Fairy Tale?

Hehe, I've been a very productive little Cris today! This isn't fractured, it's twisted into something waaay beyond what it originally was (Snow White). Hope you like.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom very far away, there lived a king who loved his daughter very much. Well, one of his daughters, at least…the oldest, a raven-haired girl named Rumina. She was a feminine miniature of her father, and knew it. Her mother had died soon after she was born, and it was rumored around the lower levels of the palace that she died of heartbreak…heartbreak that her baby daughter might possibly be more beautiful than she.

The king married again in due time, choosing for his second wife a quiet and reserved woman with fair hair and soft disposition. He hoped she would not concern herself with petty worries as his first wife had…and he was right. Instead, her quick mind and ready intelligence chafed at the restrictions placed upon her by her status as queen, and by her husband’s fierce temper. She often sought solace in the royal library, spending hours lost in dream worlds created by her books…dream worlds where princes were all charming, and princesses always lived happily ever after.

In due course she bore her husband a child, a demure little baby girl who rarely cried, unlike her elder sister’s squalling habits. Nonetheless, the king was less than pleased with his little daughter. In comparison to her striking sister, she could almost be called plain, with her soft brown hair and sweet dark eyes. Her sister was every inch the princess—from her raven locks and snow-white skin to her regal bearing and royal temper tantrums. The king, disgusted with the homely child, immersed himself in the affairs of the kingdom, rarely seeing his wife and youngest daughter at all, and the little girl grew up quite in thrall of the angry, silent man she saw only at state occasions.

When the youngest girl, affectionately known as Bryn to her mother and the servants, turned six years old, tragedy struck. Her mother, never very strong, caught a fever and died within the fortnight. The castle was in mourning for a month, and the little girl with the big dark eyes was placed into the care of her sister’s nurse.

Rumina hated her on sight. She ordered her nurse, who doted on the queenly child, to ignore her as much as possible, and indeed would have forbid her to be noticed at all if it could be accomplished. The other servants, however, stuck up for the quiet child, and often brought her sweets and playthings when her sister denied her the simple joys of childhood. Often, Rumina would have her locked in the nursery closet as punishment for imagined wrongs, though the indignant assistant cook and one of the maids who used to wait on Bryn’s mother would soon come and deliver her from the terror she had of that closet.

Yet even through all the hardship, the little girl never cried. And, often, she could be found playing by herself in a corner, a small smile on her face. That smile transformed her regular features and made her seem quite charming to anyone lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her in such quiet moments. It filled her with radiance and made her seem much more than a plain, homely little girl. All in all, if you had asked her if she was content, she would have answered, "yes."

And then her father married again.

His third wife was much like the first, though she had a heavy hand that was felt everywhere about the palace, and she was free of the pettiness that governed her predecessor. She had nothing of Bryn’s mother’s quiet sweetness either, instead assuming a menacing air that quite frightened the younger princess the first time she beheld her new stepmother.

The woman had swept into the nursery the day after the wedding, attired in black silk and scarlet-dyed ermine. Her long raven locks were pinned up in a great knot at the back of her head, her pale skin almost bone-white in the cold winter sunlight streaming through the large glass-paned windows. She looked around with disdainful black eyes that missed nothing—from the placement of the two beds to the way the two girls were dressed. She instantly saw which one was subservient, and, also, which one was dominant.

"You," she said, beckoning to Rumina, "come here."

The girl stood gracefully and stepped over to her stepmother, not bothering to curtsey. The queen had sat herself in a large, overstuffed chair, and Rumina placed herself on the floor at the woman’s knee. She gazed up prettily from beneath long black lashes, and announced, "My father loves me."

The queen stared at her for a moment, a small, amused smile playing upon her lips. She overlooked the breach of royal protocol which demanded the princess kneel before her instead of placing her head on the queen’s lap and speaking directly to her. One long fingered, perfectly manicured hand reached up and stroked the artificially curled black hair.

"Yes, my sweet, he does," she said, approving silently of what she saw in the girl. "You and I are going to be great friends, child. What is your name?"

"Rumina."

"Ah. Well then, Rumina, I am very pleased to meet you."

"I am pleased to meet you, too, Stepmother."

The woman smiled and cast a thoughtful glance over at the younger girl, perched on a window seat, a rag doll—a plaything more suited to the servants’ children than to the royal princess—clasped tight in her small fist. She was gazing out the windows at the park spread out below her.

"Child!" she said sharply, "come here!"

The girl turned and slid down from her perch willingly enough, coming to stand before the queen. She did not seat herself at the woman’s side, but rather continued to stand before her. Several moments passed.

