Prologue

Plotting...contriving…maneuvering...manipulating...
Destiny laid a path
one lovely summer's night
down which its pawns...
two legendary queens...
would tread.
One road paved with Happily Ever After...
the other with heartbreak…betrayal…and dread.

~*~*~

The grand ballroom
sparkled...glittered
from candlelight...
strategically placed mirrors...
and…
dazzling gemstones
both precious...semi and paste...
that had been
cleverly tacked...sewn
to bodices...hemlines...waists...
and intricately set
into necklaces...tiaras...bracelets.
Bejeweled ribbons
added their shimmer
fetchingly weaving their way
through tresses
of flame-kissed red...raven-wing black
and sun-ripened gold.

From every part of the room
diamonds...rubies...emeralds...
sapphires...pearls
flashed...winked...shone
beckoning the eye to linger
upon dewy skin...
shell pink lobes...
swan-like necks...
and hundreds of pairs
of dainty slippered feet.

The guests...
tall...medium...petite
chubby...stocky...lithe...
twittered...fidgeted...
preened...primped...
fanned flushed cheeks...
nervously bit rouged lips
giggled...whispered...
blushed when shushed...
[by anxious doting parents...guardians]
jockeyed for position...
bounced on tiptoe and craned necks
to be the first
to catch a glimpse of their belated host
when he should finally appear.

~*~*~

Above the milling assembly...
upon the royal dais...
King Gallant fretted...
the finger of parental exasperation
etching a line
between normally placid brows.
The guests were all assembled...
The chef had prepared a sumptuous feast…
The orchestra's instruments
had been finely tuned and tweaked...
Everything and everyone was ready
but
his son...
was unfashionably...unpardonably late.

Before much longer...
all the eager...girlish chatter
that eddied through the room
would turn to speculative whispering.
Faces now bright with hope...
romantic yearning...
would dim...
first with disappointment...
then tears of hurt...humiliation.
And the parents...
Oh, the eyebrows that would be raised...
the incensed looks exchanged...
the backs stiffened by wounded pride
at the insult to their precious daughters.

Whatever had gotten into the boy?
It was true...
The King grudgingly admitted...
Charming
had made his feelings crystal clear
from the ball's very first concocting.
Days...nights...weeks...months
of vehement arguing
had culminated...that very morning
in a calm...but firm...declaration:
he'd not be making an appearance
at the gala that night.

Gallant sighed...shook his head…
such a flawless plan...
how had it gone so wrong?
Such an uncomplicated ploy...
throw a ball...a simple ball...
invite all the First Kingdom's
most eligible maidens...
parade them before the Prince...
and dare to hope
that one...
[was it too much to ask?]
might catch his eye...
[or better yet]
his heart.

The King was at a loss
to see what his son found so appalling...
it was not as if…he were being asked
to slay a cannibalistic giant…
or a fire-breathing dragon...
or scale a slippery glass mountain on horseback...
or incur the wrath of some terribly thin-skinned witch
to win the hand of a suitable bride.

After all...the King deliberated...
was he being so very selfish...
was it not a doting father’s wish
to see his only child
settled down...
an affable wife by his side...
a brood of boisterous offspring...
budding heirs...
about his knee
[the throne and kingdom secure]?

Worriedly fingering his beard
Gallant
cast yet another fruitless glance
toward the vacant entry staircase...
then over his socializing guests.
Something had to be done...
[excuses made...apologies extended]
and right away...
for the mood in the room
was beginning to alter
[pocket watches
were being discreetly inspected...
raised eyebrows...speculative glances
artfully shared].

Reluctantly resigned
The King beckoned to his aide.
The Lord Chamberlain
hurried...scurried forth...
bent...inclined his head...
the better to hear
his liege's command...
just as a fanfare of trumpets
heralded...ushered in
the errant heir...reluctant host.

A subtle chorus
of feminine ooh's and aah's arose
accentuating the Prince's appearance
but not all hearts...pulses
were set aflutter.
In an out-of-the-way corner
oblivious to the giddy goings-on...
a figure sat...
cozily ensconced
upon an elegant chair...
partially obscured
by an exceedingly large potted plant...

# # # # #

Lips tightly pursed...
eyes wonder-lit...
Princess Bright
was fully engrossed...immersed
in the tale
that swashbuckled...romanced
its way across the pages
of the tome
hidden discreetly
in her lap
[the deception aided
by the tacky ruffles
and exaggerated bows festooning
her unfortunate dress].

Ears discounted the clamor...
the crowd's cheers...applause
rising about her.
Eyes never skipped a beat
as they raced from one
nail-biting...heart-pounding paragraph
to the next.
Not until the irate voices
of her Uncle Pinchbeck...Aunt Prunella
encroached
did her rapt attention divert.

Guilt-stained cheeks...
downcast eyes...
shoulders contritely hunched
were her only defense
against the heated barrage...
the chewing out...the dressing down
that assailed her ears.
"How could you..."
"Of all the ungrateful..."
"After all the sacrifices..."
"Never been so embarrassed..."
"Is this how you repay..."
"I'll burn every book..."
"Stand up, girl..."
"Look at that dress...ruined..."
"Perhaps the Prince will overlook..."
Desperately…Bright gave ground
hastening toward
the Royal receiving line
leaving the irate pair
to besmear the empty air
with a litany of her countless
shortcomings...failings.

~*~*~

The line crept relentlessly...inescapably forward.
While girls in front...behind
discreetly disciplined errant curls...
smoothed imperceptible wrinkles
from billowing skirts...
silently rehearsed
witty...Prince-ensnaring axioms
Bright miserably
yearned to be anywhere
but there.

The day had begun woefully
with bullying...threats.
Browbeaten...cowed at last
she'd acquiesced
to be presented at the ball
[decked out in a troll's fantasy of a gown]
and now stood like
a giantess...among fairies
an oak...among willows
a goose...among doves...
able to perceive the Prince's
immaculate hair...snow-white smile
from her advantageous...unfortunate height.

The distance shortened...the Prince drew nearer.
Closing her eyes…taking a deep breath
Bright mentally reviewed the etiquette
for handling a royal introduction.
Curtsy...
offer your hand...
murmur something innocuous...bland...
move on...
[then out… into the garden...
and some much needed fresh air.]
Nervously the toe of her shoe tapped
against the marble floor...
fingers fidgeted fretfully
with the lace at a wrist.
What had seemed to take an eternity
had reached its end too fast...
it was her turn…to be presented...at last.

# # # # #

His Highness smiled...most charmingly
[how else?]
inclined his oh-so handsome head.
Her body lowered...
[without a wobble]
knees bent...
[without a creak]
skirt fanned out...
[just right]
[Why...this isn't so bad...she thought.]

In the midst of courteously inquiring
whether the ball was to her liking
[chivalrously ignoring her unladylike height]
the Prince's attention drifted...
his gaze shifted...
captured by something...
just beyond Bright’s head.
Timidity…propriety forgotten
Bright stared in frank astonishment...
for Charming had seemingly…been struck dumb
before her very eyes.

Throughout the room
conversation...laughter
skidded to a halt.
Bright's skin prickled...
the hair at her nape...raised.
Something momentous...epochal
was taking place.
Half afraid to turn...
more afraid to not...
her head...then eyes
followed the direction
of the Prince's stupefied gaze.

A vision...
clad in ethereal ivory...silver-tipped lace...
was gracefully
descending the stairs.
With each step...slippers...
incredibly tiny...
fashioned from diamond or glass...
sparkled...flirted
from beneath yards of sweeping silk.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes
watched...weighed
the enchanting creature's descent
with pleasure...
appreciation...
admiration...
desire...
sadness...
hopelessness...
disappointment...
jealousy...
the merest smidgeon of....hate.

As if released from a spell
the Prince
eagerly traversed the floor.
The King
watching with avid interest
signaled to the orchestra.
As the music began...
Charming swept the bewitching stranger
into his arms...and a waltz.

With all attention diverted...riveted
upon the whirling couple
Bright backed away…melting through the crowd...
escaping out the ballroom doors
into the gardens...
the consoling obscurity of night.

# # # # #

Unfathomably…her chest had felt taut...
her heart heavy...leaden…
ever since the Prince's felling
by the arrival of the mysterious maiden.
It was not as though
she'd ever harbored the thought...
for a single moment...
that the Prince would find
her captivating...
fall to his knee...
declare his everlasting love.

Yet...nonsensically...
an infinitesimal part…deep within…
had held onto the possibility...
adolescent fantasy...
of a happy ever after ending
to the ball.
[Stranger things had happened.
For after all, had not
Beauty fallen for
the ill-starred Beast?]

Secreted within a wisteria bower
a gilded bench offered asylum...
a hideaway in which to think...cry.
Making certain her skirt was carefully draped
[ever mindful of her aunt's
scolding tongue]
Bright rested her cheek
upon drawn up knees...
allowing her eyes
to dolefully slide shut.
Loneliness welled.
After so many years...
her parents' absence
could still threaten tears.

# # # # #

Orphaned...
at the tender age of six...
deposited into the guardianship
of a covetous...self-serving
aunt and uncle
she'd grown up midst
their disregard...unveiled contempt.

Her late father
had been the beloved Prince...
Cowlick Ricky
who...
as everyone in the Nine Kingdoms knew...
had been cursed at birth
with unrelenting ugliness.
Happily his looks had been
counterbalanced
by such wit...charm...sweetness
his unsightliness was wholly overlooked.

Her late mother...
the exquisite Princess Marigold...
as beautiful
as her husband was most undeniably not...
had in her youth...
been so devoid of intellect...
so tactless...cruelly blunt
that all...
young and old...rich and poor...
haughty and humble...
had shunned her company.

Fortunately...
[as so often happens
in such situations]
fairy godmothers had intervened…on both accounts...
bestowing upon Ricky and Marigold
extraordinary gifts.
To him...the ability to enable the one he adored
to be as brilliant...congenial...lovable as himself.
To her...the gift to cause the one she loved
to become as fair of face as she herself.

Theirs had been a true...indisputable
fairy tale romance
capped by the birth
of their only child...Bright.
Unfortunately...Marigold's bequest
had had a one time guarantee
for her daughter's name referenced
her intelligence...not her countenance.

A homely baby...
Bright had grown into an
extraordinarily plain maid...
[with the added flaws
of being far too tall...thin...for current fashion]
who eventually would mature
into an uncommonly unmemorable woman.

More often than not...when gazing into the mirror
Bright fervently wished
her father's initial unattractiveness
had been her birthright…rather than his intellect.
Ugliness...like beauty…
is noteworthy...eye-catching.
It might repel...
but it can never be ignored...overlooked.
Plainness...
on the other hand
adorns its bearer with indiscernibly.

Watching the Prince fall head over heels
[there could be no question...
it had been...was...most indisputably...
love-at-first-sight]
had served as a painful reminder
that the future did not hold...
never would...
a similar wondrous event
for such as her.

As though to underscore...
give credence to
that sorrowful conviction...
the bower
was thrust into darkness.

# # # # #

Heart pounding…
throat constricting…
palms pressed to heaving breast…
Bright stood
[albeit slightly stooped...
her stature did not allow for straightening].
In an instant...initial shock dissipated...
logic...good sense...prevailed.
No portent...this.
A shadow...blocking...
nothing more...
for its possessor...
having pivoted at her strangled gasp...
stood...poised...tense...forbidding...
a hulking silhouette
at the entryway...
hand clasped upon a sword.

~*~*~

Hesitant...unsure...
Bright chewed her bottom lip.
Should she step out into the moonlight
or stay sheltered in the shadows...
allow the stranger to make the first move?
As she debated...the choice was made...
his hand relaxed...fell to his side
leaving the weapon safely sheathed.
Two quick steps back...permitted her room to pass.

Stepping from the bower’s dim sanctuary...
Bright’s sight was temporarily dazzled
by the abrupt onslaught of light
rendering her would-be assailer unrecognizable.
He remained thus…but for a moment...
then her vision cleared.

~*~*~

Time skittered to a halt…
Bright’s mind reeled...
she could not move...or speak.
The stranger's face registered bafflement
at her reaction
for she stood like a statue...
her eyes the only thing stirring
in the rigidity of her face.
Bright dared not take a breath...
terrified the slightest move
would cause the moment to shatter.
He was her equal in height...
if not a few inches taller...
but where her features lacked embellishment
his were faultless...complete
and she knew every detail...trait
for her mind's eye had fabricated that countenance
to adorn every prince...hero...knight
in all the tales read...daydreams...
nighttime fantasies concocted
since she'd reach the age
to care about such things
as contentment...companionship...love
and come to realize...comprehend
just how bereft her life was destined to be.

Bright saw a spark flare in his eye...
a smile...lopsided...charismatic...
tested the confines of his mouth
[causing her heart to flip]
and belied the solemnity
with which he bowed...
and introduced himself as
"Simon, Captain of the Palace Guard."
Caught up in the fantasy…
Bright…acknowledging...with equal aplomb...replied
"Bright, Princess Royal, to the manor born"
and presented her hand
which he raised reverently to his lips.
Then...quite mystifyingly...
they broke into gales of laughter
shattering the moment's strict decorum.

