Tag: Fairytale

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Ugly: Part 2 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a twisted version of the original Grimm’s fairytale, The Frog Prince. You can find the first installment here: Ugly: Part 1

“Oh! Thank you! I promise it will only be for a few days; until my ‘other arrangement’ returns.”

“That’s alright! You can stay there as long as I do.” With a wide smile, she opens her apron pocket, and I hop in to spend the rest of the day accompanying her while she works. She carries me around to show me her life as a maid in the royal household. It is something I had never experienced before—loads of hard work and open laughter.

I kind‑of like it.

She listens to me whine about my life as a toad and other mundane things. For breakfast and lunch, she takes me to the pond and doesn’t get disgusted when I eat flies—after all, I am a toad now. It tastes good, probably because of the company. I tell her about the lily pond from my ‘place’ and she gapes open‑mouthed. I tell her about the books I have read, and she listens with a sigh, for she never learnt her letters. Then, we talk about her home and beloved late parents. I itch to tell her about mine, not to brag but to share. But I hold back. It is nice to be liked for who I am…apart from a prince.

*****

Her quarter is small, but I feel welcomed.

I sleep on her pillow. She says she doesn’t use it. I know she’s lying because it smells like her—hard work—a foreign concept I am just beginning to understand. She’s a princess in her own stead, generous in sharing her blessings with a toad.

Maybe, I should have just stayed in her room right from the beginning. Then, the whole thing would have been fun rather than a torture. And she, surely, wouldn’t have tossed me out.

*****

A week has passed since I moved in with Maggie. The castle is preparing for a royal entourage from the neighbouring kingdom—my parents, of course. They haven’t announced my situation because, I guess, they assumed I would have announced myself a week ago after becoming fully functional human as per the plan. They will be crushed to find out that I didn’t make it. The local royal family is all aflutter as they plan to get one of the six princesses married to their neighbours’ crown prince. Fat chances!

But at least, I will be able to go back home. The thought should make me happy, but something feels off—going back home…without Maggie…

I turn to look at the only person who genuinely likes me for who I am.

Moonlight is falling on her hands that bear the calluses and burns from the royal kitchen. I will never be able to look down upon a maid again.

A few hours back, by the fireside, I had told her about my parentage and the curse. I had asked her to come with me. She had turned down the offer saying she wouldn’t be a tag‑along. “Once you become a human again, you will be ashamed to be associated with a maid.” With those words, she had closed the argument.

The words had wrapped themselves tightly around my throat making it difficult to breath. Can I ever be ashamed of her? The old prince who had laughed on the witch with a wart would surely be. Once I am a human, if I am ever a human again, will I become the same person? Will I be ashamed of my sole source of comfort?

I look at her with renewed sight. She isn’t pretty in the strict sense of the word…round face with freckles, pimples, large eyes, a wide smile and an ample girth. But she is the most beautiful woman in my world—the warm sunshine to my cloudy moods. The thought of leaving without her feels so wrong…as if I would never smile again.

Will she miss me too?

As if on the cue, she turns to my side, wide awake, looking at my face with tear‑filled eyes. I kiss her warm cheeks, and she smiles a sad smile. I hug her face with my tiny arms and drift away to sleep.

Morning has returned with her in my arms. She is now small and green—a rather pretty toad herself, looking a little baffled but not displeased. She probably understands what this change means.

I’m hoping, she’ll agree to marry me.

END

If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales, is available for free download here: Link

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Ugly: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a twisted version of the original Grimm’s fairytale, The Frog Prince.

“Why the long face, handsome?”

My world is spinning in front of my eyes and Maggie is teasing me. I want to snarl in response, but she wears a genuine smile, as if she’s trying to cheer me up. Well, she doesn’t need to humour me. I’m a nobody…

Lower than a nobody—I’m a toad…

And it seems like I’m going to be one forever!

Why did I insult that witch? Loads of people have warts on their noses, but out of all those ugly faces, I had to pick a witch to call a toad! And now I’m one!

