Shattered Fairytales

=== тнє ѕтσηє qυєєη ===
тω: вℓ//∂, ∂//тн
She wasn't natural.
That much was clear. The blood surrounded her, staining her white dress red. Her dark hair floated around her face, and her eyes were pure white...
"Monster!" the people shrieked, "Witch!"
She smiled at them, calm, calculated, terrifying.
"Try to burn me. Try to kill me. Try it."
Then the little boy walked up to her, torch in hand. He looked so brave.
"What a pity," she said, but her tone was merciless. With a snap of her fingers, the boy turned to dust, and the dust scattered in the wind.
"Anyone else?" She asked, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised.
No one stepped forward. They were all frozen in place- literally. She walked among the statues, before reaching the one at the front. A crown sat on his head; his cruel smirk was stuck on his face. And it would stay like that, for an eternity.
"Oh, darling," the woman cooed, "If only you had just loved me. None of this would have happened."
She turned towards the rest of them as her eyes turned their normal shade of dark brown, and her hair fell to her shoulders.
"Witch. Monster. Sorceress." She laughed, "No. Queen."
She sat down on the throne, plucking the stone crown off the kings head. Unbeknownst to her, a young girl walked among the statues as well.
She had the same dark eyes, same dark hair, as the woman.
"Mother."
The woman looked her over. "I wouldn't call you my daughter, Princessa."
"I am your daughter," the girl continued on, as if she hadn't heard what the woman had said.
"And who is your father?"
"You know who he is." the girl said, pointing to him. "O, and you hate it."
The woman scowled, "Indeed I do."
"You killed my father,"
"I didn't kill him, dearest. In fact, he's quite immortal now."
"You're evil."
"Yes, yes I am," the woman smiled. "And I love it,"
"Don't you remember?"
"The early days in the castle, when he treated me well, when we sat in the sun and listened to birds sing? Of course I do."
The girl walked right up to the queen as she said, "No. Don't you remember me?"
The Queen scoffed, "You were a little babe when he threw me out,"
She didn't notice the blood falling from her eyes, in place of tears. She didn't notice the sadness she was feeling; because she was numb.
"You're crying," the girl said.
"I am not!' the woman exclaimed, standing up. "I do not cry."
The Queen wiped away the tears, leaving streaks of red on her cheeks and hands.
"I do not cry." The woman said again. "Nor do I have mercy on people who gave no mercy to me,"
She started to snap her fingers, but the girl's hand shot out, holding the woman's wrist.
"I am sorry,"
The words were quiet, and the Queen did not understand them.
"I don't believe I understand,"
"I am sorry that father threw you out, that they called you a witch, that they hurt you,"
"No you are not," the woman said, "You are not."
"I am," her daughter insisted.
Witch. Monster. Sorceress.
The queen would have almost believed her, if she hadn't turned away and saw the statue of the king.
"You are only trying to weaken me!" the Queen hissed, and she wrenched her hand away, snapping her fingers and turning her daughter to stone.
The girl went silently, with a smile on her face and the queen sat down contently
She did not see the gray on her hand as it spread up to her wrist, and then her elbow, and then her arm was gone, and in a minute, only a minute, the queen was also a statue.
The king's face was frozen in a smirk.
The princess's face was frozen in a smile.
And the queen's face was frozen in sadness.
=== α вяσкєη вσу ===
тω: вℓ//∂, ∂//тн, ѕυ/c/∂є
Once upon a time, there was a boy who was broken.
He could not feel.
He could not see.
He could not talk.
His parents tried everything but finally decided to visit the wise lady of the village.
"You come here to mock me?" the wise lady asked.
"No, no, we come here to seek the truth, the way we can help our son,"
"Son?" the wise lady scoffed, "He is no son. He is a monster, and he is heartless."
"How dare you-" the father started to say, but the mother hushed him quickly.
"He was born to a witch who took out his heart and used it in a spell of hers." the wise lady started, "She healed his wound, but he had no heart, so he could not feel."
"He is a monster, and he is speechless,"
The man's face twisted with agony. It hurt him to hear such tales of his son.
"The witch required his voice, for yet another spell, and so she took it. She healed his wound, but he had no voice, so he could not speak."
The mother clutched the father's hand, and tears dripped down her face.