~*~*~

Charmed...he offered his arm
Mopping her eyes...she gracefully accepted.
Delighted with one another
they wandered through the gardens
talking...for what seemed like hours
until...
while strolling through the lower grounds...
just as the tower clock began to toll
the midnight hour...
the sound of running...
someone hastening...
of heels striking frantically against stone...
startled them from their tranquil chat.

At the top of the steps
leading from the palace proper
a figure hurried into view...
a woman...girl...
identity obscured by
golden hair...tumbling...disheveled
yet...no need to see her face...
Bright recognized the dress...
it was the beautiful...anonymous...guest...
the maiden
who had stolen...upon first sighting...
Prince Charming's heart away.

As the voluminous skirts peacock-tailed
down the flight of steps
something glinted in their wake...
a shard of glass...perhaps...
too distant for Bright to make out the shape.
The girl vanished into the shadows...
at the base of the stairs
as the Prince appeared upon their crest.
The observing couple heard his fervent plea
"Stop, please - wait for me!"
and watched as he recklessly descended
only to come to a halt midway...
conceding the futility of the chase
as the sound of drumming hooves…
the crack of a driver’s whip
faded upon the air.

The Prince turned...remounted the stair
slowly...resignedly…
shoulders slumped...head bent...
the bearing of one
whose world has collapsed.
Bright saw him stumble...start...jump
when a light…clear ring disturbed the night.
Charming bent…
plucked something from the step.
Holding it aloft...examining it in the moonlight...
he uttered an exultant cry
as he recognized it for what it was…
a shoe...
a tiny...dainty...crystal slipper.

In astonishment
Bright beheld his demeanor change...
[princely behavior all forgot]
as like a child...
he took the stairs…two steps at a time...
the precious relic…cradled to his chest...
and disappeared from view.

Excited by what she’d witnessed
Bright turned to Simon
[marveling at how natural...right it seemed]
first...to enlighten him about the Prince's
love-struck condition
and then to inquire what he supposed
might be the cause of the object of affection's
frantic haste [escape]...
but she was interrupted
as the clatter of many hooves…
once again disturbed the night…
heralding the approach of carriages.
Reality's intrusion forced her to realize...
[with a jolt...]
the ball was over...
and soon her aunt and uncle would arrive...
[already her ears imagined their strident voices
could be heard]
she would have to go...
her lovely fairy tale evening was ending.

Seeing her stricken expression
Simon asked to be told the cause of her distress.
Swallowing her misery
Bright thanked him for his company
but explained that the time had come
to join her guardians...and return home.
Nodding farewell...she turned to go...
tears welling...threatening to spill...
but the gentle yet firm capturing of her hand
caused her to pause...turn back...
breath catching...heart tightening
with foolish hope.

Gravely Simon made the request
she had dared not wish for...
"...would she grant him the privilege
of being allowed to call upon her...
in the afternoon...tomorrow?"
His head cocked...awaiting her reply.
It came...a breathless..."yes".
A wink...impudent yet tender...
threatened to set off an unladylike giggle.
Pressing a warm kiss against her trembling palm
he slowly released her hand.
Cheeks flushed with pleasure...
hastening toward the waiting carriages
Bright turned her head...just a little...
casting her eyes back
and found him standing where she'd left him...
in the shadows...watching...
a hand lifted in farewell.

# # # # #

Bright barely felt the carriage’s bruising jostle
nor took note of her aunt's scolding...
her uncle's scowling...
too lost was she in the imagined
lingering tingle from Simon’s kiss...
the intoxicating thrill of his petition.
Such things could not be...could they…
for such as she?
For love at first sight
to strike twice on one night
had to be unprecedented
in the annals of enchantment
but...happened...it had...
[she would not question
the how...or why of it]
for her heart
had been most assuredly taken...
and with all her soul...
she would not ask for it back.

Arriving home she retreated to her room
and running to the mirror
stood within a hair's breath of the glass
positively certain her appearance
had been miraculously altered...retouched...
but the all-to familiar...ordinary...angular features
were reflected back.
Horror...suffocating panic gripped her.
It had been the night...the darkness.
It had hidden her true self.
What Simon had perceived...
had been transformed
by the absence of unmerciful light...
had been made agreeable
by the compassion of artful shadows.
Tomorrow...should he come...
[a sob escaped...shoulders slumped...]
tomorrow...
he would see her as she really was.

~*~*~

Rough shaking...
the shocking chill caused by
covers thrown violently back...
forced Bright from the exhausted sleep
she'd fitfully fallen into
just a few short hours earlier.
Fingers cruelly biting into her wrists
jerked...dragged her from the bed.
Dazed...bewildered she blearily followed
her aunt's agitated course
[Prunella's porcine face wore a blend of
impatience...excitement...and disquieting voracity]
as she crossed to the wardrobe
wrenched open the door...
[Bright winced at the resulting crash
of wood against stone wall]
Yanking out a garment...
flinging it upon the bed...
Prunella commanded Bright to don it...
with no argument...
and get herself downstairs...posthaste.
Turning on her heel
she left...without a word of explanation
just as Bright's maid hastened in to assist
with her mistress's ablutions.

# # # # #

Bright's entrance into the great hall
corresponded with an imperious hammering
on the castle door.
As the butler advanced to allow admittance
she was hustled...by her aunt...
without a by-your-leave...
into the formal receiving room.
Before questions could leave her lips
the aged retainer reappeared
announcing their unexpected visitor to be
Pincus, Vice Chamberlain to the King.
A roly-poly man...
uniform impeccably pressed...emblazoned...
crossed the threshold...
followed closely by a young footman
bearing a silver tray...topped by an item
concealed beneath a cloth of opulent purple satin.

With introductions made...
the Vice Chamberlain respectfully bade
Bright to be seated
and...if it pleased her...offer forth her left foot.
Wholly mystified...Bright did as he requested.
The Vice Chamberlain signaled the footman forward.
Dropping to one knee before her...
the servant...with a dramatic flourish...
whipped the covering from the tray
revealing...a shoe...
a crystal slipper.

Taken by surprise...
[for this was…most assuredly…the last thing
she would have surmised lay hidden]
Bright sought enlightenment...
first…from her aunt...
then from the Vice Chamberlain
who produced a parchment…
drew himself up...cleared his throat
and delivered the decree written there upon…
"By the Grace of His Most Illustrious Majesty, King Gallant
whomsoever this glass slipper fits
shall be...by the royal heir, Prince Charming...
taken as his bride
and declared Princess of all the First Kingdom."

Graciously…cooperatively…Bright drew up
the hem of her skirt...
to a modest height...
and slipping her foot from its shoe...held it out
trying all the while to retain her dignity...
to prevent the threatening chuckle...to escape.
Gazing innocently up at the Vice Chamberlain
their eyes met...and shared the flicker of a smile
of kindred amusement
as the footman made a valiant attempt
to place the diminutive slipper
upon her size-ten foot.

~*~*~

Immediately following the royal envoy's departure
Bright escaped upstairs
anxious to avoid her aunt's displeasure
with her failure to fit the slipper.
Prunella would surely see it as yet
another dereliction
to what should be first and foremost
Bright's most important duty...
to become Charming's or any prince's bride
thus elevating her guardians
far above their social station
merely by association.

~*~*~

Curled contentedly upon the window seat...
immersed in a book...
Bright was interrupted by the maid
who announced...a gentleman...
had come to call.
The tome fell from nerveless fingers
as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
She had convinced herself
she'd fallen asleep upon that garden seat
and had dreamt last night's lovely encounter.
But that delusion had just been shattered...
for Simon...true to his word...
was waiting downstairs...
waiting for her.
What was she to do?

Groping for a solution
Bright anxiously began to pace
and in so doing...
caught a glimpse...in the mirror...of her face.
The haggard image reflected there
was sufficient to facilitate a decision.
With painful resolve she directed the maid
to inform the gentleman...
that she was indisposed.

~*~*~

The tapping of the maid's heels
upon the stairs...had barely faded
when Bright bolted from her chamber
for the back staircase leading to the kitchen.
Her unannounced arrival
startled the scullery staff
but she paid their stares little heed...
her only thought...
to get out...away from the house
before the tears began to fall.

Fleeing to the stable
she jolted awake a catnapping stable boy
who…fearful for his employment…
saddled her mare in record time.
Out of the yard...
through the castle gates...
down the lane
girl and horse galloped...
tearing through the countryside
as though the mere act of speed
would ease...eradicate the torment.

Sound...prudent sense...soon prevailed
causing her to rein in...
settle her mount into a walk.
Turning off the lane...
dismounting...she led the mare
down a narrow path that meandered
between dense…overgrown hedgerows
before dead-ending...quite abruptly...
in a miniature fern bedecked grotto.
In ages...long past...
it had been the site of a wishing well
the spirit of which had failed...
[the reason...had long been forgotten]
in bringing to fruition
the answer to an aspiration
and had wasted away in disgrace…humiliation.
Crumbling stone...lichen overlaid...
splintered remnants of a once whimsical roof…
were all that confirmed the spot.
Through the years Bright had found solace
in the grotto's seclusion…
when feeling disheartened or
when the onerous atmosphere at home
became too much to bear.

Allowing the mare to graze
Bright dropped despondently
upon an inverted bench
beneath the sheltering arms of an ancient oak
and contemplated
what might have come to pass
had she marshaled the courage
to face Simon...in the revealing daylight.

A quizzical whinny...
the clomp of hooves...squeak of harness
fetched Bright's thoughts back to the present.
She began to rise...
then sank once more upon the seat...
in shock…disbelief...
as Simon...trailed by a liveried steed...
stepped purposefully from the path.

Instinctively attempting to veil her face
Bright shrank back upon the bench
seeking the shield of the oak's shadow.
Drawing nigh...Simon doffed his hat...bowed...
making the observation…
that it was a stroke of good fortune
to run into her in such an unlikely place.
Caught off-guard...
flustered by his appearance...
the genuineness of his speech...
mortified by the warmth in his eyes
in the face of her deception
Bright attempted to reply but
her throat tightened...the words stuck.

Feigning unawareness of her plight...
Simon remarked on the afternoon's
unseasonable warmth
and gallantly offered his water flask.
Gratefully accepting the gift
she partook of the contents.
He...in the meanwhile...roamed the site...
remarking on this...that...
and…
[being aware of the legend]
suggesting amusing theories
as to the truth behind the well's demise...
granting her time to recoup...
salvage what she could of her thoughts...poise.

Composure restored...by bracing refreshment...
Courage bolstered...by Simon's lighthearted banter...
Bright decided to gamble...
account for her actions…and pray
that he would not think too badly of her.
Braced...she rose...strode...unfalteringly
out of the gloom...into the sunlight
and turned...shoulders squared...chin raised...
to face him.

Her confession was never spoken...heard
for guessing her intent
Simon followed...
and placed a finger firmly against her lips.
His eyes bore into hers
and in their depths...intensity…
she grasped that he already knew...had deduced...
why she'd run away...hid
and that the reason mattered not.

Acceptance...belief was slow to take root.
The reality that love could ever
truly be hers...outside of dreams...
was still too new...inconceivable.
Realizing that she stood exposed...
Bright endeavored to twist her head aside…
to withdraw behind shuttered lids.
Breath sucked sharply in...
as...cradling her face...Simon tilted
her head back...until it was suffused in light.
Slowly...starting with her eyes....
he traced a line...with his lips...
determinedly...soothingly...tenderly...
from forehead...to nose...to chin
ending at her mouth.
Drawing her tightly against his chest...
Simon kissed away any lingering doubts.

The enchanted moment was short-lived...
their encounters seemed fated
to be intruded upon
by the pealing of bells.
A tolling...ringing...bonging...chiming
assaulted the confined site...
amplified by the grotto’s curve.
Simon felt little concern
for the tone was one of jubilation…not alarm
but it did signal departure...a recall to duty.
As Captain of the Palace Guard
he was required to be near at hand
whenever an alert was sounded
whether raised in crisis or celebration.

He was torn...
between responsibility to his position…his King
and the desire…need…
to comfort...reassure
this unexpected...new love.
Honor prevailed.
One last kiss...then he took his leave
but not before vowing
to meet her there...again...the following day.
Springing into the saddle...
he wheeled the stallion...
heading for the path
then reined it in.
Trotting the animal back…to Bright's side
he leaned from the saddle...
took her hand
and pledged to send word...
by note or man...
should he find himself detained.
Sweeping his hat in a jaunty salute...
he was gone.

The castle was oddly subdued when Bright returned.
The servants spoke in whispers...
tiptoed through the rooms
as though walking on pins and needles
all because...as Bright was informed...
her aunt...curious as to the significance
of the unusual ringing of the bells...
had dispatched a servant to the village
to discover what all the commotion was about.
But what he'd learned
had put Prunella in a dreadful snit
from which a nasty headache had developed
driving her to seek the solace of her bed.

And, the shocking tidings that had
laid her aunt low?
The announcement of an engagement...
a royal wedding in the planning...
for it seemed...
Prince Charming had succeeded
in locating the owner of the glass slipper
[a scullery maid...it was being rumored]
and in two months time
would make her his bride.
Bright smiled to herself at the news...
this seemed to be the day for
having dreams come true.