I should probably have begged her for mercy or something. But I was naive enough to believe that, as the crown prince, my command was enough to force her hand. So, I had just ordered her to take away the curse, expecting her to relent. And she did!

Her ‘cure’ was too simple—True Love’s first kiss. Since that was impossible, considering nobody loves toads, (except toads, of course) she gave another cure. I had to eat dinner with a princess from her plate and sleep in her bed for three nights without telling her (or anybody she knew) about my reality or the curse. Then, I would become myself again. Simple!

How stupid of me to believe her! She was simply trying to shake me off. Which princess would ever let a toad within a mile’s radius? I should have understood when the witch went missing the very next day. Then, I wouldn’t have embarked on this fool’s errand alone. I had begged my parents to let me travel alone in my carriage to this far‑away palace with only a carriage driver for company. The idea was that there were six pretty princesses around my age here and I believed that it would increase my chances several times.

*****

For three long months, I hid inside the castle garden pond, waiting for a chance to speak to one of them. All the while, I risked being eaten by this vile cat they own. And then, they had these goldfishes in the pond who would ask me who I was and then promptly forget—every three seconds!

I was beginning to wonder when this torture would end when, on a fateful day, a stork decided that I was a good change of taste. So, he gulped me in. As expected, he gagged on the taste and spat me out. Then, he had the audacity to curse me for ‘luring’ him into believing that I was a delicious frog! I should have felt insulted, I guess, but I was just too glad to be alive.

I made a deal with him. I offered him a month‑long free supply of frogs if he would draw one of those princesses close to the pond. So, finally, three days back, one of the pricesses was playing with a gold ball in the garden when he caught it in the air and dropped it in the pond. It worked. She started crying. I offered to bring it back if she would let me eat from her plate and sleep in her bed for three nights. She was distraught enough to promise me ‘anything in return’. So, I fished it out and became entitled to the royal treatment once again, briefly. I instantly sent away my carriage to give my parents the ‘good news’.

For three nights, I ate from the princess’s plate and slept in her bed as her eyes threw daggers at me—now that she had the gold ball, she wasn’t feeling so grateful anymore! I don’t think she would have gone through her promise if her father hadn’t insisted she kept her word.

The princess left the room at the crack of dawn and never returned until it was time for dinner when she was obliged to eat with me. So long, I used to like her from afar and hoped that on the dawn of the fourth day, once I become myself again, she would agree to marry me. But I’m not sure I like her anymore. It could be because she treats me like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her elegant shoes.

And today is the morning of the fourth day. Not even a single wart has disappeared from my body. And the princess has ordered me to get out of her castle, or she’d have toad’s legs for breakfast. Unfortunately, my carriage would take at least seven more days to return and, if I leave now, the carriage driver would never be able find me. So, here I sit, wondering what to do.

And Maggie here is trying to chat with me as if I’m her friend. She is a maid—the only woman in the castle who does not shriek at my sight, and hence, she has been managing the work in the princess’s room ever since I have shifted here. So, I guess, some respect is due. “I’m leaving. Thank you for the hospitality.”

She smiles understandingly, “The princess is not fond of toads, I guess. Look, if you still need a place to live in, my quarter is close by. It’s not as comfortable as the main castle, but it has enough room for you. And I can fix you a comfortable bed.”

Author’s note: To be continued…

If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales is available for free download here: Link

Posted in Fiction, Twisted fairytales

The Dress

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a painting-promt story based on my four-year-old daughter’s painting ‘Stork in Dress’. Please don’t look for logic. There is none.

Long ago, a stork was in love with a princess or, to be more accurate, in love with the long, flowing dresses she wore. He wished he could have one for himself. He spent long fruitless hours standing alone in the pond in front of her window in the palace grounds, looking grumpily at the princess.

One evening, when the drowsy sun dipped its feet in the carmine horizon and an orange moon rose in the star-studded sky rubbing its eyes, he saw something that looked like a large insect near the pond. Contemplating eating it, he stalked closer. The ‘thing’ magicked the beautiful rose bushes to look like cactus with flowers–he realised it wasn’t an insect but a sprite. Sprites are eternal mischief-makers with magic. A plan formed in his mind.