"He is a monster, and he is sightless,"
"The witch required his sight, so she could sell it to the king. So she took his sight, and healed him, but he had no eyes, so he could not see."
"You must be lying," the mother sobbed. "You must be. Our son is no son of a witch, no monster."
The wise lady continued without addressing the mother, "The witch realized she had no use for the baby any longer, and left him with the man who was his father,"
At that, the mother gasped, and turned to her husband, who was bright red and embarrassed.
"Is it true?"
"Of course it is!" the wise lady scowled, "Now, begone."
"But how shall we help him?" the father asked.
With a sigh, the old lady told the man, "First, he must drink the potions that took his feelings and voice. Then he must find the kind and demand his sight."
She reused to tell another word, so the mother and father left, heading home, where the son sat, petting a small dog.
"Son." the mother said, "I have something terrible to tell you."
The son didn't raise his head.
"You must travel to a witch's home, and to a king's castle, gathering three things. Your voice, your heart, and your sight,"
The boy stood up, and without a wave goodbye, pushed open the door and left.
He travelled for days and days, never tiring or stopping until he reached the witch's home, his mother's home.
Without fear, he knocked on the door.
"O, who is it?" the witch grumbled, opening it to see the boy. She frowned. "It's you. Come in, then."
The boy went in, sitting at a small chair in front of the fireplace.
"What do you request?" The witch asked. The boy could not speak, and he knew that the witch knew it. He had a clever thought, and gestured towards the rug in front of the fireplace.
"O, you wish to sleep?"
The boy nodded.
Only a few hours later, when the witch had fallen asleep, the son stood up and left his spot in front of the fire. He stood in front of the many bottles and potions, but since he could not see, he did not know which one it was until he felt a tugging pull in his wrist. It led him towards the bottle at the end of the row, one with a tall fluted neck. He drank it, not without fumbling to open it.
As soon as the last drop entered him, he felt a great burst of joy, and a steady beating of his heart.
The boy could feel.
The son soon found another bottle, this with his voice. But, in his happiness, the boy exclaimed, "O, how good it is to talk!' and the witch heard.
She angrily ran into the main room, "You lied to me!"
He nodded, and said, "Indeed I did,"
He was quick to run away, and as the son fled the witch's home, he smiled.
The castle was even farther away from the witch's home, at the very base of a great mountain. The journey took him nearly two weeks, and in that time he drank and ate little.
When the boy arrived at the castle, his first instinct was to knock. However, he was spotted by one of the castle guards before he could do so.
"Who are you?" the guard asked gruffly; He was a poor man, and he knew he could not afford to lose this job.
The son struggled to find a response. How much should he reveal?
"I am the son of a poor merchant. I must speak with the king,"
The guard looked him over, "You cannot pass."
"I must!" the boy insisted.
Seeing the boy's desperation, the guard reluctantly stepped aside.
Inside the castle, the king sat on his throne. He barely glanced at the peasant boy before him.
"What do you need, peasant?"
"I need my sight, your highness," the son said boldly.
The king frowned, "What do you speak of?" he asked, though it was clear in his eyes that he knew.
At that moment, the young princess rushed into the room.
"You are a liar, papa," She glared, then turned to the boy, her eyes softening. "I know where it is. I shall lead you to it."
He took her hand, and she pulled him along, with the King trailing behind them.
"Do not do this daughter!" He fumed as she opened a chest, hidden behind a tapestry.
"I will do whatever I please," the princess said, her head high as she gently lifted the bottle from the chest, handing it to the boy.
"Thank you, your highness." the son said, tipping his head back to drink it. Unfortunately, the king grabbed it out of his hand and smashed it against the ground.
"Grab him, and throw him in the dungeons!" the king barked at the surrounding guards. "His execution is tomorrow,"
And it was. The son stayed in the dungeon, with the princess sitting on the other side of the bars.
"I am sorry," the princess said. The king forced his daughter to lead the boy to the execution block.
She held his hand the entire time, even as the blood splattered on her.
When the witch heard of her son's fate, she laughed.
When the parents heard of their son's fate, they sobbed.
The princess didn't let go of his hand until the next day, when she took a dagger and stabbed herself in the heart, grieved and horrified by the events of the last day.
Sometimes, when the weather is just perfectly rainy, you can see two birds, fluttering through the sky; the witch's son and the king's daughter.