Determined to stay out of her aunt's way
yet not relishing being cooped up inside...
Bright sought refuge in the garden.
The heady perfume of blossoming things
as always...welcomed...enveloped.
Now...it seemed to underpin her newborn sense
of security...happiness...love.
Her mother had designed the flower beds...
overseen the planting...undertaken the tending
thus imbuing so much of her nurturing essence
into the vibrant patches of earth
that Bright imagined it was her soft touch
and not the breeze...
that caressed her face...affectionately ruffled her hair.

To be the offspring of parents
who had been the very embodiment
of fairy tale romance
would be a millstone...at any time...
but particularly to the child
who had been blessed with neither
captivating looks...
[hair that glistened like spun gold…
eyes that sparkled with a sapphire's hue…
lips that pouted in the rubiest red]
nor had…at the very least...any distinctive attributes
[having every remark...observation
rendered into precious gems
or fragrant flowers to spring forth with each footstep…
or breaking a curse with the merest kiss]
to recommend them.

For Bright...the legacy had been
especially difficult...cruel
being further shackled by orphaning
and the antipathy of guardians
under whose poisonous tutelage
she had learned just how unworthy
one such as she was
of ever being wanted...attracting love.
Thus...given no other choice...
to appease the crushing loneliness
she had immersed herself
in the make-believe living
played out in her adored books.
But...last night...this afternoon
[perchance by the benevolent intervention
of an unknown fairy godmother
or some other...equally benign...spirit]
she'd been given a taste...nibble
of what others took for granted...as their due...
seasoned with the scary...exhilarating possibility
that it just might be meant...
to last...
forever after.

Basking in the glow...happiness of being singled out...
finally having a place...being a part rather than apart...
Bright pirouetted among the flowers
mindful of...but not bothered by…
the gangly...awkward image
she must be presenting
to whoever might be spying...
for from this moment on
she determined...
nothing...least of all the sting
of her aunt and uncle's aversion…
would cause her a moment's pang
of insecurity...doubt.
Simon's love would provide her the courage...
furnish the shield.

~*~*~

No crisis had arisen overnight...or through the morning
to hinder Simon's visit...
in fact...their arrivals coincided
so eager were they to see one another.
Bright had forsaken sleep
for weaving dream tapestries
of a...now...achievable future...
and felt none the worse for lack of rest...
on the contrary...she had never felt so alive.
There was now a reason to rise in the morning...
to look forward to all those that would follow.
All her tomorrows now beckoned with promise...hope.

After the first exhilarating hour of reunion...
reacquainting...as lovers are wont to do...
they settled into an idyllic tête-à-tête.
Simon regaled her with all the news...gossip
surrounding the preparations for the forthcoming
Royal nuptials...including
the bride-to-be's now disclosed identity…
Cinderella...only natural daughter
of a...now deceased...wealthy merchant.
As Simon related the story
Bright's heart filled with gratitude
for the beautiful young woman
who...unwittingly...had been instrumental
in bringing she and Simon together.
Silently she vowed to be...forever…
a loyal and faithful subject
to the soon-to-be future Queen.

# # # # #

Several months passed...
Charming’s wedding to his Cinderella
had been a stupendously lavish affaire…
while Bright and Simon’s meetings
had grown more frequent...
and their partings evermore…bittersweet.
There came a day...both had dreaded
yet knew was inevitable…unavoidable…
when Simon disclosed
he was being called away...
to accompany King Gallant on an official visit
to the Fourth Kingdom.
He would be gone a week...two at the most
for numerous festivities had been planned
to which the Nine Kingdom's ruling monarchs
and nobility were invited...
to commemorate the grand opening
of the Fourth's newest attraction...
a romance-themed resort
dubbed...Kissing Town.

Bright….
well aware of the event
for her aunt and uncle were attending…
[in fact were departing in the morning…]
donned a gay front…
chatting enthusiastically of the attractions
that were being touted…
attempting...desperately...to cloak her distress
but Simon was far too astute...
had taken note of the cloud
that had settled behind her eyes.
He hugged her...tight...
kissed the top of her head...
and to take her mind off
their impending separation
announced...that despite her trepidation…
he thought it was time to reveal their secret.
So, upon his return…he’d be paying a formal call
to the castle...to meet her guardians...
and ask her uncle...for her hand.

Braced for a neck-crushing hug...
breathtaking kiss...
he was taken completely by surprise
when the response was a gentle sobbing...
warm tears dampening his chest.
Realization came quick...
and the truth caused him to tighten his embrace...
he'd never fully understood just how strongly
had been her conviction...certainty
those words he'd so effortlessly uttered
were ones she'd never hear.

~*~*~

Secrets...happy ones...are very hard to keep
when your throat strains to shout...sing
and your feet itch to dance...
send your body twirling about.
So, it had been a relief
to have the castle to herself…
if just for a few days…
to wallow…luxuriate in once hopeless dreams
that now had a basis in fact.
But since her aunt and uncle’s return
from their Kissing Town excursion…
apprehension...caution had aided
in keeping the lid on...good and tight.
Her relatives had cast such a dark shadow over
what small pleasures had ever come her way
that Bright couldn't bear
their draining the joy from what…now…
meant more to her than life.

Yet, every now and then…
no matter how hard she tried
snippets of happiness...
a dreamy smile...
a carefree laugh...
a softly hummed tune...
a springing step...
trickled out…
and she'd catch her aunt watching...
eyes narrowed in suspicion...
then later at dinner...she’d find herself
the object of her uncle's scrutiny
an indication he'd been advised of
her unusual...uncharacteristic behavior.
But luck stuck by her
until…one temperate day…
two weeks to the day
of Simon's departure…
while traversing the wall-walk
[as had been her custom…marking time…
since his absence…
anxiety…anticipation vying as escort]
Bright heard the steady beat of hooves…
caught a glimpse of horse and rider…
galloping up the drive.
Simon!

Skirts wheeling…
eagerly she flew along the stone…
relying on her feet…their recollection of the route
for her eyes never left the figure approaching.
He had dismounted…
sweating mount handed over to the attending ostler…
ascended to the door…gained admittance…
all before she'd stepped from the last stair.
Disappointed…for she'd hoped to catch his eye…
have a word…before he entered…
Bright hesitated…
[aware of the ostler’s nosy stare…]
in a quandary about where to go…
what she should be found doing…when summoned.
Settling upon the garden as the perfect spot…
she hastened in its direction…
but was halted in her tracks
by the sound of the door shutting…sharply…
of footsteps briskly descending.

Puzzled…Bright turned back…
expecting…imagining any minute
to encounter Simon
coming to fetch her to the house…
but…instead…arriving to discover
the courtyard empty…
man and horse…both gone.
Stunned…dismayed that Simon had left…
didn't intend to be by her side…
when she faced her uncle
Bright stood…staring blankly into space…
until the butler appeared…
her presence was requested…in her uncle's study.

~*~*~

Tears of frustration…panic…anger…rebellion
had long dried
leaving the skin tight…sticky…
eyes…swollen…raw…
gazing dully…vacantly into the lengthening shadows.
The odor of congealing grease…spoiling meat
filtered through the stupor
causing her stomach to lurch.
Turning on her side…
Bright buried her face in the pillow
to escape not only the noxious smell…
but the ugly memory of the scene
that had played out…twenty-four hours before.

She had made a mistake…
the man she'd seen had not been Simon…
despite the similarly colored livery…
but an emissary of King Harsh,
sovereign of the ice-encased Eighth Kingdom,
who…while representing the monarch
at the Kissing Town celebration
had struck up an acquaintance
with her aunt and uncle.

In addition to serving as an ambassador
the man had been charged
with another…more essential…mission
that of making a suitable marriage alliance
for Harsh’s son and heir…Prince Drear.
Bright’s blood had run cold
when…with his next breath…
her uncle had pompously declared
that she…
was to be that lucky bride.

She had protested vehemently…
and in her fervor…made a critical blunder
by announcing that a betrothal
had already been pledged.
Her aunt had scoffed…called her a liar
for how could she think they’d believe such a tale?
She…a downright troll of a girl…
with nothing to commend her to a potential mate
but a dubious lineage…
[for…she was old enough now…to know the truth…
it had been bandied about…since her birth…
that she was a changeling child
for what other rationalization could there be
for King Ricky and Queen Marigold to have produced
such a frightfully unattractive offspring?]
She…who had made so wretched
a showing at Prince Charming’s ball…
She…had been able to snare a proposal…a husband…
on her own?

Contemptuously…her aunt had demanded
to be told the House of the prince…noble
who had proclaimed his heart…her own.
Unscathed by the hurled insinuations…painful barbs
Bright had proudly disclosed
that her love was not highborn
but a knight…a member of King Gallant’s retinue…
Captain of the Royal Guard
and no matter how many high and mighty Princes
they had promised [sold] her to…
She…would marry the man of her choice.

Her uncharacteristic audacity…
had taken them aback…
[for she had always been easy to intimidate]
but only momentarily…
soon glances were being exchanged
which then dissolved into derisive laughter.
With spiteful relish…her aunt called her
Beef-witted…as well as troll-faced…
and informed her that Simon
had a vested interest…
in her fortune…not her heart
and when it was revealed
that the coffers were close to depletion
he would drop her faster than a hot-cross bun.
The last part of her diatribe
triggered another bout of guffawing
after which Pinchbeck and Prunella
had hiccupped in unison…
Did she really believe…
someone could fall in love…with HER?

Once the deprecating merriment had subsided…
satisfied…by Bright’s stricken expression…ashen face…
that their barbs had drawn doubt…uncertainty
her uncle and summoned lackeys
loyal to his bidding…
who had manhandled Bright upstairs…
and locked her…not within her room…
but one that was rarely used.
Small and depressing
[little light could gain access
through the arrow slit windows]
it was more cell than bedchamber.
Her aunt's gloating bray
had resonated through the thick oaken door…
she'd remain under lock and key until
her rebellion had been reconsidered…
for she'd best get used to the scheme…
become reconciled to the fact…
her destiny lay in the Eighth Kingdom…
as Prince Drear's consort.

~*~*~

The hoot of an owl questioned from beyond the sill…
drawn by the smell of spoiling meat.
Bright rose…grabbed the tray
laden with her uneaten supper
and one by one tossed the mess…plates and all…
out the narrow chamber window.
The odor still hovered in the room
but would dissipate after a while.
Sagging against the wall
she hammered a fist against the stone.
With no means to get word to Simon
[her faith in him held firm…
unshaken by the ugly insinuations]
nor means of escape…
[the door was tamper proof...
the casements too constricted…
the chambermaid…an ally…replaced]
she was ensnared…
as securely as any spider's fly.

Bright was familiar with the history of the Eighth Kingdom
and the knowledge acquired filled her with horror.
In the ages before Once Upon A Time
the kingdom had been the victim of a dreadful curse.
A blight…conjured by a wizard’s spite…
had ravaged the realm
leaving in its wake a tortured landscape.
Where exquisitely pastel-colored hills had undulated…
sugar-scented breezes played…
and the rainbow’s end had come to rest…
now…crags…crevasses…gorges…glaciers…
hammered…twisted…carved…scoured by
dragon-taloned…banshee-howling winds…
strained…groaned…collapsed…avalanched
under a massive burden of everlasting snow…ice.
Inhabited by ferocious beasts…fiercer people
the Eighth Kingdom was…for most of the time…strictly avoided.
Only the bravest Prince, Knight, Hero…
[or the foolhardiest youth…out to prove himself worthy
of some mollycoddled Princess’ unworthy hand…
or a witch’s familiar dispatched to fetch…
for some extra special potion mixing…
a hair from a snowman’s beard]
dared to challenge its inhospitable borders.

As tears of despair coursed down her cheek
Bright sank to her knees beneath the casement.
Her doom…had been sealed
for once ensconced behind the chilly walls of
King Harsh’s Palace of Desolation
it was assured…she would never see
her soft…sunlit…outside world again.

~*~*~

Two days went by…
her confinement remained complete.
There was no need for further discussion…
there would be no berating…browbeating…threats
for her aunt and uncle were smugly aware
their judgments were indisputable…
would suffer no contesting from Bright
who was a year shy of being the age of consent.

The fourth day brought her a visitor…Prunella…
who lingered just long enough to impart
the staggering news
that the nuptial agreement
had been drawn up…accepted…signed…sealed…delivered
and two days hence…
would see them setting forth for the Eighth Kingdom.
Only the basics…toiletries…a few changes of clothes
were to be transported
[her maid was overseeing the packing]
as all else would be provided
[before they crossed the border]
by the generosity of her royal soon-to-be in-laws.
Unmoved by her niece's strangled protests…pleas
the woman swept from the room
leaving the finality of the grating door lock
to convey her lack of empathy.

~*~*~

Like a trapdoor spider's silk-lined burrow
the ice-hewn passage walls…floor were tacky…
made adhesive by the bone-aching cold.
Bright frantically struggled to lift her mired feet…
yank free her dragging skirt.
The sound of ripping cloth…
splintering of ice as a leather sole wrenched free…
panicked sobs for breath…
echoed hollowly…up and down the tunnel.
In the blackness…gaining ground…
she made out the tortured squeal
of the tracking snowman's talon's as they raked the wall…
the eager grunting as it caught her scent.
It was almost upon her…

Bright flailed her way to consciousness
[it had only been a dream that had seized her]
As relief swamped her mind…body
oblivion almost dragged her back
but she overcame the faintness
and propped limply against the pillows…
pulse slowing…but breath still ragged.
The reprieve was short-lived…
her limbs locked…
breath sucked in…held…
ears strained for the sound
that had drawn her attention…
that of the snowman’s nails
scraping…abrading…against the castle’s wall
outside her chamber window.
Rationally…she knew the beast
could not gain entry
for the casement was too narrow for its bulk…
but remnants of the nightmare still clung
and terror…endowed the monster with unknown abilities.
Trapped…powerless…crouched upon the bed…
seeking asylum behind a pillow shield
Bright waited.
From without…
sounds of the creature's ascent grew louder…nearer…
the rustle of foliage…clank of metal…
then…
a muffled curse…all too human…
severed the nightmare’s hold.