Taking her by surprise, he caught the sprite in his beak by one arm. The sprite cried out in pain, “It hurts! Let me go.” With his mouth still closed to keep a grip on the fae, he muffled out, “Promise to give me anything I ask for?” Writhing, she cried, “I promise!” He let her go and sat her on a rock.

The sprite was angry but fae can’t lie–she had promised and would have to give him anything he asks for. But, there is always a loophole, so, she asked, “What would you like me to do?” The stork said, “I want a dress just like the one the princess is wearing today–the one with rainbow colours.” The sprite thought for a moment and smiled, “So shall it be, then. I will weave you a dress out of light.”

The stork was excited beyond words. The sprite quickly called upon her powers. The lake waters shined like crystals, splitting the light of the setting sun and the rising moon into thousands of colourful ribbons. The sprite quickly wove the ribbons of light in to a dress even more breathtaking as that of the princess. The bodice shined on its own and sparkled against the palace’s crystal windows drawing gazes of the residents.

At the sprite’s nudging, the stork greedily put it on, but his wings would not fit in.

“Oh! The dress looks rather weird on your thin waist and legs, and your wings cannot enter it’s sides. Would you like a human body to go with it too?”

“Oh! Of course!”

So, the sprite mumbled as the stork looked at his reflection in the pond, admiring his gradually changing body: human legs, stomach, chest, hands, neck, hair…

…and the sprite vanished. He still had the stork’s face!

He was irritated in extreme. Now he will have to catch the sprite again to complete the change. In all this excitement, he missed the fact that he stood in the palace grounds smack in front of the princess’ window as half a human in a dress that shined like a beacon. The palace servants had seen him changing his body without spotting the tiny sprite. Now all of them ran towards him, brandishing swords and pitchforks, shouting, “Monster! Monster!”

He attempted to fly away but his wings were gone. He tried to swim away in the pond but his dress, now wet, pulled him down, nearly drowning him. He came out of the pond somehow hoping to run away, but too many men surrounded him. No one asked him questions.

He never saw when his life-blood seeped into the rainbow dress he had wrested out of an irate sprite.

Posted in Fiction, Twisted fairytales

Down to Cinders

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The Merchant

I’ve never been so wrong footed in my life.

Last Saturday, at the party, I was sure the duchess was flirting with me to secure her third husband. Her first marriage had left her a rich widow and the second made her a widowed duchess. Now, with no sons, it seemed natural to look for a third husband to take care of all the accumulated estate…someone like me with tremendous wealth but no title. I had spent the golden years of my life building myself from a nobody to a prosperous businessman and the next few enjoying the success and money. I had been with numerous women but none of them really left an impression, except their lip colour on my shirts and their hands down my money pouch. At 41, I’m running out of choices. It’s high time for me to find a wife too, so I lead her on. I knew I’d never love her but she had class.

But as she invited me home for lunch, she moved the topic to her daughters who, according to her, were both the finest specimens of the fairer sex–beautiful, charming, intelligent, well-read and well-versed in arts. She mentioned looking for grooms for them and ‘hoped I would find them agreeable’.

Something did not add up. If they were even half as good as their mother, they would have a long line of suitors of their age. Why would she want them to marry me who is double their age? For my money?

Curious, I accepted the invitation.

Today, as my carriage drives into their estate, I see a long-running crack in the magnificent garden statue; unkept flower beds; a water fountain that has long dried out; and the wooden floor under the porch creaks…the beginning of the end.

So, money it is…

I knock and a rather pretty girl in her best house-help uniform answers the door. Ella, as she introduces herself, bids me to enter. Her eyes downcast, she informs me, “The Duchess and her daughters are out for an ‘urgent chore’. She has requested you to wait for them. They’ll be back later this afternoon.”

It doesn’t make sense, unless they have found someone richer. Or may be, the announcement of the King’s ball to find a bride for the Crown Prince has averted their gaze to greener pastures.

