Fractured Fairy Tales (14 page)

“That’s nice. Have you always known you loved him?”

She looks at me oddly but answers anyway. “No. Actually, until two years ago, I despised him.” She pauses for a moment, playing with her hair, and looking at me curiously. “How did you say you knew Joringel?”

“I didn’t. What made you change your mind about him?” This is it. This is the moment I have waited for.

“I was taken by a witch. She turned me into a nightingale, and trapped me within her castle. Joringel saved me. It was only then I realised my own affections for him.” Her eyes glaze over, lost in the depths of her precious memories, and I take my chance.

Leaping across the room, I pin the young woman beneath my body, her struggling limbs lashing out, but doing no damage under my weight.

“What are you doing?!” she screams at me and pushes against my arms, desperate for my weight to be off her.

“Saving you, of course,” I say innocently. “How on Earth would it look if your dear Joringel came in and saw us chatting like old friends? You, his love. And me, the witch he destroyed. No, we can’t have that at all. So I will save you here, until he comes home.” I finish with a broad, wicked grin and the girl begins to weep.

“You? But you’re…”

“Beautiful? Yes, I am. This is my true form. The old hag from your memories was just one of my many disguises,” I explain. She contorts her face into a look of rage, and a feeling of joy rises within me—but there is something else as well, something sad.

After a short struggle, I am finally able to get Jorinda into her chair by the fire, and tie her down using the ropes I had had the forethought to place in the pocket of my robes the night before. Now all there was left to do was wait.

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I feel the hair on my neck stand on end with excitement as I hear footsteps on the porch. He is finally here. It is time to get back to the real me. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought, as I gather myself and stand beside Jorinda’s bound form in the armchair.

I hear the faint rattle of keys. The door handle turns. My breathing becomes faster with every aching second that passes by. I will savour this moment for the rest of my life.

Joringel enters, and immediately draws a breath so deep I wonder where he is holding all of the oxygen he inhales.

“Jorinda!” he screams, and satisfaction creeps its way into my veins. “What is going on?” he demands of me.

“Hello, Joringel. Did your mother never teach you any manners? I do believe it is customary to greet your visitors before placing demands upon them,” I say slyly as he moves forward, his hands clenched into fists. I tighten my hold on the rope that is wound twice around Jorinda’s neck and wave a perfectly manicured finger in his direction.

“Uh, uh my dear boy. That is close enough.”

“What do you want? Why do you have…wait, I know you. I saw your face two years ago. You’re…”

“Yes. I am. Now, you will tell me how to break this damned curse you have me under, or I will kill your lady friend,” I exclaim threateningly.

Far from divulging his secrets though, Joringel actually has the audacity to laugh at me. Me! The witch that is going to destroy him!

“You will never break the curse. Never!”

“Oh I will, and you are going to tell me how to do so.” I once again tighten my grip on the noose, this time I hear a satisfying gasp come from Jorinda’s airways. I raise my eyebrows at the young face in the doorway, taunting him.

“I dreamed of you, nine nights before I brought you that rose up in your tower. The dream told me of a way to break your curses upon the maiden’s trapped in your tower. This, I have told everyone. What I have told no one is the dream I had, of how to the curse that was placed upon you in return. But I see no point in keeping it from you now. You will never be able to break it anyway.” A smirk creeps upon his face at his words.

“Then tell me how to do it!” I screech in his face, my anger towards the boy reaching its peak.

“You must learn to love. It is not enough to have someone love you. You must love them in return.” I am in shock, my hand drops from the noose around Jorinda’s neck, my mind fills with despair. He is right. I will never be able to break the curse. I am incapable of loving.

I make for the doorway, knowing that Joringel will not willingly let me pass after I have twice threatened the life of his beloved. I am prepared for the attack as I raise my arms to protect my body. I am too deflated to fight him, but I must survive. My only option now is to defend myself.

Joringel lunges forward, attacking me with his fists. I block his advances, but I am caught within his grasp before too long. He spins me around to face Jorinda, and whispers in my ear.

“This is for her. Remember it.” A scream erupts from my mouth as he sticks a knife through my side. The searing pain is blinding, my eyes swell with tears of agony, and my screams still rent through the early morning air.

Through the open window behind the girl still bound to the chair, I see the sun begin to rise, and close my eyes in relief. Within seconds I am once again an owl. Joringel’s hands flail through the air, desperately trying to grasp me, but I have slipped through his wanting fingers. I duck and weave as I make my way back to the open front door, and disappear into the morning light.

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“Abrielle,” I hear a soft voice calling my name, “Abrielle? Can you hear me?”

I open my eyes slowly, the pain from the knife wound still keening.

“There you are.” he says as I try to move into a sitting position. “No, don’t try to move. You’re wounded.” Alexander’s soft hands touch my side lightly, sending a stabbing pain through my body. I wince at his touch, and his face screws up in worry.

“Where am I?” I ask, my quiet pitch matching his.

“You’re in the tower. I found you in the woods, bleeding out over the foliage. I will send for a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright first.”

“No. No doctors. Just leave me be,” I say weakly, my voice pleading with him not to call any medical professionals. I do not want the company of anyone. Not even him. I am doomed to a life of solitude—that much is certain now—and shape shifting, a life without control. I would rather let the pain settle in now than prolong it further.