Curiosity…lured Bright from the haven of the bed…
impelled her to tiptoe to the casement…
attempt to peer out.
Surprise…caused her to stumble back
when a masculine hand gripped the sill…pulled…
hauling a head and shoulders up.
Unable to accept what was happening
Bright made no move until Simon's voice
softly called her name.
The sill…though narrow…was not deep…
her hand lunged for his
which responded by seizing hers in a fierce grip.
The sweet pain…
proof that he was no illusion
fabricated by her longing for a happy ending.

# # # # #

Having scaled the dense ivy that networked
the wall's face
Simon…testing the stability of the vines…
established another foothold
that raised him waist high above the sill.
Having had aspirations of mounting a romantic rescue
he was dismayed to find his strategy stymied
by the room's inaccessibility.
Bright's query broke into his quandary.

He described how…a day ago…
arriving from Kissing Town…
he'd set off without delay
to see her…
eager…impatient to plight his troth
but found…instead…her guardian
hostile…unreceptive to his appeal.
She was betrothed to another…
he'd been apprised…
and without further discussion…
had been shown sternly to the door.
Having spent a restless day…sleepless night
he’d returned…this morning…
determined…before accepting…
to hear the explanation…rejection
from her lips.

Once again he’d been thwarted…
her guardians were out…
not anticipated to return until late.
Frustrated…bent on answers
he'd discovered…by bribe…
that she’d been locked away…
within the castle's north tower…
further inducement obtained the exact location.
Waiting for nightfall…he'd ascended…
intent on being the hero…her champion
only to find the way barred…not by a dragon
but by architectural design.
Now, he ruefully confessed…
he had no idea how to proceed.

His words were ice water…
dousing her with reality.
His reappearance…
just when she needed him most…
as magic-induced as it seemed…
had not altered her situation…she remained imprisoned.
Bright dipped her head…but not before
Simon caught the glimmer of tears in the moonlight.
Straining…he managed to hook
his fingertips under her chin…
gently…resolutely coaxing her head to rise.
Tenderly…he bade her explain
what had transpired during his absence
to cause her to be treated in such a manner.
Wearily Bright recounted her tale
ending with the revelation that tomorrow’s sunrise
would be the last she’d see in the First Kingdom.

Simon made no interruption…comment
although…she was gratified to note…
his eyes had taken on a steely sheen.
Wordlessly…reaching into an inside pocket…
he retrieved a velvet pouch…
and extracted from its depths…a silver chain…
as fine as silken thread…
from which a tiny object swung.
Bracing against the wall…
leaning forward…he stretched out a hand…seeking hers.
When she complied…he turned it over
and gently settled the gift on her palm
closing her fingers protectively around it.
He heard the sharp intake of breath…
the gasp of astonishment
as she identified the shape.

Cautiously opening her fingers
Bright marveled at the fragile contours
of a fairy’s crystal slipper.
Simon explained how he’d had it specially made
in Kissing Town
as a token of his love…
remembrance of their first meeting…
but now…in light of what was taking place
it would serve another purpose.
Until a plan could be devised…a means of rescue…
the trinket would serve as his pledge…
that no matter where she was taken…
no matter how far…or difficult the journey…
he would find her.
Whenever it seemed that all hope was lost
she had but to look upon the tiny symbol of his love
to know she was not alone…
he was coming for her.

The tedious droning…
gnawed at the raw edges of Bright’s tension.
Thankfully…the gentle tap…tickle of Simon’s talisman
against her skin…
coupled with the carriage’s rhythmic sway…
contributed a comforting poultice.
Without their distraction she most assuredly
would have leapt from the speeding coach.

Since taking leave…that morning…
of the Saucy Shepherdess Inn
Prunella had been discoursing…incessantly
from a scroll drawn from a leather case beside her.
Twenty-four in all…scrolls…had been delivered
an hour before their journey’s start…
by a special messenger…
who now doubled as their driver/guide.
A bridal gift from Bright’s intended…Prince Drear…
the scrolls were a chronicle of the Eighth Kingdom’s monarchy.
Her aunt had skipped the earlier dynasties
and was extolling the merits of King Harsh’s
House of Furor.

Every now and then a smattering of lore
would pique Bright’s interest…
How…not only the land had succumbed to the blight
but the populace as well
transforming them into a race that rivaled the Trolls
in violence…hostility.
Only the fact that they could not survive outside
their frigid environs…
kept them from conquering the other kingdoms.
How…Harsh had earned Princess Brittle’s hand
by battling…slaying the frost giant Thaw
after the monster had deposed her father King Bellicose
and taken her captive.
How…Drear was their only offspring…now…
for two others…
elder brothers…twins…Dour and Austere…
had died…tragically…[suspiciously]…
a year earlier
advancing Drear to sole son…heir.
[Unwritten…within the scrolls
was the fact…
that the royal line…
[if truth be told…the very race…]
was speeding toward oblivion…
for fewer females were being conceived…born
each year…
thus…out of necessity…desperation…
Harsh had been forced to seek outside his realm
for an outlander…to wed his son
and secure the succession.]

The facts her aunt imparted…
only nurtured the urgency…impulse to flee.
Already they had traversed halfway across the First Kingdom…
tomorrow afternoon would see them in Little Lamb Village
their last stopover before the Eighth Kingdom’s border.
Since setting out
whenever alighting from the coach for meals…respites…
Bright's eyes…without fail…would dart back…down
the dusty ribbon of road just traveled
scanning for any sign
they were being followed…tracked…
that rescue might be close at hand.
At night…if her bedchamber afforded a view of the road
she’d take up vigil
scrutinizing every shadow…sound…stirring
until…vision blurring…burning from the intensity…strain
she fall into an exhausted sleep.

When a view was not accessible
she’d lie upon the bed…the tiny crystal slipper…
a pledge of love…assurance…hope…
cradled against her cheek.

That morning…rising with the sun…
she had cautiously…quietly crept from the inn…
crossed the yard and entered the stable.
The horses had stamped a greeting
their eyes inquisitive…expectant…
nostrils questioning the air.
She had spied no one about
though the banging of pots…
the sharp clang of a ladle being dropped…
bespoke that someone was up…
making ready the morning meal.
Her heart had stumbled…
thoughts skittering like startled mice.
She was alone…
there was no one to see or halt her
should she take the opportunity presented
and escape.
Fear…had torn at her resolve…spurring her to run
Love…had urged her to wait…have faith
that Simon would…as sworn…come.
Quelling the overwhelming instinct to flee…
deferring to her heart's appeal…
she had returned to her room…
notwithstanding some loathing…
to await her aunt’s summoning.

Now, reclining tensely against the seat cushions…
a headache itching for birth…
body braced against the coach’s jolting…
ears assaulted by her aunt’s continual droning…
her uncle’s snoring…
Bright squeezed her eyes closed
and sent out a fervent silent appeal…
that perhaps would find the ear
of some compassionate sprite…lingering near…
who might lend aid…to Simon in his pursuit
by revealing his lady-love…had passed that way…
[just moments before…or…early yesterday…]
to be reassured…
the route he followed was the true one.
Outside…against the hard packed earth
the cadenced drum of the team's hooves
echoed the mantra in her heart
“make haste…make haste…
oh, make haste…before it's too late”

~*~*~

Like dragon's smoke…
steam puffed steadily from the horses’ nostrils
as they edgily shifted in their traces…
their frequent snorting…anxious head tossing
displayed their unhappiness at being kept standing
so long in the flesh-searing cold.
Within the now insufficient shelter of the coach…
Bright and her relatives huddled…
outfitted in the attire that had been waiting for them
at their inn…in Little Lamb Village…the night before.
The thick furred boots…cloaks…hoods…gloves
that had been grumpily donned earlier
within the temperate confines of the Fourth Kingdom…
were now gratefully being burrowed into.
Wind assaulted the flimsy vehicle from all angles
testing…discovering every flaw in its construction
through which to squirm icy snakes of air
that struck…nipped…stung…
any flesh unluckily exposed.

The coach’s occupants…drowsy with the cold…stirred
when the bull-bellow of a horn
heralded the arrival of the transport
dispatched by King Harsh
to carry them the rest of the way.
Loath to open the door…they waited inside.
The latch unfastened…
the door slammed against the side…
its hinges shrieking
as it was thrashed and worried by the ravening wind.
The force of air surging in
caused the trio to recoil…duck down…
draw into themselves like hedgehogs.
Bright dared to steal a quick look
over the fur lined veil
shielding her face
from bridge of nose to chin…
and feared at once…her sanity was in question.

Outside the shattered door
completely unfazed by the unbearable conditions
stood a man…
of average height…
with features hard and sharply angled…
as though some sculptor had…
in chiseling…
neglected to soften…round the edges.
His skin was a bluish-gray…
deep…recessed eyes…
abnormally round…unnaturally black
scrutinized the coach’s occupants
with the fierce intensity of a bird of prey.
Hair…coarse…yellow-white…hung to his waist
in a thick…coarse braid…
while bristles…like the whiskers on a cat…
stuck out from the sides of a blunted snout.

Though assuredly bizarre…his physical appearance
was not his most astonishing characteristic.
It was his attire
that had Bright doubting her reason.
A sleeveless vest…plain but for an ornate crest…
exposed the flesh of his arms…chest
to the merciless arctic wind.
Thin…tapered trousers covered his lower limbs
from waist to mid-calf where they disappeared
inside the lip of thin-soled boots.
Bright could detect no goose-fleshing or shivering…
it was as though he were partaking in a summer's outing
by the shores of the Great Lemonade Lake.

Without speaking…the man…
with wide…flat hands…fingers noticeably webbed…
brusquely motioned for them to descend.
Bright prodded her aunt and uncle
and they stiffly clambered from the coach…
limbs reluctantly responding.

They had no sooner stepped clear
than the coach took off…no whip was needed…
as the horses madly dashed
for the life-restoring warmth of the Fourth Kingdom.
As the final link with her old world severed
a few tears gathered…but were not shed.
Bright’s belief…trust in Simon held fast…
for while waiting within the flimsy coach…
as the cold had insidiously usurped her body’s warmth
something wondrous had transpired…
the tiny charm…
nestled in the valley between her breasts…
had pulsated…dispersing a phantom heat
sustaining…fortifying her resolve…faith.
So girded…she followed the figures of her aunt and uncle
as they shuffled awkwardly toward their new conveyance.

Although visibility was hampered by wind…swirling snow
Bright was able to perceive…their new convenience was
an enclosed sleigh…
fashioned in the shape of a great skull…
that of some fierce beast…more feline than canine…
a creature indigenous…supposedly…to this region…
the huge incisors looping…curving to form outsized runners.
The cranium served as the traveling compartment
and their taciturn driver unceremoniously herded them inside.
Far too chilled to take umbrage at such rough treatment
Bright’s aunt and uncle…allowed the insolence to pass…
and hastened in.
Just as Bright cleared the threshold…
the coachman slammed the door shut.

The travelers found themselves confined within
a bizarre…
yet, blissfully warm…snug…elements-secure womb.
The natural curve of the skull’s back
formed an alcove
across which a thickly cushioned seating ledge ran…
luxuriant furs…piled ankle deep…buried the floor.
A partition…a foot thick…served as a barrier
against the inhospitable elements without.
A single…rectangular sheet of glass
fitted into its smooth surface…
smaller panes were inlaid in either passenger side…
relieved the compartment’s closeness…
and afforded the riders with
a limited view of the terrain
as the sleigh skimmed along its way.

Braziers…set within the walls…gave off precious heat
and soon the passengers were gasping in relief…pain
as their ice-thickened blood
began to soak in the warmth…
thawing…resuming
its normal swift course through their sluggish veins.

As their bodies began to recover…loosen…relax
so did Prunella’s caustic tongue
and soon all the misery of the last hour
manifested into scathing rants against
their insolent…brutish driver…
the horrendous weather…and
pretty much all things in general.
Gazing out through the forward window
Bright…tuned out her aunt’s diatribe…
attention caught by the spectacle of
a thick tufted…bovinish tail…
and a pair of muscular lapis-colored haunches
smoothly plowing through the snow.

Excitedly…Bright wondered if the animal
drawing their sleigh
might be a descendant of the fabled Flumm Ox,
the Great Blue Oxen of the Frozen Wastes.
As a child…she had been enthralled by the stories
regarding the varied flora and fauna of the Nine Kingdoms
recounted by her governess…Mary Contrary…
an ardent gardener and naturalist.
The oxen had captured Bright’s imagination…
because the species’ history had been one of misfortune…
and ultimate…success.