I should just leave. But Ella is clearly apologetic. Her eyes are pleading me to understand that she isn’t responsible for all this. She is embarrassed at her employers’ indiscretion. I had been there too many times. In my early jobs, when I was a nobody, my employers put me upfront to deal with angry customers. If I leave now, she would think of me as arrogant. For some unfathomable reason, I don’t want her to think I’m arrogant. So, I step inside to wait for the hostess who wouldn’t return for a couple of hours.

The Maid

It’s all too weird. My stepmother has kept me up all night to finish my endless chores before he’s due. She ordered me to get presentable to wait upon this guest while they all dealt with this ‘urgent chore’, whatever it is. Why even one of them couldn’t stay back is totally beyond me.

Why are they avoiding him? Doesn’t he have enough money to their liking? His two-horse-drawn carriage is certainly worth four times our own. He looks regal, right from his formal suit, diamond cufflinks to his silk tie. His brown wavy hair has a slight sprinkling of greys.

Maybe, they think he’s too old to consider…Well, they are wrong. He’s quite handsome and fit, unlike their noble suitors whose age you could guess from the size of their girth. When he introduced himself, his smile made me gasp. He smells like the Arabian perfume that father used to love.

Right now, I feel for him. Once I gave him mother’s message, he looks downright embarrassed for being so easily dismissed. He was clearly expecting to meet my step-sisters. May be, it is better he doesn’t. Marrying them would lead to lifelong shame-facing. I serve him tea and try to be good company.

We talk about books that my sisters have placed strategically in the drawing-room to be able to brag in front of the suitors that they have read them. I tell him of my favourite place in the world, my father’s library. He’s curious, so I take him on a tour. He looks around the library in awe, touching book spines like they were made of flower petals. His fingers are hardened with old marks of callouses. I wonder if he’s had a past like mine. We talk about more books. He laughs. It’s a nice, open laughter without pretence; one that I can get used to. I offer him my favourite book to pass the time while waiting.

Back in the drawing room, he points at the piano, curious who plays it. Too lost in his voice and too busy trying to not stare at him, I blurt out the truth, “It was mine before father passed away…” I clasp my mouth at the admission.

“Yours? Are you the daughter of the late Duke?”

I nod quietly, glancing at my clothes–clean but far below the status of my family, knowing how far-fetched the story seems. Will he mention it to mother? She will burn me at the stake…or in the oven…

But his eyes hold no judgement, only understanding, “So, after your father died, she took over the estate and turned you into housemaid?”

I nod again.

“Is there anything I could do to remedy your situation? I could request an audience with the king. He is just. He would ensure you are provided your share in the property.”

My eyes well up at the unexpected sympathy, “Thank you for the offer. I, too, could have applied to the king. But I’d rather stay home and sweep the floor than drag my family through dirt.”

The Merchant

Ever since I saw her, it has been difficult to look elsewhere. My eyes had been drawn to her face. But now, I see her in a different light.

Is she for real? She cares for a family that reduced her to a maid. Her little hands in the lap are full of calluses from the daily hard labour. I can see the blue marks peaking out of her shirt sleeve where she had been hit with a cane over and over. And she doesn’t want to change that for her family’s honour?

I cross the distance between us to where she stands. She looks so vulnerable as she looks at me with surprised gaze. I take her hands in mine, as gently as I can, “You know, Ella, I always thought that women like you had ceased to exist.”

Her hands fit in mind perfectly and her face is a picture of subdued beauty that comes from forgiveness and love. Suddenly, I know I will not be able to forget this face or walk out of this place leaving her behind. It is clear what I have to do.

“I came here seeking a bride. I think I’ve found one–if, of course, you’ll have me. Will you?”

She’s surprised and hesitant, “I’m afraid, it won’t be appropriate, considering I am just a maid. I won’t have my father’s name or property to bring along.”

