Wendell woke up, groping blindly at the satin sheets.

He had had the nightmare again.

The one where the Evil Queen still lived, and he, the Ruler of the Fourth Kingdom, was still a dog at her feet. She used and abused him for the pleasure of her troll servants, and all of his people laughed at him when he tried to speak. No one knew that the dog was a prince, and no one noticed that the prince was a dog. It was awful, and he always woke up shaking and sweating.

Sitting up in his huge bed, Wendell smoothed down his blonde curls, feeling the resentment begin again. The others had been gone for three months now, having earned their well-deserved rest. They'd sent a message across once to Wolf and Virginia, and had received a letter saying everything was going fine. The couple kept obstetrician visits to a minimum and would be coming home in another few months.

Antony, meanwhile, was tucked away in his granted castle, by all accounts having the time of his previously pathetic life. He had left Wendell's castle two weeks after Wolf and Virginia, with a small band of followers who worshipped his every step.

Wendell knew the three deserved the peace, and he certainly didn't begrudge them their happiness.

But it had been four who saved the Nine Kingdoms.

What sort of peace did he get? How much happiness was he allowed? He was more than proud to be the Fourth Kingdom's ruler, but he would have liked a break after his harrowing experience. And, he hoped, a way to rid himself of the nightmares. Instead of the constant meetings and celebrations and decisions. Oh the decisions! When had people stopped being able to make up their own minds?

Flopping onto his back, Wendell stared up at the silken canopy above his bed. None of them knew what it had been like, that endless time as a dog. Elf-all, he had almost lost himself entirely. And that time with the Huntsman ... he felt a shiver roll through him and he turned onto his side, curling into a ball.

"Go to sleep," he told himself very sternly. Slowly, the exhaustion caught up to him as it always did, and he grew tired again.

"I wish I could just get away for awhile," he murmured aloud, the last word swallowed by a yawn. The wind whispered through his open window, past the heavy drapes. As he drifted to sleep, he thought he could make out its voice, and he heard it saying, 'Be careful what you wish for.'

Melissa answered the knock at her trailer door with a terse, "yeah?"

"It's Teresa. Time for your make-up." Melissa groaned and stalked to the door, unlocking it and flinging it wide. A lighting hand walking by jumped at the movement, caught her baleful glare, and hurried on his way.

Teresa stood to the opposite side of the door, frowning as she always did lately. "Good morning to you, too," she said in her soft voice. "Glad to see you're in good spirits this morning."

Melissa made a face and ushered the make-up artist in, closing the door firmly behind her. "Don't start with me, Terry. I don't need it."

"I think you do." She pushed Melissa steadily to the make-up chair and forced her into it. "Look at you, for Heaven's sake. No cheekbones to speak of, and those eyelashes are a disgrace!"

She had to smile at that, looking at herself in the mirror. Even when her movies were roasted, which seemed to be more frequent lately, the critics always gave a plug to her 'timeless beauty.' Like she was fifty instead of twenty-eight. But when she had been in the public eye since she was six, it felt like she was a hundred.

"Why do I do it?" she sighed aloud.

Teresa deftly tied the make-up bib around her neck, exactly the same as every morning. "Because you get paid millions of dollars, hon," the older woman answered matter-of-factly.

Melissa sighed again. "That's no reason to be an actress. I don't even like acting anymore. I should quit."

Teresa had had experience with this particular conversation. "But you're good at it, and you make millions of people happy by what you do, Missy."

"Missy!" Melissa jerked her head away from the foundation brush. "Don't call me that! That's the worst part of all of this. 'Missy Duke.'" She groaned loudly. "I can't believe I was ever young enough to agree to that."

"You were and you did, Melissa."

"They won't let me change it back either," she pouted.

"It's too late now. Everyone in the world knows Missy Duke. Few people know Melissa Dukavski."

"You do."

Teresa smiled gently. "I've known you for a long time."

Melissa laid her head against Teresa's hand, smelling the other woman's fresh nail polish. It was so familiar that it brought tears to her eyes. "I'm glad," she said, blinking rapidly.

"Don't ruin your make-up," Teresa warned, noticing everything. As always.

They sat in silence while she finished the job. It went fast, requiring nothing special to bring out Melissa's beauty. When she looked at the results in the mirror, she couldn't help but see that even Teresa wasn't talented enough to hide the tiredness.

"You look beautiful," she said, when Melissa pulled off the bib and headed for the door.

"You always say that."

"I always mean it." Teresa paused, then asked, "Are you all right?"

Melissa glanced at her long-time friend and caretaker over her shoulder. "I'm one of the most famous movie stars alive. I'm rich, I'm beautiful, I'm relatively young. What do I have to be upset about?" She left the question hanging and stepped out into the morning sunlight.