According to the governess…
vast herds of the enormous animals
had once roamed
the Eighth Kingdom’s northernmost regions
then…
[perhaps due to sickness…disappearing food…
overhunting…
a combination of all three]
their numbers began to steadily decline
until a male and female alone survived…
only to become captives…prize possessions
of Hoarfrost, King of the frost giants of Chilibane
who guarded them jealously.
One night a terrible mistake was made…
a drunken guard…
a pen’s gate left ajar…
and in the morning…
the bull was gone…vanished
never to be found nor seen again.

[Legend had it…the bull had been stolen
by the dwarves…
who are known to covet
rare and remarkable objects…
both animal and mineral…
and taken deep within their warrens
within the Dragon Mountains.]
Hoarfrost…overcome by the loss
succumbed to a terrible rage…and fell dead
upon the spot.
His successor…Scrim…
less enamored with the bovines…than his father…
gave the cow away…as an offering of appeasement
to a rival giant clan
unaware she would bring forth two calves…
another male and female.
Through inventive breeding…trial and error…
descendants of those offspring
[much smaller in statue but just as powerful
in strength and stamina]
once again numbered in the thousands
serving the Eighth’s diverse inhabitants…
as common beasts of burden.

Bright’s ruminations fractured
as…fed-up with all the ranting…
her uncle called his wife down
only to be rounded upon…himself a target
of her spleen.
But…he could give as good as he got
and soon an impassioned shouting match ensued.
Bright…hands clapped tightly over ears
in a vain attempt to block out the noise…waited…
resigned…mindful from experience…
of how the combatants would quickly tire
of such an even match
and seek a less pugnacious mark.

With a jolt…sideways skid…
the sleigh came to a halt
hurling the bickering couple…forward…
onto the floor…where they lay in stunned surprise.
Suppressing a grin
Bright’s eye was caught by movement…
outside the window…by her shoulder.
Her eyebrows rose in wonder…
for a huge orb…pitch black as a witch’s maw
hovered…steadily in the whiteout.

As condensation gathered…obscuring her view
Bright impatiently wiped the glass
and peered back out to find
the object had moved…closer…
drawn…perhaps…by her actions
and now floated…just inches from the window.
Unexpectedly…it disappeared…
and reappeared…
as a narrow stripe against the whiteout
then…rotated…backwards…restored to its spherical shape.
Bright squinted…attempting a clearer look
her vision focused…the object defined
and she realized…what she was looking at…
was staring back.
She shrank into the cushions…
as the bear's massive nose filled the glass…
its breath crystallizing upon the pane.

Mesmerized, Bright’s eyes followed the beast
as it lumbered to the front of the sleigh.
Unless her gaze was fully concentrated upon it…
the bear…as though absorbed into the snow itself…
would disappear…entirely…
if the head turned aside
for its eyes…snout…black-gummed jaws
were the only defining colors
upon fur so unrelentingly white.

As her mind processed the incredible scene
another detail…overlooked…was now observed.
A rider…
[made evident by the leather booted calf of a man's leg]
straddled the bear’s expansive back.
The limb
was the only part of the man’s anatomy visible
as the height of the bear was such
he was concealed by the sleigh's slanted roof
from the knee up.
Bright heard…or thought she did…
voices…snatches of speech
interspersed with the squalling wind
but the significance was indecipherable.
Abruptly…
the rider jabbed his heel into his mount’s furry ribs…
the bear growled petulantly…
but obeyed the command
and took off at a loping trot.
Bright tried vainly to follow their departure…
hoping to catch a glimpse of the man
but they might as well have dematerialized…
the storm swallowed them so completely.
Crack of a whip…a lurch…
the sleigh glided forward…they were off. For the first time Bright became aware…
of the corpulent bodies of her aunt and uncle…
looking for all the world
like a pair of over-gorged groundhogs…
lying in a jumble…fainted dead away…upon the floor.
She chose…for a few precious minutes of tranquility…
to leave them that way.

~*~*~

The unexpected…backward pitch of the sleigh
roused Bright.
Having been relegated to the floor
after her aunt and uncle’s reviving
she had been napping.
Now…rising to her knees
using the windshield's sill for balance…
she looked out…though it was pointless…
upon the same unaltered…monotonous view…
where the snow still fell…the blizzard sustained its siege.
It was obvious they were climbing…
but where to…
and how much longer before the journey’s end
Bright could not fathom.
From the shadow-shrouded alcove…
Prunella muttered…
Bright’s shoulders tensed…
gradually relaxed…
it had been sleep induced…
not a precursor to waking.

The demoralizing prospect outside…
weighed upon her.
Until now…the only snow she’d encountered
had been a delightful experience…
like being caught in the midst of
some giant's children's pillow fight…
flakes…soft…weightless as goosedown
had spiraled down around her…
caressing her upturned face
with chilly…moist kisses…
as far removed from what now seethed around her
as night is to day.
This snow…
sought to disorient…engulf…suffocate…obliterate.

The thought…fear…
she'd dispelled…kept at bay
since the departure of the bear
now sidled close.
Simon…
it was lunacy…gullible to believe…expect
he would…could…ever trace…find her.
As though to scold her lapse of faith
the crystal slipper waggled
its miniscule pointed toe
gently nicking at the tender flesh.
Clutching the charm
Bright inhaled sharply…fearfully.
It was dangerous…
unwise to succumb to misgivings…
for it beckoned…drew…tempted…things
that thrive on shifting good-fortune to ill.
Bright squared her shoulders…
she would be strong.

~*~*~

Thoughts adrift with dreams of Simon…
their reunion…
plans for a future life together…
Bright was slow to take note
of the light…that flashed
between wind-riven rifts
in the screen of showering snow.
When at last her attention was captured
she responded to the sight
with a mixture of relief…unease
for its appearance denoted
the conclusion of an unpleasant journey
and the inauguration of a
terrifying…unforeseeable…unknown.

Bright awakened her companions…
then hastened to struggle into
discarded boots…cloak…gloves.
The sleigh…leveled out…slowed…
swung wide…stopped.
The coachman…descended from his perch…
wrenched open the door.
Bright had thought herself braced
for the blizzard’s onslaught
but found that the hours passed…
cocooned within the cozy sleigh…
had either thinned her memory
or else the temperature had fallen
inconceivably lower.
The light strengthened…drew nearer…
then broke apart…
turning out to be six lanterns
held aloft by men similar in feature…stature
as their closemouthed driver
and clothed as he...
in astoundingly inappropriate…garb.

Wordlessly…dispassionately…
they were escorted through a barrage
of snow…sleet
to a massive door…
which swung in at their approach.
Requiring no urging…the three rushed inside.
Relief was short-lived…however…
as it was quite as frigid within as without
sans the shearing wind.

Gesturing…
one of the men took the lead
his lantern illuminating an incline
ascending into the darkness ahead.
Walking briskly up the slope…he vanished…
screened by a curve in the wall…
the back…forth rhythmic sway
of the glow…shadow
cast by the lantern’s flame…
beckoned them to follow.
Hampered by their bulky furs
Bright…Prunella…Pinchbeck…
struggled to comply
feeling rather like sheep
being herded along by the lantern bearers
bringing up the rear.

The tunnel twisted…spiraled…up
its walls…floor…
rippleless…cylindrical…glistening
as though a monstrous worm
had recently
excavated through the ice.
The petulant protests of the older woman…
the ill-tempered mutterings of her husband…
grated hollowly in the passage
but their guide maintained his pace…unfazed.
As the climb progressed…with no apparent end...
Bright’s apprehension intensified.
Being ignorant of all matters…arrangements
pertaining to the trip…marriage…
[apart from the groom's identity…]
only added to her foremost qualms.
From the moment she was freed
from the makeshift cell…
throughout the miserable coach trip
to the border…
she’d queried her guardians…incessantly
but having been ignored…dismissed…rebuffed
had conceded…and asked no more.
She only hoped…
they had not misconstrued…misread
the provided directives and instructions…
that there was no doubt…in the least…
they’d been delivered to the proper destination…
that these dispassionate beings…
they were so willingly accompanying…without question…
were in truth in King Harsh’s service
and not members of some…murderous band
leading them to fatten cooking pots or
bedeck with slavery shackles.

As though induced by her thoughts
their trek abruptly ended…
arrested by an exceedingly large…unwelcoming door.
Stepping forward…the principal leader
pulled a cudgel from his belt
and rapped sharply against the stony surface
then…backed away.

To the freezing…exhausted humans' amazement…
he was perfectly capable of speaking
and did so in a series of hiccupping barks…high-pitched yips.
At once…the rear lantern bearers hurried forward
three grabbing hold of the door's oversized iron latch
the rest lined up…backs pressed tightly
against the tunnel wall.
From behind the door…a muffled rasping…
a bar was sliding.
Muscles bunched…rippled
as the three pulled…tugged upon the latch.
The door objected…then with a sucking sigh…released…
laboriously opening.
The three doormen jumped…not clear…
but backward…alongside their comrades…
directly in the path of the advancing mass.
Bright cried out…impulsively thrust out her hand
as though to stay the relentless outward swing.
Her hand continued up…to cover her face…
as an unexpected blast of heated air
roiled into the passageway.
After the initial shock…
Bright uncovered her eyes
and saw…standing upon the exposed threshold
a young woman…human.
The door encountered the wall with a resounding thud.
Bright tentatively stepped toward the narrow gap
left between the wall of ice and stone door…
steeled herself…and peered in…
at nothing…
the men were gone.

Having anticipated a stomach-turning tangle
of crushed…shattered bodies
Bright stepped back…
perplexity deferred to inquisitiveness…
intrigued she scanned the wall…floor for clues.
Her ruminations were forcefully preempted as…
seized by the forearm…
she was unceremoniously jerked
around the door…over the threshold by her aunt
into a vaulted…stone-walled hall
warmed…illuminated by torch and firelight.

Several females…
one middle-aged…five in their teens
flanked the entrance…
bobbing in unison…like ducks on a pond…
their faces…eyes bright with interest.
A sensation of pressure…an insistent push…
a current of air fluttering her fur hood…
tickling her cheeks…
caused Bright to turn…glance behind…
and discover the heavy door trudging closed
to the accompaniment of arduous grunting…
laboring from invisible men.
The older woman
stepped briskly forward…to secure it.
Bright shivered
as the wooden bar slid ominously home.

~*~*~

It felt good to be rid of the oppressive furs…
to be deliciously warm…
pleasantly drowsy
after partaking of simple…nourishing fare.
Bright gave in to the rhythmic stroking
of the hairbrush…
permitting herself to unwind…
feel the apprehension…fear…fatigue
that had gripped her for so many days…
loosen…if but a little…with each gentle…soothing tug…
as the young maid…Peggo…prepared her for bed.
The girl was a chatterbox…prattling away…
guilelessly responding to Bright's queries.

It turned out…her quarters…
and those of her aunt and uncle…
were contained within a wing
specially built…equipped
for outlander guests
sojourning at Harsh's palace…
Castle Desolate.
The walls…floors…ceilings
were blocks of rough-hewn stone…
ten feet thick
the better to insulate fragile human flesh
against the devastating cold.
Enormous fireplaces…thick wall hangings…
sumptuous fur rugs…provided additional reinforcement.

A small cadre of human servants…
recruited from the Fifth Kingdom…
saw to the contentment…requirements
of infrequent guests.
As denizens of sun-drenched…
more pleasurable climates
they were indispensable…
for servants to the King…
natives of this frozen wasteland…
were vulnerable to heat
whether it be…torrid or tepid…
they must avoid it at all cost…
as demonstrated
by the vanishing act performed
by Bright's escorts.
[The passage wall…behind the door…
slid open when pressed…revealing a niche
into which the men had huddled…
affording them shelter
from the heat discharged
by the opening of the door.
The thickness of the door's stone
provided minimal protection
when they dared to step out to close it.]

The Royal Family…
being of a separate race
from those who served them…
were able to endure warmth…
albeit only for brief intervals…
and thus could venture
within the annex's walls
to play host
thus circumventing causing
any discomfort to their guests
by having them enter the castle proper.

Appreciating that the journey
had been an arduous one
the King and Queen…
had graciously postponed
their welcome until the following evening
so their guests might have time to acclimate…rest.
Relieved…grateful for the respite
Bright allowed the maid to tuck her in
and promptly surrendered to sleep.

~*~*~

Lying on her right side…
only the far wall…a trestle table…
lower half of the hearth…
were discernible…
and only marginally
as she was peering through partially cracked lids.
Struggling to stabilize breathing…pulse
to cover her waking status…
her ears strained…to detect any sound…
creak of shoe leather…
intake of breath…
grating of a latch.
The air rippled…
her skin prickled…
whatever had awakened her…was still there.
The air compressed…
beneath the weight of
something
bending…above her.
A wisp of hair skipped to life across her cheek
on a current
of barely perceptible inhaled…exhaled breath
as though some animal
was delicately nosing…sampling her scent.
The sensation conjured up
a nightmarish image of the
enormous snow bear and its rider.
No outward sign could be detected
but beneath the pillow…Bright’s hand clenched…
nails branding its palm with crescent prints.

All at once
the oppressive sensation lifted…
the atmosphere lightened.
Gritting her teeth…
steeled for the sight
of whatever might still linger
Bright twisted around…
to discover…
an empty room.
Notwithstanding what her eyes advised
she had no doubt…
that some entity…just moments before…
had loomed beside her bed.

