, and Prince peeked up. The rocks were falling, creating a fast approaching rock slide. Prince pushed Antony and his men in one swoop of his arm, knocking them all to the side, away from the falling rocks. But he wasn’t as lucky, and was hit directly, completely smothered by the boulders. The rocks stopped falling, and everything became silent.

            “We did it, men!” Antony shouted after a moment.

            A few cheered, with more joining in each passing moment.

            “Let us go back and claim the glory that is ours!” Antony lit a torch and lit trees nearby on fire as they went down. “We must cleanse this land of the dragon’s doings and start anew!”

            A few others helped him in lighting the trees, and soon the trees behind them were devoured in flames. Animals fled past them, and the men cheered. But as they continued to make their way down, the ground was unstable, and all but five men fell to their deaths. Antony was the first to fall, splitting his head on a sharp rock.

***

            “The warriors are back!” shouted a man running through the town.    Helen was outside when she heard the news. Shortly after, the five men walked through, and people on the streets clapped and cheered about them vanquishing the dragon. Helen approached them and asked, “Is it true? Did you kill the dragon?”

            “Yes, miss, we did. But I’m sorry to say Antony did not make it.”

            “Oh...well...at least he died for all of us. He was a true warrior,” she said, quickly excusing herself.

            She walked through the crowd with a smirk playing on her red lips.

***

            Up on the mountain the fire continued to burn. Black smoke rose, filling the air. The rubble that crushed Prince the dragon shifted slightly. A few small rocks rolled off the pile. Then, in one powerful movement, Prince emerged from beneath. He saw the fire, his golden eyes full of anger. He pushed aside the rock piles, completely freeing himself.

            “Some humans never learn,” he said angrily. “Even after great sacrifice of another, they only care for themselves. They destroy everything in their path. All the animals living here now no longer have a home, or have perished because of them. Perhaps father was right about them.”

            And with one look toward the towns and castle below with his golden eyes, the country’s fate was sealed.

***

Author's Note

There are 6 short stories in total, all in the same world.

Reviews

[Arrinae]

This is Amazing! Each story drew me in and captivated me till the very end. I would love to read more from this world you've created. Its very well written and I love how the stories tie in with one another. The soldier Antony was the little boy who killed his parents while lost in the wonders of his book, yes?

[Wórdsmíth]

"Vanity" is a state of mind which either be gifted or get developed with the time but no matter, how much skills a person`s got, learned or challenges he`s faced in his life .. what all he shouldn`t forget is that he`s nonetheless but a "Human" who has got a creative mind with the help of which he learns, earns and wins the battles of his life with much pride in a way to earn some respect from others. No matter, how smart, handsome, talented and dynamic he`s, what all he shouldn`t forget is that he`s nonetheless but a "Human" not a "God" .. everybody respects God, loves him and prays to/for him .. because they know .. he`s a creator of this world and the world`s get created by us .. and the "Grim Vanity" .. brings the love, lust, sympathy and empathy everything but only for a while and after the nightfall ... everything gets faded away of life with the winds of the old days... leaving the memories of past behind. I liked the story! It`s very interesting to read .. and here you`ve indirectly defined .. how the "Vanity" can spoil the whole life just within a second. Excellent Story! But i`ve got one question.. who was that man with whom she spent one night or has have lust in the same bed? Was he the same man who looked at her with smile, in the morning, keeping the sensations of lust in his eyes? And where he`d gone? Was he her boyfriend or something at all? I`d like to know what was all that and how suddenly it happened and in last, why didn`t you mentioned about him or about their nights?

I hope to hear from you soon! ;)

And hey, i`ll read the rest ones .. soon .. may be, a couple of hours later. I`m just sick and tired to death now .. so, I need to take some rest before I continue reading another last 2 writes .. so, I`ll read them soon! Keep on! ;)

[wonderswan]

The man she spent the night with was her boyfriend/fiance kind of thing. He comes back and is one of the main characters in the last story "Ashes" (named Antony). But I had him appear just for one night to establish she had a relationship, and yet she still flirts with other men.