“I don’t care about the title and I have enough money to last several lifetimes. All I care about is whether you like me? Would you like to spend your life with a man like me who doesn’t have a family title, but who fell in love with you the moment he saw you?”

She blushed a deep red and nodded sheepishly, “I think, I did too.”

The Duchess

“Of course, you have my blessings, my dears. I’ll arrange the two of you to get married this Sunday. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be much of a fanfare because the time is short…”

I don’t think they cared for the size of celebration any way.

When we had returned, Ella was in his arms, as I had expected. She’s captivating even when covered in cinders from the oven. Being dressed decently and left alone for two hours was more than enough to bring a marriage proposal. As for Ella, she couldn’t wait to be shot of us. She would have married a horse, had it proposed her, just to get away from us.

So, now that all has gone according to my plan, she will be married a week before the Royal Ball. Thank goodness for that too! Of course, we will need to hire household help, so it wil be a little inconvenient, but with her out of the way, my beautiful daughters are sure to win the Prince’s heart.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Dreams and Crop Circles–Is this a Sign?

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Earlier this morning, I had a dream that was on a fairytale-meets-star wars theme with princesses, prophecies, sabers and spaceships. As I sat down to prepare lunch, I was greated with this sight.

A dried top of bottle gourd had this design.

Had I been a supestitious person, I would have run out of my house declaring that Lord Ganesha (with elephant face) has visited my house in his triple face avatar. But thanks to the dream, I was on a Sci-Fi cum Fairytale mode. Hence, I decided it was a crop circle inside my house. You may say, “Hey, a crop circle is a circular pattern in crops.” I say:

  1. Bottle gourd is a crop.
  2. It’s top is circular.
  3. This one a has pattern, a pretty one too. Many progressive Indian women, henceforth, shall use it in their rangoli designs.

I wonder which TV channel to contact–

  • Aaj Tak that will turn it into Doomsday prophecy
  • NDTV that will call it the next attack of a deadly microbe
  • National Geographic that will call it a visitation from aliens and add it to their existing series of crop circles…

Any suggestions?

Hey! Small aliens that fit inside my fridge! Now that’s a plot for story. What do you say?

Posted in Fiction, Twisted fairytales

Apple of Discord: The Cottage

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The continuous singing is too annoying…with the singing come the birds who put so much pressure in the chorus that I am now covered with bird-shit.

I should have known that she was bad news the day she walked in all wide-eyed. I should have slammed the door on her face, or may be, when she was sampling from each of the seven bowls on the table, I should have shook a chair or two to drive her out.

I let her try all the beds and later my seven owners actually talked about upgrading the security as if I wasn’t able to defend myself against a child. Well, I was not ineffective, just plain selfish–when I saw this girl in servant clothes, I found hope. I thought that, finally, we might have someone who knows dusting and other cleanup that I sorely needed.

The dwarfs weren’t really thinking when they created the roof that high. Once cobwebs started showing in the rafters, they couldn’t reach them. Now, huge cobwebs hung like an year-round Christmas decorations. The metal frame of the door to ceiling windows had gathered enough dirt to grow plants in. It was rather difficult to tell apart the cows by their colour since they were too high to wash regularly and any hen who flew to the roof was a lost cause.

Well I was right about that part. Once the seven hired her, she did spruce up the place, no doubt. But her habit of singing in a high trill is getting on my nerves. As if birds are not enough, the rabbits, squirrels, porcupines and deer are also here from dawn till dusk, leaving only to eat. Also, the rats and insects are now joining ranks and I am gradually becoming a wildlife sanctuary. Throw in a tiger or too and we could open a circus.

Worse still, she has the habit of inviting random vendors inside the home, regardless of the wares. Never misses a good gossip, that girl! She buys all type of stuff that she may or may not use. It is rather annoying, if you ask me, being treated as a storehouse for useless stuff–smelly candles, too colourful clothes, leather shoes that shrink with first drop of water…

Also, twice in the past years, she has ended up almost dying because of this obnoxious habit–once when a vendor woman sold her laces and tied them too tight around her waist cutting off her breath, and yet again when an old hag combed her hair with a poisonous comb. A reasonable person would have seen sense by now.