Although flames gamboled high
within the hearth
a chill had evaded its fevered grasp
seeking her out…
settling about her shoulders…
leeching through…into her very marrow.
Trembling…drawing the coverlet close
Bright slipped from the bed.
Padding quickly to the hearthside
she knelt upon the plush furs
to goad the fire…
thrusting the poker
deep within its heart.
Like serpents the flames
swelled…hissed…writhed…spat…
striking angrily at the iron rod
expelling waves of heat…
that seared her skin.
Bright welcomed the sting…
as the warmth loosened
the phantom finger’s icy grip.
Gradually the chill dissipated…
warm once more
Bright drew her knees to her chin
rocking gently back and forth
sneaking furtive glances
over a shoulder
scouting the murky corners…
the secret obscurity beneath the bed.

Seeking comfort… pretense of protection against the unknown…
Bright drew the crystal charm
from the folds of her nightdress…
held it up…before the fire.
The minuscule object
caught…held the light…
turning each facet
scarlet…purple…gold…
casting shafts of shimmering color
upon the opposing wall.
Twisting her wrist…slowly…
incited the rays to flutter…shimmy
she smiled…taking comfort
in the innocent beauty of the display.

Impulsively…the rotation of her hand
quickened…
the colors…light
appeared to spin…spiral…meld.
Mesmerized…
Bright felt a tug…
a beckoning
to relax…let go…submit.

In the blink of an eye…
as though emerging from the tip
of a glassblower’s pipe
the crystal began to
swell…inflate…curve…
shape into an orb.
Bright's initial shock…dismay
turned into
excitement…wonder
as within the translucence
an image…commenced to define…take shape.
A face…body emerged…
a man’s…
Simon’s.
Happiness flooded through her…
at last…a tangible link
to her love…forcibly abandoned world.

Within the glass…
Simon strode forward…
across an unfamiliar…well-tended lawn…
a decisive energy in his step…
brow quirking mischievously…
an infectious grin spreading full-blown…
a hand secreted behind his back.
Halting…gazing directly into her eyes
as though in truth…he stood before her…
his hand swept round…extending forth
a nosegay
of vividly blue forget-me-nots.

Thrilled…eyes welling…
playing along with the illusion
Bright put forth her hand
only to leave it hanging…
as within the globe
a disembodied feminine hand
accepted the flowery gift instead.
Bright's gaze remained riveted upon the scene.
Could it be…could her flesh
actually pierce the magic's fabric…
become a part of what was taking place inside?
Cautiously…experimenting…
she drew her arm…back.
The appendage clasping the flowers…
stayed put.
Sitting back upon her heels…
chewing her bottom lip…
attempting to assimilate…
she was startled
when the crystal began to minimize
the figures inside dwindling…fading from view
until…once again it was simply
an innocent…unblemished…glass shoe.

Minutes passed
before she rose to her feet…
absently slipping the chain
beneath the lace at her neck.
Slowly…she turned back…toward the bed
steps measured…
outwardly calm…
thoughts chaotic.
Had the scene within the glass
been an hypnotic trick
played by the shimmering light…or
was it a depiction of what is…or…will be?

A motion…stirring…
caused her to jump.
She wavered…
eyes transfixed…
upon the
tall…long-limbed…awkward
scarecrowish figure
ridiculously clad in an elegant nightgown
of silk…eyelet lace…
its arms
clutched protectively
over its chest…
an expression of
unmitigated despair upon the pasty face.
Recognition brought no relief…
it was her reflection…
trapped within the vanity's mirror.

Since taking leave of her home
Bright’s mind had skirted the issue
raised by her aunt's brutal taunts…
now it surfaced…
rallied by the slipper’s vision of betrayal.
Could it…perhaps…be true…
could Simon have played her false?
Was he only after money?
She found that assumption difficult to believe
as it was a commonly known fact
in her village and beyond…
that what once was a vast inheritance
had been greedily plucked
by the fingers of debt collectors…
tax enforcers…unscrupulous kin.
It would have been no hardship
for Simon to ferret out the truth…
had he been bent upon mercenary gain.
Nor would she have attempted
to side-step…deceive..
had he ever voiced the question.

About her looks…
Bright had never held any false illusions
for her guardians gleefully…every mirror dispassionately…
reminded her of the deficiency
each morning…noon…night…
every day of her life.
Then…
Simon had appeared…
and helped her to overlook…
for with every tender look…gentle caress…
ardent word…
he had conferred upon her…
an aura…a sensation of beauty.
Each ensuing encounter…added to the veneer.
Reflected in his eyes…
she had become no longer a nonentity…
but someone to be cherished…worthy of notice…care.

Now…that tenuous façade was in jeopardy…
a hairline crack had appeared
and weeds of doubt…suspicion
laid siege…testing the depth…strength
of her trust.
Bright's shoulders slumped…head bowed…
the wretched creature in the mirror
followed suit…mimicking the forlorn gesture.

Her head rose suddenly…
jaw doggedly set…
eyes glinting…anger lit.
The vision contained within the crystal…
must have been a trick…a ploy
to undermine…weaken
her belief in rescue…
her certainty of Simon’s affection!
Its ultimate aim…
to demoralize her spirit…
thus…she’d blindly…meekly
surrender to the fate her guardians
had contrived.

It rattled and frightened her…
how easily she’d been duped…misled
into permitting mistrust…suspicion
to gain a foothold…
when the very object employed in the deception…
the crystal slipper…
was in itself proof…that the vision
had been a fabrication…
for…to what avail…
would Simon have risked limb…life
to scale her castle wall
to bestow a gift that would…at any time…
betray…his true nature…duplicity?

Defiantly…unflinchingly
she confronted the mirror…
vowing…to never again capitulate to
those insecurities it so glaringly exposed.
Bolstered…she returned to bed…
promptly slipping into a deep sleep…
undisturbed by dreams
or visits from invasive wraiths.

~*~*~

Upon entering the room
Prunella shot a baleful look her way.
Bright…
feigning ignorance of her aunt's arrival…
kept eyes focused upon the page before her.
The mood had been turbulent
since that morning
when...determination rekindled…
Bright had insisted
that the betrothal contract be dissolved
and preparation…departure for home
commence…without delay.
The outrage evoked by her demands
had been expected
so…satisfied she’d taken a stand…
Bright had turned upon her heel
and left her aunt and uncle in mid-seethe.
Now…that evening…
like opposing armies they sat encamped
at either end of the antechamber
waiting to be summoned into the presence
of their royal hosts.

Bright had made up her mind to be gracious…
show the King and Queen
the deference that was their due
as rulers of the Eighth Kingdom
but…
render such an unfavorable account
of herself
to Prince Drear…
that he’d be appalled
and hotly dispute his parents’ choice
of such a harridan for his wife.
She was thoroughly convinced…
that after spending time in her company…
she’d soon be ensconced back in
her lovely…welcoming…warm…
color-enriched world again…
free to be Simon’s bride.

Content with her plan
Bright was calm…composed
when the receiving room door swung open
and a human manservant
haughtily ushered them inside.
King Harsh and Queen Brittle
received them with frosty smiles…
haughtily extended hands.
The Prince…
hands clasped behind a ramrod back…
merely inclined his head.

The King and Queen
made no immediate impression…
it was the Prince...
who captured Bright’s complete...undivided attention.
Drear...
as disheartening in appearance...
as his name implied…
stood before her…
icicle slim…imposingly tall
[for the first time in her life…Bright felt small]
His complexion...waxy...reminiscent of lard
the tint of a glacier's inhospitable heart…
was made even paler by
a carefully arranged cap of hair
deep purple-black…as sleek as sealskin.

Eyes...the noxious shade of frostbite
grayish-yellow...rimmed with white
returned her appraisal
with a predator's gaze…
cunning...assessing...pitiless.

His movements were startlingly fluid
as he stepped forward...took Bright’s hand...
raised it to narrow…bloodless lips.
A jolt of shock...
a gasp of pain responded to
the courtly gesture.
Her hand jerked...sought to retract
its flesh flinching...shrinking
from the stinging...blistering caress.
Bright’s tearing eyes sought aid
only to find she was on her own
for her aunt and uncle...their royal hosts
had withdrawn…
permitting the strangers…betrothed couple…
a bit of privacy…
and were now deep in conversation
at the opposite end of the room.

Her chaperones'...hosts' absence...inattention...
liberated her from decorum
and Bright wrenched violently...
attempting to free her hand…loosen the grasp
that seemed to fuse...meld
her flesh...bones to Drear's.
Sinuously...his head rose…
their eyes met.
A contortion...more taunting smirk
than repentant smile
elongated the fissure-like mouth
exposing teeth...enamel stalactites…
jagged...keen.
His fingertips traced teasingly
against her palm...
leaving the skin smarting
the length of its route...
then…with a punishing squeeze
he permitted her to yank free.

She could not halt...conceal
the intense shudder...
nor the reflexive wiping of her hand
against her skirt
as though to rid the flesh of a disgusting slime.
Drear acknowledged the insults
with a mocking bow
then withdrew to join the others.

Bright ground her teeth
to stave off their chatter
tracking his departure
as a petrified mouse would an adder.
Her cheeks flushed
with indignation...tinged with apprehension
as she took note…
Drear was languidly pulling on
a pair of leather gloves!

Anger choked her...
as she realized...recalled how…
when greeting their guests…
the King and Queen's hands
had been considerately sheathed
in deference to the humans’
inability to tolerate their icy-hot touch.
[A cursory glance confirmed...
they were thusly attired...still]
The brute had deliberately removed his gauntlets
before taking her hand.
A wave of revulsion...horror washed over her...
this goblin...
this troll...
this monster...
was for whom she had been selected.

~*~*~

Head cocked…ears straining
Bright paused in the torch-lit corridor.
Twice before…she'd slowed…stopped…
fairly certain
that somewhere behind…in the gloom…
around the last turn…
someone…was mirroring the act.
Undaunted…she continued on her way.
Wandering the guest wing’s
warren of passageways
had become a daily means of exercise…
a way to channel
pent up energy…frustration…fear.
While accommodations within the guest wing
were above reproach…
the absence of any natural light…spirit-revitalizing views
left her feeling as though entombed…
and took a toll on already frazzled nerves.

The past three days
had been disheartening…frightening.
The plan she had so smugly concocted
was unusable…
as any act of haughtiness…ill-manneredness…
empty-headedness…
was utterly wasted on Drear
who saw through the charade
and found her efforts…theatrics entertaining.
Fortunately…it was only required
that she suffer his presence once a day.
Unfortunately…for her peace of mind…appetite…
that time was during the evening meal.
Though he rarely joined in the
banal table prattle served up by
Prunella…Pinchbeck…
or the condescending rejoinders
generated by his parents…
Bright was unnervingly aware
that his raptorial gaze
seldom diverted from her face…
thus…every forkful of food
passing through her lips
became as tasteless…dry as paper
and just as difficult to swallow
resulting in a significant loss of weight.

Queen Brittle…
in an unexpected display
of thoughtfulness…concern…
charged the cook with preparing a special brew
of which Bright warily partook.
But the taste
was nutty…pleasant…
satiated gnawing hunger pains…
restored strength…
[although…as yet…no discernible weight]
and thus
she willingly accepted a glass…
twice a day…
upon rising…before retiring.

Consigning Drear to a murky region
of her thoughts
Bright strode determinedly on…
making sure each step echoed loud…firm
proclaiming to whomever followed…
she was aware…unafraid.
The hall…down which she wandered...
was indistinguishable from all the others
explored in days prior…
broad…lengthy…regimentally straight…
frugally lit…
unadorned
save for flittering shadows sired by seven torches
and
four doors
of equal width…height…
aligned within the left side wall.
If true to form…most of the doors concealed
barren rooms
or closets…
inhabited by the requisite bucket…broom…mop.
Predictably…when she opened the first two…
they proved to be twins of their sisters
on previous floors.

The third door…
Light…exploded.
Frigid air…assaulted.
Bright staggered back…just in time
as a gust of wind slammed the door.
Leaning against the wall
reeling from the ambush upon senses…
her head spun…along with the
pinwheels…sparkles…fiery bursts of color
that erupted behind her lids.
Never had she expected…been prepared for…
discovering a window!
Adrenaline…exhilaration
cleared her head…
flooded through her veins…
lending feet wings as she ran…flew…
back through the corridors
[a door…edged shut…unnoticed…
as she hurried past]
to the juncture
leading to her bed chamber

# # # # #

Flinging wide the wardrobe doors
Bright jerked the fur cloak from its hook
tossing it to the floor…behind her.
Scrabbling through the drawers
she utter a crow of triumph
when her fingers found the matching mittens.
Hastily she pulled on the knee-high boots
and dragging the heavy cloak behind her
raced from the room…back the way she’d come.
Her elation swiftly died
as she realized…
in the throes of excitement…
she’d neglected to count the passageways.

Swallowing dismay
Bright persevered…and found
that luck was with her
for down one stretch of hall…
ensconced outside the third door from the left…
a single torch exhaled smoke…rather than fire.
Donning the furs…
shielding eyes…
she pushed the door open…
stepped inside.
The cold embraced…bearhugged.
She gasped with the shock.
Gradually her eyes adjusted.
She blinked…squinted
against the unaccustomed light
like a hibernating animal
newly emerged from its den.
Stumbling toward the window…
she drank in the heady sensation
of fresh glacial air…natural brilliant light
though they threatened
to congeal her lungs…
extinguish her sight.