Also, thank you for taking the time to read all of these!! I'm so glad you like them, and I love your thoughtful reviews!!! You are very kind!!! :)

[Wórdsmíth]

Oh I c .. now it makes sense .. well.. right now, i`m still feeling very tired and sick so, i`ll read your last 2 stories on tomorrow ... and leave you great reviews. I know, I wanted to read your all stories today but unfortunately, i`m feeling a bit ill so, on tom. i`d be on your page again. And .. oh, She flirts? That sounds good by me! (Smiling) Ha ha ;)

Ah! It`s all my pleasure to read your work! If you work won`t interesting to read then i`d have never continued to read your stories .. I love your work even I really like such writers like you who totally grabs the full attention of their readers to their beautiful stuffs .. and I do appreciate it all! Oh, thanks for the words, yeah.. you are very beautiful! Thanks for loving my reviews. I`m glad you love them all! ;)

[wonderswan]

haha. No problem!! I hope you feel better!!

And I'm very happy to hear that!! I want to entertain people with my stories, and it sounds like I entertained you, so I'm very happy!! Thank you so much again!! :)

[Wórdsmíth]

Ha! Yeah .. hope i`d be feeling better again! May be, I got caught in the arms of "FEVER". S**t. But anyway sweetheart .. as I get recover from this .. i`d be on your pages. I`m sorry, I`m not getting some time to read more but don`t worry, soon ... as I become again healthy and wealthy as welll .. ha.. i`d be on your cool pages AGAIN! Woo.

Oh, yeah .. you really did entertain me. A great always entertain people and let his readers walk and think the way he wants them to .. so, you here did a great job to grab my all attention ... may be, first .. your impressive work makes me attracted toward you and then your kindness and of course, the beauty as well to stay in touch of you .. at all. So, yeah .. you entertained me with your fantasy tales. Hey, if you someday get a chance then try to make some movies on such stories .. i`m sure, it`s gonna be have fun to produce such tales or you can either make these writes publish in some fairy tale books or in novels. You`d get great response from your potential readers! ;) Oh, wow.. yeah, i`m also very happy to make you happy by your words, Thanks for being happy! Ha ha! ;)

[Wórdsmíth]

"Buried Kingdom" is too very nice and totally filled with mysterious things. Here, I`m not sure, I totally understood the ending of the story .. so, I`d like to hear from you the climax or the ending the write what it says or what you`ve tried to express ... Is it about her Cecile`s dreams too? Was she dreaming only? Who was that woman? How Frederick found Cecile? Even from where he`d come? And what happened in the end? Was Cecile again found herself trapped behind the 4 walls? If so, then what was her past? Is Frederick not a charming one or Is he a gangster or something like that? eh .. I don`t know from where such questions coming on my mind but yeah .. the truth`s I couldn`t understand the ending of this write so, I hope you might love to explain it to me! I want to understand the concept of this story either like I got about your earlier ones so, I`d want to hear from you ASAP to clear my all doubts and to know the concept (especially the ending) what it all says .. at all ;)

After a short break, i`m heading on to your next write! ;)

[wonderswan]

I guess I didn't make it very clear in the story, but basically Ceclie's the Queen's daughter and they kept her a secret underground because the Queen had an affair, so they hid her underground so no one would find out about it. The woman was her caregiver, hired to keep watch. Frederick had been looking for Cecile for a plot to overthrow the Kingdom by killing the royal family. But she didn't know any of this, and had spent her entire life underground, and in the end is presumably killed for Frederick's gain. I hope this makes more sense!

[Wórdsmíth]

I`m sorry, sweetheart ... but can you explain it more a wee bit in brief so that I could understand more about characters and the theme of the write.. I`d appreciate it you do that for me. Hope i`m not wasting your time!

