***Usually, don’t ever post stuff like this. Just a GoT-inspired short story. This idea came to me and I wanted to write about it and then of course, share it with the world. It doesn’t have to do with style or fashion like my other posts. But it’s my flaneuse journal aka blog aka writing that I like. Hope you all like it and who knows maybe this could turn into a longer story.
Once upon a time there was a king and his newly wed bride. The young queen was considered by many the fairest maiden of all the lands and her beauty grew each passing day with dove-like complexion and rose-tinted lips—but so did her vanity. Her one and only flaw; which would one day seep into her happiness. On the eve of their wedding celebration, all the kingdom folk came to the palace bearing gifts and blessings for the happy couple. But soon enough the aura of celebrations and joy turned into darkness and horror as the wicked witch flew in. She too came bearing a gift, but in the form of a curse: together in union they may always be, but never to experience the joy of parenthood. With a malevolent smirk she flew away leaving the king consoling his weeping bride.
The wicked witch was not always a dark soul. For many, many years ago, she was a beautiful girl with a soft heart that turned cold when the King’s Father destroyed her land. The war brought by the neighboring kingdom killed her family, rescinded her dreams, and hollowed her soul. She fled to save herself and encountered a sorcerer—from whom she learned magic and wizardry. And through the years she used her magic in spiteful ways causing her soul to darken even more. But this is a tale for another day.
The news of the curse spread across the lands and the devastated king and queen called upon all the elves, fairies, and magical dwarves for a resolution—however, they could fine none. The king’s hand, also his childhood friend, had once heard of an old erudite apothecary that lived deep in the forest in a giant sequoia tree. The King and Queen took their carriage to the tree and plead the apothecary to use his wisdom and power to end their woes. The apothecary told them of a potion conjured up by the tears of a weeping willow.
Legend has it that a maiden fell in love with a duke, who promised her marriage. But instead he bedded her and broke his promise. The unwed maiden became pregnant and was banished by the townspeople. Alone she lived in an abandoned hut near a cliff for nine months. One night when the moon was big and blue, her baby boy was born but without any life. Stricken by her loss, the mother grieved and carried the baby towards the cliff. As she jumped off, her hair tangled with a branch and prevented her from falling—but the baby fell out of her arms in the waves below her. Stoic and motionless she lay there, near the edge till her last breath until she withered away into ash. In the same soil grew a willow tree that weeps every blue moon and has the power to vanquish the witch’s curse.
The apothecary gave them the potion but with it entailed a condition:
‘1 drop in tea, a dusky, simple girl you’ll see,
2 drops in milk, so strong and brave he will be,
3 drops in honey, girls as sweet-tempered as doves on lily pads,
4 drops in ambrosia, blessed with the most kindest and fairest lads’
But with each drop the queen consumed, she paid a price: her beauty would fade. After all, all magic comes with a price. Struck with vanity, she could not depart from her beauty. The foolish queen did not realize that beauty is finite but a mother’s love is timeless. Instead of drinking the entire vile and having many children, she had one drop in tea. And months later, gave birth to a very plain dusky girl. The queen now a mother felt the painstaking grief of her vanity, the king assured her that their love would not wane for their only child. Alas, the curse had been broken and the whole kingdom was invited for a feast in their daughter’s name.
Having heard that her curse was no more, the wicked witch fumed in anger. She sought out Tiresias, the blind seer, whose prophecies had never failed anyone. ‘This child will end your reign”, he said. Threatened by the infant, the witch sent her two-headed oracle to the palace to kill the child. But the apothecary most certain with the witch’s nature had warned the king of the impending peril. The two-headed oracle was captured by the guards and imprisoned. Angered by this, the witch sent three singing serpents: “Toils and troubles, doom shall come. Your kingdom will fall and everyone will succumb. When the clock strikes twelve on the princess’s 21st, she will breathe her last and die. The reign will ensue; none will turn a blind eye. The witch will rule, the witch will rule. Toils and troubles, toils and troubles.”
Fearing for the princess’s life, the queen and king decided to hide her—they sent her away with the king’s hand, Alfven; the only man the king trusted to raise his daughter. Damien took the princess to a tower far, far away from the castle. The king and queen sent a baby owl and dragon as her companions, her protectors, and a token of love. For the next 20 years, the kingdom longed for their heir and the princess lived in secret as a commoner. But she was trained in swordsmanship, archery, and horseback. Alfven, who was the only parent she knew, taught her many things, but the most important lesson he taught her: “You must always protect life. Never harm a living soul. You must raise the sword to defend your honor, integrity, and the innocent. But when you take a life, you lose the light within.”
A few months before her 21st birthday, the princess robed in commoner’s garbs, was frolicking about with Pieyro, her golden owl deep in the enchanted forest. There her eyes saw a golden carriage. Amazed by the sight, she peered inside. “Halt, you thief!” The handsome prince, whose carriage she was lurking through, had mistaken her for a thief. Caught by surprise, the princess masked her face with a russet cravat. But before a battle could ensure, prince’s eyes met the princess’s—he was awestricken with the simplicity of her charm and ferociousness in her eyes. He lowered his sword and unveiled the garment to a dusky, ordinary girl with hair as black as a moonless night. And her having never seen such a wholesome face, she was intrigued by his demeanor.