But in spite of all that, she is talking to this apple vendor. I don’t like the woman–she looks fake, worse, the way she eyes Snowdrop, she could be a maniac. If she was inside, I would have thrown her out, or may be thrown something on her head.

But the dwarves had been clear to not allow anyone in. So, the two of them are sharing an apple through the window! If you ask me, it looks rather scandalous. Snowdrop often shares ‘stuff’ with other handsome male vendors. But sharing a bitten apple with a woman?

Moreover, she doesn’t seem like she ever cleaned her teeth. She could have Pyorrhea…

Damn! I knew it! Now, Snowdrop’s fainted–must be the woman’s bad breath…

Free image by Ella de Kross on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Twisted fairytales

The Apple of Discord: The Maneater

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Humans don’t tread quietly–at least those who aren’t hunting make enough sound to raise a hibernating bear…

The other day, I saw someone run through the woods and decided to inquire if a good meal was in order. Alas, she was too thin. There was no meat to be had, only skin on bones. Not sure why humans do it to animals. Starving themselves is okay, I guess, but what’s the point of entering my territory if I couldn’t enjoy it too? I would call it downright mean!

I would have sampled a bit of her anyway but she was too scared, and all that adrenalin kills the taste. So, I waited until she settled but she was too excited! These tourists…they enter forests on a dare and, then, they jump at every sound, as if we were going to eat them…well, I do, but that’s beside the point. She was jumpy all evening and all night. Honestly, I do prefer a quiet meal so I waited. She shrieked at every dangling limb of tree and every pair of eyes. For instance, I always found rabbits rather harmless but who knew she could make a maneater out of them…

I had a hard time sleeping with all that shrieking and was a little late when I woke up. I decided to have a snack before I go gargle, but she was gone already. Damn those little people for building their stupid cottage in the forest. I can’t get within 250-meter radius of the place. You see, once, I wanted to experiment whether a hint of mushrooms affects the taste. So I tried to sample the Dopey one but one of the other six brought an axe and I had to make a hasty exit. Ever since, they put enchantments around that place so if I try to get close to the place, the axe finds me and chases me out of the perimeter.

Everybody else is welcome, it seems. I never saw that girl run out with the axe behind her. I waited outside for what felt like an eternity. (Well, did you ever try waiting for food delivery at breakfast?) When I lost all patience for the panicky, skinny piece of meat, I left to get breakfast.

When I returned for her, I was afraid they’ll eat her before I do but they had kept her as a pet or something. (These dwarfs have a weird taste, I tell you!) So, now I pace outside the enchanted periphery waiting for her to step out while she sings to birds and rabbits as they finish her chores. How unfair!

Posted in Fiction, Twisted fairytales

The Apple of Discord: The Hunter

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Being the Queen’s favourite has its perks and the food at my home is an ode to the fact that I owe her everything I have. For years, I have hunted animals and humans alike.

This child has seen only seven seasons, that too while living in rags and mopping the castle floor. She is a princess who has been lower than a servant. Today, when I brought her to the forest, she was overjoyed. She’s singing to the birds as she plucks wildflowers for a garland. My daughter does the same.

Today, she says, is the best day of her life. I know better. Not sure what wrong she has done and why the queen is against her. But I am just a soldier, a tool to kill all those who displease the crown. The queen desires the little girl dead and her wish is my command. Yet, my hand shakes today as I clutch the hilt of my sword.

No way can I kill her but I cannot take her back and risk the queen’s wrath.

I pull out my sword with shaking hands and call her to look at me. She looks at me with scared doe-eyes and pleading silently. My sword lowers on its own, as if I’ve lost all my strength.

I yell, “Your mother wants you dead. Run away before I kill you!”

In my heart, I plead, “Run away before I give up and return you to the castle, to the step-mother who’d kill you anyway. Run away before I stop being a monster and become a traitor to the crown.”