[wonderswan]

Oh no, you're not wasting my time at all!! I'll see if I can explain a little better....
So Frederick was raised by a man who wanted to take over the monarchy, and Frederick found out about Cecile who is the Queen's daughter and decides he has to kill her so that if Frederick's relative does take over the throne and Cecile somehow, someday escapes, she won't be able to have a claim to the throne.
The moral of the story is basically not to cloud your judgment by putting your own narrative on someone else from what you read in stories. Cecile read books about princes, and when she meets Frederick she assumes he's the prince she had been reading about, and didn't question how he found her, or why he was helping her.
I hope it makes a little more sense now; if not let me know what specifically you're having trouble understanding and I can try again!! I want to make sure you understand everything! :)

[Wórdsmíth]

Oh, yeah .. you done a great job. I got it! Actually, I was having much trouble in .. to understand who in real "Frederick" was .. because .. I doubted that if he was a real king or a prince of Cecile`s dreams then he`d have never taken her to the "bar" to make her drunk at all .. but to the garden of flowers (cos, Cecile got attracted much towards flowers incense when she`d walked out with him to reach the city .. ). And I was thinking, from where he`d come and why he`d chosen her to walk with ..at all... & if he actually was a prince then in the end of the story, why she looked upset when she recognized the voice and sat down to her knee in the room ... that it was Frederick outside the room talking with some other men to take her ... she looked much in depression or in the feelings of regret when she heard the voice of Frederick cos, if he was came to save her then Cecile`d have danced across the room with happiness but it was nothing like that I found there ... so, I was a little bit confused to think over such deep thoughts. But thankfully, now you`ve cleared my all the points so, I respect it and i`m even thankful to you that you took some time for me to make my all doubts clear with much kindness. You`re far kind! ;)

[Wórdsmíth]

Phew. You`re amazing! Now, i`ve read the other story called "Blind Dreams". When I`d started to read this story, I built up my much interest to read but after the few minutes, I thought .. it`s not as interesting as the earlier one .. so, I was just gonna jump off to the third one but then I stopped! I stopped myself and thought, if you`ve written this write then there`d a great purpose behind this story tale making the readers more surprising bringing them something thrilling in the end .. with the climax .. so, I kept continue reading the same story called "Blind Dreams" ... and you can`t believe but it`s true that I just cracked a smile on my face (as I read it all complete) and whispered ... "Phew ... i`d missed the chance to read this awesome story if I`d have stopped to read!! Thank God, I read this complete!"

Your imagination`s very wide, Michelle. This story`s beautifully and creatively pen`d with your muse. I think, you love writing story tales (fantasy tales) .. that`s very nice. You`ve seemed oneself a great story-teller... And hey, I love the passage of the book you`ve pasted in the story... that`s awesome and I think, the whole story`s depend upon that passage. I`m now going to take another 10-15 minutes break and soon, i`ll be on your page again. You write with the heart, Michelle. I really love your work!

[wonderswan]

I agree that the beginning of "Blind Dreams" is a little slow, but I wanted to establish the scene and set everything up. I'm glad you thought it was worth reading at the end!!

And thank you so much!!! I'm glad you liked the part in the book! I like rhyming words; it's very fun!! :)

[Wórdsmíth]

Whao. Yet, I`ve just read your one story called "The Society". And it makes me so impressed and I must say, you`re very good even better at writing fantasy stories, your fantasy imagination`s just incredible, took me to the world of "tower" and I think, you`re already well prepared to get publish ... around the world. I`m now surprised, if today you are so creative and work like a professional then what.. when tomorrow comes on your barefoot? Phew... I wonder but yeah, tomorrow you`d gonna get tagged a name "Goddess of the city" Michelle Brown.

This write`s far excellent to me and every line brought me something new and interesting to read with full attention .. like i`m watching a movie named "City of the witches" .. Indeed. You`ve mentioned that this page contains 6 short stories in total .. yet, i`ve just read one but to be frank, i`m impressed by your work so, I`d even I want to read all the rest ones too just within the DAY or a Night. I think, I love that you`ve covered all the "wanderland" stories in a page because it makes this page looking more beautiful and interesting to read one by one alternatively. So, thanks for putting all the collection of wonderful stories in one page for your readers convenience. I adore this.

You really do work hard and it`s reflecting through what you do! I`m going to take a short 10-15 minutes break & i`ll be back right on your page to read another story. Keep on!

[wonderswan]

I'm so glad you liked it! Thank you so much for the long and thoughtful comment. It made me smile!!