“Alright, I won’t call the doctor. But I’m not leaving you here to die.” He is moving away now, his voice becoming more distant. I turn my head slightly to see where he is, and find him at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to get some warm cloths to clean you up. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I sigh, and turn to face the ceiling again. I do not want to be waited on; I just want to be left alone. I try to summon the strength to be angry with Alexander, but I cannot find it within me. There is something about the quiet man that calms something inside my mind.

As promised, he is back momentarily, a clean cloth in one hand, and a stone bowl of warm water in the other. He sits on my bedside gently, trying not to jostle me. I am thankful for that. He reaches over my body, the damp cloth in hand and gently lifts my robe to expose the knife wound in my right side. The cool air against my skin is relieving, but it doesn’t last long.

Alexander presses the warm cloth to the cut, and I flinch and reach for his hand. My skin against his feels odd. I am no longer used to any kind of tender contact. Our gazing eyes meet at the touch, and I feel warmth spread throughout my body. It is an odd feeling, and one that I’m not sure I like.

I break the eye contact first, and let Alexander go about cleaning my wounds, and bandaging my torso tight. Tears spring to my eyes, the pain almost unbearable. I need rest, and yet, I don’t want to close my eyes.

“You should sleep now. Rest will help you heal.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to do something, anything to take me mind off the pain.” I feel awkward having a normal conversation. I don’t remember ever having what human’s class as a normal conversation, not at any stage in my life. Not with anyone. With me, it has always been threats and yelling. I was born a witch, and with that, came responsibilities and a specifically designed way of life. I respected that way of life, and had lived it to my full extent—until Joringel.

“Alright, how about we talk then. Tell me something interesting about yourself.”

Not yet
, I think. “How about you tell me something, I’m still a little weak.” I say, trying to shift the attention from myself.

“Alright then, I was born not too far from here. The neighbouring Kingdom, in fact, but I have left there now. I have no intention of returning.”

“Oh?” I ask with genuine curiosity.

“My parents want me to be something that I’m not.” He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter to him, but I can tell from the sad look in his eyes that it does.

“What do they want you to be?”

“A prince. I am betrothed to a woman I do not love.”

The statement stirred a memory within me, and I asked my question without a thought. “Is that the girl you were singing about in the garden?”

He lets out a small laugh at my question, but his eyes still hold sadness within them. “No, that’s just a song. My father used to sing it to me as a child. I hadn’t realised you heard me.”

I don’t know what to say to his answer. Something flutters within me, I feel happy and sad all at the same time. Could it be relief? “Oh,” is the only response I can conjure out of myself.

“So what about you?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about me. It’s not nearly as nice as your story.”

He gives me an odd look at that. “Nice? You think my story is nice? Your own story must be very sad if you think that mine is nice.”

I decide without much thought to tell him what I am. I don’t know why, it will not benefit me, but at least I may be left alone to wallow in my self-pity if I tell him. I close my eyes briefly before I start.

“I am a witch, and not a nice one. I used to trap maidens who wandered too close to my castle at twilight. I would transform them into nightingales and keep them locked within cages.” I look around the room then, pointing out the wicker-work cages with my eyes.

“Oh. Well that’s not so bad. Nightingales are beautiful after all,” he says it with a smile on his face, and I can’t figure out whether he means it or if he is being condescending. “What do you mean
used
to?”

“A curse was placed upon me two years ago. I am doomed to be bound in the form of an owl by daylight, and a human by night. I am still one with Earth, as are my witch sisters and warlock brothers. But I can no longer practice even the most basic magic,” I end quietly, sadly.

“Can you break the curse?”

I shake my head, not wanting to talk in case I start sobbing.

“It will all be okay. I will find a way to help you.”

I don’t understand Alexander. Why isn’t he running in the opposite direction screaming? Why does he want to help me? I am a witch. I have done bad things, and yet he still wants to help me return to that. Why? I fall asleep under his watchful gaze and dream of nightingales, cages, and men with a touch so soft it is agonizing.

I wake in my owl form, Alexander still be my side. He is stroking my wing as he changes the now too-large bandages for smaller ones.

“Good morning,” he says.

I hoot in response.

“I made you some breakfast.” He beams down at me, and lifts a plate from the side table. The plate contains eggs and bacon. He lifts the fork to my beak and feeds me bite after bite, not saving any for himself. When I am finished, he places a gentle kiss on my forehead, and strokes my wing. The affection is new to me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I am being told to enjoy it.

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Two weeks have passed since I was stabbed, and Alexander, or Alex as I have come to know him, has not left my side once. Currently, it is almost twilight, and I am learning how to fly once again. The pain has subsided to a manageable level now, and I am able to get out and about more frequently. I glide to the grass below me and await the change. As he does every night, Alexander turns his back while I dress, and waits for me to approach him before turning back to me.

“Was it easier tonight?” he asks worryingly. Always worrying.

“Yes, much,” I lie.

“Don’t lie to me, Abrielle. You know you are horrible at it.”

It’s the truth. I have never been a liar, and I don’t do a good job of convincing anyone of anything except for the truth. “I’m sorry. No, it was still painful.”

He nods at me, accepting the answer. “Take a walk with me?” he asks, extending his hand to me.

I take it, and we walk in the low moonlight through the rose gardens that surround my home. He bends, picks one of the blooming yellow roses, and offers it to me. Unlike the last time he offered me my own flowers, this time, I do not feel rage. Something within me has changed in the last two weeks. Something warm and gentle has surfaced. Something I never thought I could feel. Fondness. But fondness is not love, and it will not break the curse.

“Will you tell me now?”