"Why do you stare at me so?" the woman demanded, unnerved by the child’s silent, solemn eyes. "Speak, you! Why do you not address me?"

"Adéle said it was not my place to speak first, Majesty," the child replied softly, her brown eyes flicking down to the carpet. "And I stare because you are beautiful."

The queen harrumphed. "Well, that is true enough on both counts," she mumbled, "but who is this Adéle?"

"The nurse, Majesty."

"What a queer, silent thing you are!" the queen said, staring hard at her new stepdaughter. "I do not think I like you."

The girl raised her eyes for a moment, as if afraid to meet that piercing black regard. She clutched her doll tighter. "You should not be alone in that regard," she said softly, almost sadly, her knuckles turning white as she held her doll’s arm.

Several more moments passed in silence, the queen stroking Rumina’s hair as if petting a cat seated in her lap. "Why are you dressed so, child?" she asked abruptly, pointing at Bryn’s plain brown smock and white pinafore. "Why, you could pass for a scullery! Where are your silks and satins? Where is your lace, your fine brocade?"

The child’s face flushed, as if she were embarrassed of her answer. "I muss them, Majesty; I cannot keep them fine. Adéle says I may not wear them but when I see my father."

"Quite right," the queen replied harshly. "A princess ought not disturb her fine clothes—why, look at your dear sister here." Here she promptly tipped Rumina’s chin up, and the older girl smiled on her benefactress adoringly. She was dressed in dark blue-violet velvet, with a dark red rose—so dark as to be nearly black—stuck through her sash. A thin circlet of gold wire sat upon her brow, below which her raven curls tumbled. Her bright red rosebud of a mouth curved into a smile as she beheld her stepmother gazing at her approvingly, and she batted her thick lashes coyly.

"I am sure Rumina knows better than to muss her fine clothes." She looked at the silent child for a moment longer before waving her hand. "Go, you may go now. Leave me; I do not wish to look upon you any more."

Bryn left, then, and returned to her corner window seat. No one saw the silent tears that wet the heavy brocade drapery as she stared out at the green fields below…no one except her doll, that is, and Bryn was fairly certain that she wouldn’t tell.

And so it was that life changed once again for the little princess, for the stepmother did not approve of her being in with her sister. She was quickly regulated to a less-grand room high up in a tower, where the stone walls remained chilly even in high summer, and the only way to chase away the permanent dampness was to keep a fire burning in the grate at all times. During the winter it became so cold sometimes that Bryn would stoke up the fire and trundle all her bedclothes from the mattress over to the hearth and wrap herself up in them, falling asleep by the fireside. When high winds and storms rushed through, the tower swayed ominously. It was only during these times of creaking and swaying that the little girl let her fear steal over her. Most of the time she was, if not happy, content enough with life, for she did not remember any other save life in the nursery with Rumina, and that she did not relish.

After being banned from the royal nursery, Bryn lacked direction for her free hours. The servants did not mind that the little princess watched them as they worked, and often they pressed small tasks into her willing hands to keep her occupied. She learned how to mend clothes and do rudimentary cooking, and how to work with fine materials such as silk and lace without ruining them in the process. The servants treated her like one of them, for which she was immensely grateful, and more often than not, she found herself engaged in these busy tasks.

Her stepmother took no more notice of her, her sister did not deign to come down to the lower recesses of the castle to seek her out, and her father left her alone. This suited her just fine—the only royalty she’d ever felt close to was her real mother, and she was long buried in the grass out by the edge of the forest. Bryn’s days were filled with work which, while not meaningful, held importance to her because it took time out of her life to do it. And, as always, she felt content.

But time passes, as time will, childish pursuits and ideals give way to adult thinking, and little girls grow up.

Bryn didn’t think much about growing up—didn’t realize it was happening until it was nearly over. She wasn’t full of neglect, nor was she half-witted, but she simply was never taught to take any more notice of her appearance other than to make sure she was clean and presentable, so she took little notice of her growing height and other changes.

It was her stepmother who first noticed.

The queen often sat at her balcony, staring commandingly over the stone courtyard, for long hours out of the day. She liked the sense of possession it gave her to watch the little servants—ants, really, from where she sat—scurrying around on her business and her orders. It little mattered to her what they were doing, only that it was all for her.

One spring morning as she sat at her balcony as always, something caught her eye and wiped the smile from her face.

A young girl, just barely out of her teens if the queen was any judge, was sitting outside on the sun-baked steps, a scrap of bright red mending in her hands. Her hair shone like brown fire in the sunlight, its silky lengths evident even from four stories up. The queen narrowed her eyes, realizing that this girl must be the child she’d sent away from the royal nursery years ago. She grimaced in distaste, but summoned a servant and ordered that the girl be brought up into her presence.