The brightness…
radiated not from the sun
which shone feebly in a dirty gray-ivory sky…
but reflected off
the starkest…purest shade of white
Bright had ever seen.
The nightmare storm…battled through three days ago…
had ended.
Stripped of its screen of lashing snow…feral wind
the landscape was revealed
as a spectacular jumble of
jawdropping…soaring…towering verticals
breathtaking…sweeping…limitless horizontals
every inch frosted by a delectable confection of
of thick…creamy…frothy snow.

The placid…sugar-spun image was deceptive
as this environment was every bit as angst-ridden
as its ravaging alter ego.
Even during brief spells of deceptive calm
the land was in perpetual turmoil…alteration
for while the scenery delighted the eye
the air assailed the ear
with the din of conflict…demolition:
the swinish squeals of ice walls as they
expanded…contracted…chafed one against the other…
the agonized swan's song of unseen avalanches…
the…grinding…pulverizing…scraping of rock
beneath a glacier's indiscernible…relentless crawl…
the torturous shriek of winds reshaping…eroding
lofty mountain tops…steep escarpments.
To Bright…it was as though the land…itself…
rebelled…struggled
to throw off the yoke of its ancient curse
to recapture…reclaim
its former gentle nature…pastoral glory.

Bracing against the ledge
she leaned out…
defying the wind that buffeted her body…
the blowing ice that strafed her skin…
determined to absorb…partake
of their cleansing qualities
before having to retreat once again
into the murky…musty environs
from whence she’d come.

At last…she was forced to concede…
seek protection from the cold.
Whilst adjusting the hood’s fur veil
across the lower portion of her face
a dusky blemish against the pristine white
drew her watering eyes.
Far below…an object moved…
surefooted and swift…
across the hard-packed snow.
Attempting to identify
Bright shifted position…
causing the heavy fur cloak to shift…sweep around…
snag…send spinning…something metallic
across the chamber floor.
Searching for the source
Bright spied a squat cylinder of brass
rolling gently to rest
and recognized it at once…a spyglass…
for several…of various sizes…
resided…back home…in her father's study.

Eagerly snatching the instrument up…
she returned to the window…
extended the scope…raised it to her eye…
careful not to allow the frigid eyepiece
make contact with her skin.
The mysterious object had achieved
the crest of a steep gorge
and was making its way along the narrow lip.
Training the glass upon it
Bright slowly slid the lens back and forth
bringing it into sharp focus.
Her jaw tightened…with distaste…
Drear…
bestride an enormous…snow white…bear

So…it must have been he
who had halted their sleigh.
Recalling that words had exchanged
between the bear-rider and their driver
Bright would bet a fairy to a pixie…
that his sole purpose in waylaying them
had been to order the driver
to alter his course
and proceed to the castle
by some roundabout route
thus prolonging their miserable journey.
Drear…she knew only too well…took pleasure
in the discomfiture of others…
never more so than when he was the source.
As though sensing her scrutiny
Drear’s head swiveled around…up
and his eyes stared
squarely into the spyglass lens.
It was an absurd reaction…
for how could he possibly know or see her
at that distance…
but Bright found herself recoiling…
pulling the fur mask closer…
in an attempt to further concealment.
From far below…a laugh…
if such a perversion
could be described as one…
rose upon the wind.
The spyglass dropped…unnoticed…to the floor
as overwhelmed by nausea…fear
Bright fled the room.

# # # # #

Peggo had delivered the news…
along with the breakfast tray.
For a moment…the words hung in the air
too inconceivable to absorb…
too unthinkable to believe.
Bright had sat…still as death…
her expression…
[as the maid would later relate
to the kitchen staff]
remindful of a cow’s…
the instant after the mallet strikes.

Back...forth…back…
lighting on a chair…the bed…ottoman
fleetingly
then springing up again…
incapable of remaining settled…calm
Bright fretfully paced her room.
Abandoned.
Deserted.
Alone.
The import…magnitude of those words
squeezed the breath from her lungs.
Sometime in the night
her aunt and uncle had…simply…left…
with no word…explanation…farewell.

The chamber appeared to be shrinking…
the distance between the walls…diminishing…
the neck…bodice of her gown constrictlng…
she was smothering…from panic
and the tomb-like closeness of the room.
She must get out…
in order to think…formulate a plan.
Bolting for the door…she fumbled with the latch…
then stumbled through.

# # # # #

The little maid was troubled…
not to mention…freezing
as she literally cooled her heels
in the hall outside the King’s receiving chamber.
Bright had been closeted
behind the massive doors of ice
for quite some time
and Peggo was getting anxious.
But then…she’d been in a frightful state
ever since that morning
when Bright had…demanded an audience
with the King and Queen.
Peggo had blanched upon
learning the reason
she’d been so urgently summoned
to her mistress’ chambers.
Their Majesties
were not known for their tolerance
nor had ever…to her knowledge…
displayed a sense of humor
and so…it had been with a thudding heart
and on trembling legs
that she’d delivered Bright’s request.
Astoundingly…
there had been no imperial outrage…
no “off with her head” tantrum thrown…
merely the solicited audience…granted…
with the stipulation…
that Bright…must come to them.

Peggo shivered…fidgeted
for even the multi-layers of
fur and thick marled wool
between her and the ice-carved chair
she perched upon
could not keep out the insidious cold.
The huge size…ferocious appearance
and insolent bearing
of the Chilblain guards
flanking the chamber’s doors
only added to her anxiety…discomfort.

When the doors opened…at last…
Peggo almost fainted from relief.
Hopping down from the chair
she hastened to Bright’s side
only to have unease rebound two-fold
after the first glimpse of her mistress’ face
with its cheeks stained fever bright…
eyes glassy…gaze directed inward…
jaw rigid…
lips pressed into a hard line
by teeth clamping down on the flesh inside.
Her stride was strong…purposeful
and the maid had to scurry to keep up.

Passing through the dual entryways
insulating access to the clement guest wing
Bright's pace did not abate…
as she continued to her chambers.
Once inside Peggo relieved her of the
cumbersome furs
exchanging their…now…unwelcome warmth
for a lightweight gown.
Having put the discarded garments away
the maid…
still attired in her own heavy winter apparel…
uncertain if she should go or stay…
waited…uncomfortably…for instructions…requests.

Since taking leave of the King's palace
Bright had uttered not a word
and did not break her silence now
but sat…immobile before the hearth
seemingly oblivious her maid
lingered in attendance.
Mindful of her duty…
yet feeling breathless…faint
within the stifling clothes
Peggo backed toward the door…
when such action elicited no response
from the unmindful Bright
she slipped through…easing it shut behind her.

Bright’s lids flickered
with the clicking of the latch
but she did not turn.
Relieved to be alone
she dropped her head wearily into her hands.
The audience with Harsh and Brittle
had been ill-starred.
Her first tactic had been an appeal
to their sense of honor…propriety
by disclosing that her hand was already
pledged to another…
but the revelation had been met by stony silence.
Plunging on…she'd tried logic…
laying forth all the reasons
a prolonged stay in the Eightth Kingdom
was impossible…would be insufferable…
the least of which was
her inability to reside…exist
within the ice palace itself.
To force her to stay
was to condemn her to a lonely…half-life…
cloistered…imprisoned behind the guest wing walls.
The most significant argument…
was she and Drear…
their unmitigated incompatibility…
in all ways…but above all…physically…
she could not tolerate his touch…
which made such a union
ludicrous as well as impossibility.
As before…
no comment was made…
no negotiation offered…
no concession given
by the taciturn royal couple.

To her everlasting shame
tears of frustration…terror began to fall
and she had dropped to her knees
humbling herself before them…
and begged to be allowed to leave...
to be set free.
But her plaintive entreaty
fell on unsympathetic ears
for the King and Queen’s compassion
ran as thin…cold as their blood
and to her horror…
they had actually smiled…
seeming to savor her distress.

Emotionally drained…
numb…
Bright had gotten to her feet…
and without waiting for consent…dismissal
had walked from their presence
with as much dignity as could be mustered.

# # # # #

She had stared her destiny
squarely in the face
and was terrified…defeated.
What was to be done?
What could be done?
It was impossible to plan…embark
upon an escape
without first securing
a guide…an enclosed transport
to safeguard against the elements.
There was no one…
to whom she could turn for assistance.
The human servants were useless…
as much captives as herself…
and…
having nothing with which to bargain…
approaching one of the King's own servants
was out of the question…
as well as foolhardy…dangerous.

And Drear…
what repercussions would
her insolence reap…
once he had been made privy to
all that had transpired?
The very thought
caused her stomach to twist…knot.

She was truly lost.
Her utter aloneness…pressed like a weight…
Forcing her to the floor.
Curling into a ball…
hand clasped…numbingly tight…
about the tiny crystal slipper…
she urgently whispered…a plea…
as though the charm
could serve as a medium…
channeling her appeal to Simon’s heart.

In the blackness…gaining ground…
she made out the tortured squeal
of the tracking snowman's talon's
as they raked the wall…
the eager grunting as it caught her scent.
It was almost upon her…
frantically…searching for purchase
hands scrabbled blindly over the wall
only to become stuck fast…frozen to the ice.
Like an ensnared animal…she fought to get free…
each jerk…wrench…
only tightening…hardening the grip.
Her sobs…terrified cries were drowned out
by the creature's triumphant roar
it was there…right behind her...
its breath exhaled…hot…fetid
immuring her in a loathsome stench.
Gagging…
straining away…as far as
her riveted arms would allow
she strove to hold off death
if only for one second more.
All at once…the darkness splintered
dispelled by a burst of light.
Spotlighted…blinded…confused…
the beast…stood frozen in mid-pounce…
a crystal shaft…
glimmering…protruding…
its tip buried
within the snarled white chest
across which
a crimson rose was blooming.
The icy shackles softened…
her hands…cast loose…
fell limply…unnoticed…to her lap…
for her attention was transfixed
by the sight of the creature
crumpled…mortally wounded…
upon the passage floor.

Strong arms gathered…supported…
assisted her uncertain…unsteady rising.
Clinging tightly…
her head dropped weakly…with relief…
against a sturdy chest.
Beneath her cheek
the doublet’s roughness…reassured…
the steady heartbeat beneath…fortified.
He’d come…
her torment…ordeal was ended.
Joyously…her head lifted…
Aghast…she shrank back
They were not Simon’s arms…
but Drear’s
that held her hard and fast.

Heart racing…
panicked…Bright lurched to her feet…
brushing frantically at her arms
for remnants of the dream…clung
like sticky threads of a spider’s web…
the feel of his arms
lingered…caging her in.

~*~*~

Peggo tapped lightly upon the door
hope…sinking
at the indifference…apathy
displayed by the voice
granting her entry.
The tray set down much too hard…
the little maid gasped…
held her breath…
as the goblet wobbled…righted…
averting spilling a single drop.
Carefully…
lifting the chalice with both hands
she approached the divan
where her mistress reclined…
reading…
though it was plain to see
her eyes gazed past the page.

Wordlessly…by rote…
Bright accepted the goblet…
downed its contents quickly…
handed it back…
sank again…to brooding.
Disheartened…
gathering the tray…
a few items for washing…mending…
Peggo turned to go…
hesitating upon the threshold.

For the past five days…
Bright had remained…closeted…
rejecting all entreaties
by the anxious servant
to venture beyond her chamber door.
Bright’s obvious misery…
had tormented the faithful maid
like a throbbing tooth.
Bright had long ago taken Peggo
into her confidence
and the tale of lovers so cruelly separated…
a forced marriage so dastardly concocted…
a rescue seemingly thwarted…
had outraged her sensibilities
and torn at her tender heart.
Last night…
a temporary solution…diversion
had presented itself…
within a dream.
Lying upon her trundle bed…
amid the gentle snores…dreamy murmurs
of her sleeping maids-in-arms…
Peggo had considered the scheme
from every angle…
determining the consequences
well worth the price
if it would give her mistress
a moment’s pleasure…peace of mind.

Now…in Bright's presence…
without the audacity empowered by
darkness…
the omnipotence of fantasy…
girded only with artless youth…
an idealistic heart…
her courage flagged
tongue stilled by indecision…doubt.
A furtive…backward glance
at Bright's drawn…haunted countenance
sealed Peggo’s resolve
determined her path.
Falling to her knees beside the couch
she surrendered the secret
made privy long ago
by an eager to impress…smitten
Chilblain swain.

There is a chamber…
hidden…forbidden
within the ice palace
where visions might be summoned…
images of home…loved ones…missed.
The room’s unique powers
are used…exclusively…by the King
to keep abreast…covertly…
of current goings-on within his own
and the other eight kingdoms.

Peggo ruefully confessed
ignorance of how to activate
the chamber's magic…
perhaps a wish made…or command given
triggered a response…
but…shyly…slyly
she proposed…perchance
were Bright so inclined…to give it a try…
a glimpse of Simon
might be induced…evoked.
The sight of Bright's transformed face
from abject despair to unmitigated joy
quelled the maid's misgivings…
and she'd willingly accept
whatever penalty might befall.