As the hours turned into days and the days into weeks, they found themselves growing attached to each other to the point where each passing moment of separation seemed unbearable. The prince began to spend more and more time with the princess—sometimes sneaking into her tower late at night. He introduced her to a world of art, music and poetry and she presented him with the joys of the mundane, common life. He fell in love with her as plain and simple as she was. Having grown accustomed to fair maidens vying for his affections, they only had beauty the sung in skin deep, but no character, no fire, no depth. He loved her for everything she was and nothing more. And she loved him.
Soon after, the princess revealed to Alfven about her feelings for the prince. Alfven knew it was not his right to break her heart, but he had to tell her the truth about her true identity. He divulged the whole truth about her real parents, the curse, cruel plans of the evil witch, and a kingdom waiting for the return of the heir to end the reign of evil. Realizing the sacrifice of her parents and Alfven, the princess had to return as their savior. But she also knew she had to protect the man she loved from the perils of her own destiny. That night, like any other, the prince climbed the tower to see the princess, but she had long left with Alfven to her kingdom—leaving behind not a single trace of her existence.
After 20 years, the bells of the kingdom rung loudly with joy. Their princess had arrived. Her parents were now old, tired kindred spirits—their youth rekindled with the time spent with their daughter. In a fortnight, she would be 21 and as little time that was left they wanted to make up for the last 20 years. In the midst of the celebrations, the princess and prince met again. At first, he rebuked her presence, but then she told him about the curse. He held her hand and promised to fight alongside her. And under a sky painted with bright moon and many stars, they declared their love and shared true love’s kiss—tender and passionate and completely consumed with each other in that one moment.
The wise, brave princess decided to lead the army towards the witch to spare the blood of the innocent and the young. On her horse she rode, with her owl on one shoulder and her dragon soaring high above, shielding the princess from impending, unforeseeable harm. With the prince by her side, the battled black ghouls, hideous flying creatures, blind hounds with sharp teeth, giant beasts with long tails and three-headed lions. With each day, her army grew smaller and the hurdle more gruesome. One night, she overheard a paladin telling another the folklore of the witch. The princess’s warrior heart softened thinking of the atrocities the witch faced. After all, the witch was once a good soul and deep within all that darkness a little light must remain that could be saved. Before heading towards the dark fortress, the prince and princess consummated their love—moving like the blaze of fire flames in the wild summer air. Not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Since that night was the eve of her 21st.
On a throne made of dead carcasses and bones, the evil witch sat, anticipating the foolish princess and her prince. The singing serpent rested alongside the arm of the throne and as the princess climbed up the long series of stone steps, he sang: “The girl returns, the girl returns. Dunce to us misled in valor, tonight she shall burn.” The princess comes to the witch in hopes of peace and change. She asks her to excuse the misdeeds of her forebears and to end this reign of revenge. But the wicked witch laughed at her attempts and stuck in her stubborn, arrogant ways refused to acquiesce to the girl and the prophecy of the seer. The witch raised her magical staff to attack the princess, but the prince had intervened. The plume of magic hit his chest, down he fell, unconscious and lifeless he remained.
“No!” The princess had screamed as her love refused to move. She drew her sword and with all her might and utterly consumed by anger and vengeance, she hurled it towards the witch. The blade pierced straight through the witch’s heart—hardening it like black onyx and then turning it into ash. The prophecy had been finally been fulfilled. But the princess had forgotten the wise words of Alfven, “You must always protect life. Never harm a living soul. You must raise the sword to defend your honor, integrity, and the innocent. But when you take a life, you lose the light within.”
It was then that all the evil and darkness that left the witch’s body now transferred into the princess. Her pure, soft soul was now darken and embodied with malice. Her gentle aura was coarse; the features rough, her long, dark hair had turned white as cinders. The princess took hold of the magical staff and summoned its power towards her. When the prince had awoken a few hours later, he cried in horror and disbelief—his love, his princess was transformed into stone.
The princess trapped the evil power within by cursing herself to be a stone statue that no one could ever destroy or shatter—the evil power never to be released or used to harm any other being. The prince took the stone princess back to her kingdom and family, and for many centuries to come she remained there as a symbol of heroism. The prince spent the rest of his life serving her people and every night he visited the stone princess—sitting with her in complete solitude.
This was the story of a princess considered by many as plain and simple, not known for her beauty or great ambitions, but for her bravery, wisdom, and kindness. Beauty takes form in many ways–it is not always the physical, visible beauty that is the most important. But the one the radiates from within. The story of the ultimate sacrifice: a girl that perished to end evil and save the lives of those she loved.
The End
The Flaneuse Journal 