I watch as she runs deep in the forest; glad I didn’t have to kill her; afraid she’d die alone. I hunt a boar and take his heart to the monster in the castle as a proof of Snowdrop’s death, hoping she won’t find out the truth before I move my family to another town.

I wonder why I ever thought she is beautiful.

Photo by Ricardo Cruz on Unsplash

Posted in Twisted fairytales

The Apple of Discord: The Mother

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The moment I saw him riding on his stead through my village, I fell in love. He was all I ever wanted–tall, handsome and regal, and a just King. I was sure he would love me too. I’m the most beautiful woman the world had ever seen. He had just lost his wife during childbirth. I could see his pain in the lines of his forehead. I wanted to smooth them out so he would be happy again.

That night, I cooked the love potion with all my heart and sent it to him in the food offering the next day. Being the King, he was obliged to accept it, which he did and after the first morsel, he sent me the marriage proposal. I was over the moon, riding the clouds, flying on the wind as I walked down the aisle and up to him where he stood holding a tiny girl in his arms, Snowdrop.

My steps faltered. She’d always be between us, reminding him of his past, never truly letting him move on. But his warm smile fell on me like sunshine. My breath was stuck in my throat. I took our marriage vows in that moment of insanity. Three days later, he woke up changed. The effect of the love potion had vaned. He was remorseful for having forgotten his first wife so soon. He wouldn’t allow me close. He drowned himself in alcohal while I waited in our bedchamber night after night for him to return. I tried creating the potion again, but failed miserably because even I could see, he’d never love me. His heart was too full of one woman to have room for another. A dead woman had bested me.

For years, I played governess to Snowdrop while he spent his days avoiding us. She reminded him of his first love. I reminded him of the failure to remember her. Everywhere I went, I heard whispers that the dead queen couldn’t hold a candle in front of me. That I was the most beautiful woman ever, yet even in her death, she has dwarfed me, forever, in love…

For years, I roamed the unending passages of this castle hiding from the pain of constant rejection, the whispering staff, the lusting courtiers and my own burning desire. He wouldn’t love me and I couldn’t love another. I was always on fire, and it consumed me until I wasn’t.

For years, I tried everything to lure him to me–sympathy, seduction, magic. I kept Snowdrop as far from him as possible, in the servant’s quarters hoping that, without the reminder, he would forget his past. But I received not a single drop of his affection, nor a child, heir to the throne and no future.

Once the king dies, which seems soon enough considering his failing health, the heir to the throne shall be the next male kin, Snowdop’s husband. I have tried to hide her in rags but she grows each day like a carnivorous flower, her alluring beauty trapping the affection of all those around her. Even at seven, the mirror calls her ‘the fairest of all’. Soon enough, princes from kingdoms around the world would line up for her hand. And with that would go my kingdom and my claim to beauty.

I have dealt with being the second-best all my life, but can I live with being a nobody?

Well, there is only one way to go from here…

Snowdrop has to die!

Posted in Fiction, Nature stories, Twisted fairytales

Some Peace

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Aegis was over the moon today. He would finally get some sleep. 108 years is a long time to have stayed awake but these fairies never let him get a wink.

Ever since he was a young tree, they had started building their little mushroom houses all over his body. They created quite a din day in and out. He hated how the little ones ran all over him with muddied feet, and teenagers partied all night. The queen herself was a merry person, never stopping her people from having fun. So, his pleas for some peace always fell on deaf ears.

He wished them begone.

As his grumblings grew on a daily basis, the queen relented and decided to move to a clump of smaller trees across the field.

The day the fairies finally left, Aegis was really glad. He would finally get some sleep, he thought. He embraced himself and settled for a long night. But the place felt rather cold without the little fairy lights. And scary too. The chaos from earlier suddenly did not seem so bad. His stomach dropped to bottom as he realised he’d be alone for the rest of his days–another 100 years or so.

He missed the little raucous crowd and wished them back. But the fairies were gone to their new lodgings across the field, leaving Aegis with his lonely pride.

Free photo by Amy Humphries on Unsplash