~*~*~

The Beholding Chamber was cavernous…
comprised…entirely…of pitch-black ice…
its ceiling…walls…concaved…
its floor…level…
gleamed wetly in the torchlight.
Swathed from head to toe
in the requisite fur
Bright's wan face
reflected back
seemed to hover…disembodied
upon every surface.
Whereas the interior of the palace
was frosted ice…rough…opaque…
the Chamber
was highly polished…flawless
the effect…
insubstantial…illusory…boundless.

Upon its periphery
Bright wavered…
disinclined
to move…away…forward
so strong was the illusion…
for to do so…
would seem to mean
stepping out into thin air.
Deliberately…
glancing neither left nor right…
especially not…down…
but keeping gaze pinned
upon the torchlight’s reflection
flickering on the distant wall…
she marched forward.
Her step faltered…
her eye had wandered from its mark…
sensations assaulted from every side…
dizziness…queasiness…faintness…
she was suspended
in a night sky…devoid of moon and stars…
she was trapped…lost
within a limbo world…a mirror.
With eyes tightly squeezed
Bright succumbed…
dropped weakly to her knees
dragging the fur cloak close
burying her face into its warmth
blocking out the room…
waiting for the spinning…dipping…tilting
to end…
her equilibrium brought to heel.

Eventually…
her head…lifted…gingerly.
Carefully…she got to her feet…
without collapsing…
the vertigo appeared to have passed.
Now mindful of the chamber’s influence…nature
she cautiously proceeded to its center.
How to commence…
stimulate…induce the magic…
should she command
instruct
or simply ask?
There was no need for speculation…
a living presence
was all that the Chamber required.

A noisy confusion…a potpourri
of sound
drifted from the ceiling
seeped from the walls…
melodic…tinny…dissonant…
gaining in clarity…definition…
unscrambling…commencing to be
whispering…
murmuring…mumbling…muttering...
droning…humming…
chuckling…giggling…snickering…
tittering…teheeing…
cheering…whooping…yelling…
shrieking…clamoring…
fleshing out…giving credence
to the hodgepodge
displayed…playing out…
across the curving walls.
It was clear…
Bright understood now…
the chamber's function…
it was an enormous scrying glass
through which four distinct…separate
events might be simultaneously observed.
She was at a lost as to how
to direct its focus…
summon up a target…
so settled upon a timeworn
but reliable approach.
With eyes closed…
body relaxed
she conjured up…within her mind's eye…
Simon's face…
concentrating fiercely upon
every beloved…recalled characteristic.
So lost in recollection
she thought the timbre of his voice
to be an element of imagining
except it appeared to emanate
from every direction…
in different moods…inflections.

Elated…at the ease…
she opened her eyes
eagerly turned…
this way and that…
unable to choose
one depiction of her truelove over another.
Here…before her…
on horseback…he headed a company of guardsmen…
bringing up the rear
behind King Gallant’s gilded coach…
a flurry of glittering candy pink…passion-red
heart confetti descending around them.
Over there…to the right…
tankard held aloft…he gave toast
in the barroom of some tavern…inn.
To her left…sword drawn in salute…
decked out in full regalia…
his men in formation…behind him
Simon stood at attention
as a beaming King Gallant
presented his son…
Prince Charming and his radiant bride
to their cheering…adoring public.

A shade of foreboding tinted her elation
for these scenes
had already taken place…
therefore…she concluded…
the Chamber
must present
the past as well as the current.
It was this choice…
the offering of events already passed
when she so fervently wished to see
where Simon might be…right then…
how far away…how close to rescuing…
that produced unease.
Why were only these episodes
deemed worthy of observing?
With trepidation
Bright turned to the wall behind her.
Simon and her uncle…faced each other…
from opposite sides of Pinchbeck's
study desk.

The setting startled…puzzled…
but then made sense…
it was that fateful day
when Simon confronted her uncle…
asked for her hand…
and was sent away
with the falsehood…she was pledged to another.

No words…were being exchanged…
just actions…which spoke louder
than any dialogue…
a drawer was unlocked…
a drawstring leather purse withdrawn…tossed…
heavily upon the desk.
Retrieving the bag
Simon hefted it between his palms.
The avaricious grin
that illuminated his face
cast a darkening shadow
across Bright's bewildered mind…heart.
She watched in ever mounting horror
as Pinchbeck pulled…yet another pouch…
velvet…
from the drawer.
This one…he handled much differently…
laying it carefully in Simon's
outstretched hand.
Craving the strength to turn away…
but incapable…
she followed…in abject misery…
Simon's hand
as it dipped into the velvet…
withdrew the fragile crystal slipper
by its impossibly delicate silver chain.

# # # # #

How her room was obtained
she knew not…
as the flight from the Chamber
was a blur…
for anguish…agony had purloined
sight…thought…reason.

Had Simon been unfaithful…a cad…
merely toying with her
as one among a collection
of feminine conquests…
played her for a fool…
she would have been able to endure…
for deep within an innermost part
she had always contemplated…
halfway expected it
as a consequence…price to pay
for losing her heart
so blindly…easily…completely…
and thus prepared
could have borne up against
a broken heart…
in time forgiven…pardoned
his transgression…
for the attention…hope…love…
however false…
showered upon her for those brief months
had been worth the humiliation…pain
for they were more than she
had ever thought to have.

But to be betrayed
so coldbloodedly…matter-of-factly
for monetary gain…
to pacify…tranquilize her fears
so she’d go docilely
to her fate
tore her soul asunder.
Her spirit sank…
into a well of darkness…
the only escape…
via a route most calamitous.
A screw began to turn…
a worm to borrow…
an anger to gain life.

Since her parents passing
she had been a pawn
first of Death…her rapacious guardians…
the King and Queen…Drear, the Hideous…
and now Simon…the Faithless…
the black goat who'd led her to slaughter.
Always…
someone else's gratification to fulfill…
never her own.
Made to feel…believe
the blame was hers…alone…
the lot drawn
by deficiency of beauty…grace…
a fairytale countenance.

Wielding the heavy candlestick
like a mace…
Bright smashed it into the mirror
again…again…again…
until only the wrecked frame remained.
Upon knees
she ground the silvered shards
into powder
beneath
the holder’s solid base.

Hair…skin…clothes aglitter with
pulverized mirror
Bright sank back upon her heels
aghast…excited…pleased
by the devastation she'd committed.

An intrusion...violation...corruption
a twitching...itching...puckering beneath
the skin…roused her.
Concerned…
she ran into the dressing room
where a full length mirror stood.
Standing before the glass…
she watched in horror…
as the rosy hue of life
drained like wine from her flesh.

Relentlessly...
bit by bit...little by little
a tint of watery blue
spread from crown...to chin...
from neck...to chest...
from wrists...to tapering fingertips.
What were...moments before...
soft tendrils of hair...
chestnut brown..
now were blanching...
hardening...thickening
glistening with damp...
melding to forehead...back of neck.
Sparks of fear ignited
then flickered...sputtered out
their heat too insubstantial...
to repel the transformation.

In the outer chamber
a latch lifted…
a door swung open…
unhurried footsteps sounded….
stopped…
upon the dressing room's threshold.
Bright struggled to turn her head
and felt a fissure open...
skin splinter.
Petrified...frozen in place
her eyes met
Queen Brittle's
satisfied...thin-lipped smile...
triumphant gaze.

Keening...
wailing
slid between...numbing lips.
Softly...at first
then...intensifying...
the vibration
fracturing...rupturing frozen flesh.
Cracks spider-webbed...radiated out.
Fragments...chips...
pelted the floor
popping...exploding...upon impact.
Diamond-bright shards
skidded across the stone.

The Queen crossed briskly to the figure
standing immobile
in the midst of the shattered remnants
of a Princess once known as...Bright.
Grasping…not ungently…the thin shoulders
Brittle turned the body toward the mirror.

Eyes…steely blue…blinked in astonishment
as they took in the tall…spectral figure
of a nude woman reflected there.
No alluring…gentle curves…rounded slopes
softly beckoned…welcomed…promised comfort.
This body was stiletto slim…
feminine but rock-hard…
the flesh…sapphire blue…
as chill and unyielding as ice.
White beyond white tresses
tumbled from an exaggerated widow’s peak
to the heels of long…slender feet.
The face was dreadfully beautiful
in its austerity…
blue veined lips drew back
over small sharp teeth…the shade of soured milk…
as she preened with pleasure
before the mirror.
No butterfly had emerged from
Bright’s cocoon of warm…pliant flesh
but a wasp…
lethal…unrelenting.

Queen Brittle nodded in smug satisfaction
at the transformation’s success…
before her
stood a woman worthy to succeed to her crown…
she knew her husband…son would concur
the line of succession was secure.
She clapped her hands sharply
and Peggo scurried in…
a robe of seafoam green across her arms..
slippers to match…clutched in her hands.
Mindful of the Queen’s sharp-sighted presence
the little maid stifled her shock
at her former mistress’ appearance…
with downcast eyes…she held the robe open
fingers tingling…shaking from the chill
that emanated from Bright’s body
as long…angular arms slid into the sleeves.
Kneeling amongst puddles of melting ice…
dissolving flesh
Peggo placed the slippers upon Bright’s feet.

Rising…
detecting something glinting
in the water…
Bright’s beloved amulet…
Peggo reached out
just as her mistress took a step forward.
The distinct crunch of glass
drew Bright’s attention…
stepping back…
she gazed dispassionately
upon the tiny…now heelless…slipper.
Raising a foot…she deliberately
brought it down…grinding the bauble
into the stone.
Only Peggo…witnessed the brief flash of light
as the slipper vanished
useless now…its service ended…
as hope and love no longer had a place.

The maid trailed behind the two women
as they walked toward the ice palace entrance…
her heart heavy with misery…guilt.
As the Chilblain Guardsman tugged the
door close
she lingered…hoping…wishing
Bright would look back…
present her a chance to atone…
the door thudded shut.

# # # # #

In ages yet to come…
news…rumor…tales
would be spread…far and wide…
in the verses of wandering bards
across the outer Eight Kingdoms.
Stories…
certain to raise goosebumps
around midnight campfires…
keep naughty children good…
and kings…uneasy upon their thrones.

Tales of the Icebound Kingdom…
of King Drear…the Despicable…
and his frightful court.
Yet no stories filled the outlanders’
with more fear
than those regarding his consort…
Calista…the Callous
within who’s frigid heart…
[which bore ill will toward all…]
festered a hatred…
bottomless and frightful…
for a sister queen…
the much beloved…Cinderella.
From whence such animosity sprang
no one knew…
least of all her maligned majesty…
for the two had never met…
that any could recall.

A dainty white vixen
hesitated…nervously…
in the shadows skirting the hollow.
The scents was pungent…strong
though many weeks old…
a bear…and…
the fox’s keen nose
anxiously queried the air…
which answered with a tale
wicked…ghastly…dark.

Troubled…frightened
she backed away…
considering seeking
a more pleasant hunting ground…
when a plump…young rabbit
hopped into the clearing…
its soft fur…
a rich cream in the moonlight.
The perfume of fresh…succulent prey
overpowered the stench of evil-doing.
Crouching…belly skimming the ground
she stalked…
then leapt.

Jumbo-sized feet
thrust the hare onward...
powdered snow exploded…
the residue frosting
the whiskers...sharp snout
of the hunter
hot on its cottontail.
The fox...
all concentration...determination...
hunger...
mirrored its quarry's
every move.

A miscalculation sent the hare
into a skid
but he managed to correct…
unlike the fox
who slid into a drift.
With a sharp yelp of pain…
the fox scrambled to her feet…
dashed for the safety of the trees
all thoughts of a tasty meal
forgotten.
Finding security…shelter
within the hollow of a log
she set to cleansing
the ruddy wound
marring her pristine flank.

The fortunate hare…
its curiosity piqued…
encouraged…blinded
by the inexperience of its youth…
cautiously approached the site
from which his erstwhile nemesis
had fled.
A portion of the snowdrift
had been dislodged by the flailing fox
and a dreadful secret now lay exposed.

The youngster delicately sniffed
the man’s face.
Tiny avalanches of snow…
activated by questing whiskers…
soft breath…
trickled down
the forehead…nose…cheek.
Lying on his side…
cheek resting comfortably
upon an outstretched arm
he appeared asleep…
only the unnatural skin tint…
colorless lips
revealed his true condition.
In death…
as in life…
the features laid bare
were those of a classic hero…
a fairy tale prince.

Continuing its exploration
the rabbit narrowly missed
impaling its ear upon the razor-sharp tip
of the crystal arrowhead
that had nicked the unfortunate fox.
The slender shaft of the arrow
protruded through the corpse’s chest…
having entered from the back.
Six identical missiles
had found their target…as well…
but lay concealed beneath the snowy blanket.

An owl hooted…
the rabbit froze…
then bolted…
abandoning the man once more
to lonely obscurity.

Soundlessly
within a secluded hollow
in the depths of the Wretched Woods
miles inside the border
of the Eighth Kingdom…
snow flakes
sift through evergreen boughs
delicately...lightly...carefully...steadily...
tidying...restoring the forest floor
to a pristine state.
Guilelessly
the snow cleanses...purifies...
blanketing...concealing...burying
all sign...evidence
of violent murder...
tragic death…
burying deep…
the grave of
Simon…
the Honorable…the Faithful
the Ever True.

If you enjoyed this poem, please let Mary-Cade know.

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