"Must get the mirror, must get the mirror, must get the mirror!" The little imp tripped over his feet in his own malicious glee. Picking himself up, he ducked into one of the alcoves along the hallway, giggling. Cold air rushed past, pricking at his skin and he frowned at the emptiness. "I know I know!" he squealed at it, then clamped both ungainly hands over his absurdly small mouth. He giggled again and scampered back out into the hall.

She was always watching him, always bothering him. She should leave him alone. She just distracted him. He was getting the mirror. Get the mirror, She had told him. He was getting it. Just a few feet further and he'd have got it. He giggled again.

The king was so stupid. Thinking no one could get down here. He could. He was just small enough, just smart enough, to make it in. Squeeze through the hole, push aside some rock, eat a mouse. He licked his lips and leapt for the mouse, but it scampered away before he could grab it.

"Dumb mouse!" he shouted. Then, "Shhhhhhh! Must be quiet. Get the mirror!" There it was, dull and dusty. Stupid king. He pulled out the bag full of magic dust She had given him. What had She told him? Be careful. He nodded his head vigorously. Must be careful. Get the mirror. Shrink the mirror. Take it back to Her.

And then...and then! Then She would give him his surprise! He could hardly contain himself. He loved surprises.

Trembling all over with excitement, he opened up the bag and sniffed it, sneezing promptly into the contents. The dust poofed up out of the bag and sprinkled across his nose. He felt it tingle, and then suddenly the bulbous protuberance disappeared. He crossed his eyes to get a look at it, but still couldn't see it. Suck an elf! What had happened to his precious nose?!

He was on the verge of tears now. But when he reached up and touched it, he felt a small knob. Was that his nose? That tiny, awful, hideous thing he was feeling? It was no more than a wart! The dust! The thoughts fell into place in his scattered, excited brain, and he stared at the dust with new respect. He had had the largest nose in Impdom. He would get Her to fix it before he gave Her the mirror.

He looked at himself in the mirror, disgusted by how ugly he looked now with the tiny nose. Yes, he would make Her fix it before he gave Her the mirror. He nodded again, his floppy ears banging against the side of his head. He grinned at his reflection, admiring his perfectly green-stained teeth. Then, bursting into giggles again, he began spreading dust on the mirror, until it shrank so that it was small enough to fit into his sweaty pocket.

With a squeal of delight, he set off again, anxious to make it back to Her. The mirror banged against his leg as he loped away, giggling.

She waited.

Rena had always been waiting, it seemed. Ever since she had flung herself into the ocean instead of killing her beloved prince, she had waited. And for what? For two hundred years she had suffered the pains of others, hoping that it would ease her own. It hadn't worked, like her sisters had promised. They had long since left her, their sentences fulfilled. But she had stayed. Where the others had found happiness, she could only find misery.

It was fitting, really.

She wished, for some countless time, that she had killed the prince when she had had a chance. She had suffered endless agony at his wedding, watching him kiss his new bride, thinking that she had been the one to save him. But her muteness -- her dumbness, as he had so appropriately named it -- had kept the truth from him. And then, when death lingered on the dawning of the new day, and she had been offered life, she had thrown it away. Because her life had meant his death, and Rena never could have killed him back then. Back then, she had decided to take her own life instead, because she thought she had no life without him.

How wrong she had been.

There was so much more to life than him. Now she knew what it was truly like to be human. Something had happened when she had dissolved into the ocean foam, her mermaid form dying. The others had come and lifted her up, promising her a soul if she just waited long enough. She waited. And waited. And waited still. The others spouted their silly words, and they wafted on the wind to bring joy and peace and leave Rena to wait. Rena was sick of waiting.

She took the wind that carried her slowly forming soul, and shaped it, twisted it, spun it into a hurricane and sent it sailing across the waters. Her first attempts were no more than meager rainstorms. Eventually she gathered enough power to sink a ship, and she tasted freedom.

Somehow, these people that she killed, their deaths gave her back parts of herself. But these parts were special. She could mold them into whatever she wanted to be, and she wanted to be human. Oh her prince had long since died, but she knew his line lived on. She couldn't find them, but she knew they were there, somewhere. Rena was certain that if she were human, she could satisfy the revenge that had burned so brightly within her all these two hundred years.

Some things, she had found, were worth waiting for.

But the souls of the fishermen and village people were small and petty. She needed a hero's soul. And when the wind whispered its secrets to her, her half-formed face twisted with her lopsided grin. Her actual power was not enough for direct action, but she had learned many ways to get what she wanted. That elf-all imp, Grojavek, was just one way. Not her first choice, but the best one she had access to, so she had sent him and his tiny brain to get the mirror for her, that she may put her plan into action.

Yes, she would get what she wanted.

And she wanted Wendell.