"Have a care, dear stepmother," Rumina drawled from her place on a cushioned sofa. She reclined regally back into the softness, half-closing her eyes like a content feline. "She’s been living with the servants. You never know what kinds of filthy habits she may have picked up."

"Now now, My Own," the queen said, stroking the raven locks as she so often did. "You know I must check."

The younger woman gave an un-queenly snort. "It seems ridiculous to me, Stepmother. She? Fairer than you? I doubt it."

"Yes, My Own, as do I, but you know my nature bids me check everyone." She sat on her throne-like chair, taking up a bit of embroidery. "You shall thank me for my diligence when I am gone and you are queen. Since I bore your father no children, I have wholeheartedly stood behind you as complete heir to the throne and fortune." She smiled at Rumina. "You, dear, are the only one who can even come close to touching my beauty. When I die, you shall be fairest in the land." She smiled again. "I am merely securing both of our futures."

"Of course, dear Stepmother, you always know best," Rumina replied in a soft, pleasing purr.

A hesitant knock came at the door then, and at the queen’s cry of, "Enter!" that wooden portal opened and a small, slight girl stepped through.

She was of the stature people of that country called "fey," meaning, to them, dark and elfin. Her skin was creamy as new milk, and her mouth was a soft coral line with a perpetual questioning quirk to it. Her eyes were deep and dark, soft, framed with lashes that looked like nothing more than smudges of soot upon her cheeks. Her bone structure was delicate and fine, with high cheekbones and a small, straight nose. Her soft, silky hair hung straight and fine down her back, held in place by no impediment and twisted up in no elaborate braid. There was a look of quite solid intelligence about her, and a quick wit. She was not quite as tall as her sister, who was on the short side herself, though the muscles in her arms from lifting buckets and fetching various things for the cooks showed quite plainly that she was no dainty weakling. She stood, dressed as most of the servant girls were, in a plain gray dress and white apron.

"Your Majesty," she said softy, her voice low and melodic, "Your Highness."

The queen didn’t know what to think. The girl was not conventionally beautiful, but there was something striking about her that stayed in one’s mind long after conventional beauty faded. She narrowed her eyes slightly, almost distastefully, at the fairy-child before her.

"I am shocked," she said, pronouncing each syllable distinctly. "How dare you presume to come before the queen looking like some heathen demon!"

Bryn blinked in surprise and took an involuntary step back, her hair brushing along her shoulder blades in a silken waterfall as she moved.

"Don’t look so shocked, child! Just look at you!" The queen’s nose wrinkled up in distaste. "Look at your hair! Completely unbound! What sense of propriety have we instilled in you? None, it seems! And that dress, if you could call it that! You’re positively covered in grass stains and dirt!" She made a disgusted sound. "You’re not fit to serve tables!"

"I don’t serve tables, Majesty," Bryn replied with the same unshakable calm that she’d displayed on the previous meeting between her and the queen.

"There’s no surprise, at least the servants know enough to hide derelicts like you!"

"Majesty, is there something you require?" the girl asked softly. "Why have you summoned me here?"

The queen growled. "I require you to leave me, impudent girl! Leave my sight, now!" She stood up and paced quite close to where Bryn stood. "And if you dare return to me, God help me, I shall kill you!"

Bryn fled, then, from the fury of the queen. She ran until she reached her own chamber at the top of the tower, and paused there to think a moment. She glanced around. There was nothing for her, nothing of her, here. The one plaything she’d kept was now a cradle-toy for the head cook’s newest child, a gift Bryn had given willingly to the sweet little baby. All Bryn owned in the world was the clothes on her back. She sighed, feeling suddenly detached from this room. It was no longer hers.

Not really sure what she’d done to incur her stepmother’s wrath, Bryn fled to the kitchens, where she said a hurried goodbye to everyone there. She was in haste—she feared the queen as she feared no other living thing. She truly believed the queen would kill her if given a chance.

And so it was that Bryn left her only home, walking briskly out a servant’s entrance instead of crossing the drawbridge and alerting her stepmother to her departure. She feared she might be followed if the woman knew.

After crossing over the moat and slipping away from the shadow of the wall, Bryn paused. She had no idea where to go, where she might stay and possibly work. She turned her head toward the forest, thinking for a moment, before shaking her head and plunging through the wild heather and gorse, heading for the town that lay several miles below her. It was a seaport, one of the many within her father’s kingdom, and hopefully she might find employment…perhaps even a home…there.

TBC???