[It doesn't matter where Charles was before now. The shift is complete and consuming: he's on a battlefield, except the combatants are all quite strange.
There's the Fairy Godmother, necrotic, mad, glass shard impaling her chest. Her loyal servants, half-formed or less from furniture and with the ravenous minds of beasts, unthinking, unyielding.
Then there's the losing side. A puppet, arm broken off. Dead. An old man with a great book, a little girl with wolfen ears, both dead. The cat cannot be seen. The frog prince makes a last stand against the fairy godmother.
And then there's Rosamund. Less thorny, less scarred, but still ravaged by briars. Dead. Her eyes fixate on nothing. Her bow has fallen from her grasp. A half-barrel man stomps over her corpse, ignoring the dead to chase the last of the living.
Then suddenly it's gone. They're in a tower, and Rosamund is waking in bed. There's no thorns or scars at all. It's exactly like the tower he'd seen before. She looks around, starting at a voice from the door beyond. She opens it to a emptiness. Just a voice.
"Oh! Oh, my apologies. You're awake."
"Yes, good morning. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
"Sorry."
There's a clinking, then a helmet is removed and the invisibility dispelled, revealing a beautiful woman in glass armor. Older than Rosamund by a few years, armed with a glass shield and polearm, looking relieved to see this young woman.
"Are you Cinderella?"
"I am Cinderella. Are you Sleeping Beauty? Rosamund?"
"Yes."
The woman gives a sigh of relief. "It worked."
"What worked?"
"We managed to catch you before you were completely gone. Or, rather, midway to where you are going."
[She's been along for the ride, of course. Looking mighty queasy now. The sight of her own dead body had snapped her mouth shut. The sight of the rest of them had squeezed her heart.
But they're out of it now. Rosamund bites her lip and reaches for his shoulder.]
[Her lips press tight together. Maybe she should have tried to cover but that was a an inescapably departed soul there. Eyes wide open, didn't even flinch when she got trampled.]
Um. Well. Who doesn't? Eventually. I try not to. Same as everyone else!
I wouldn't blame you if you did, though. [Particularly when he's sat through so much of her whining and hand-wringing, and she's done so little to be of help to him.
For now she leads him back to their rooms, dipping quietly into hers and coming out with a book.]
Do you remember how Totty looked different the trial? And he said he was some sort...I don't know, animated. Thing. [She sighs.] I'm a little like that. Only much more old fashioned.
[And here she presses the book into his hands. Though sapped of its power it still gives an aura of potency. Something about the too-fine finish maybe. The title is scrawled in a golden embossing: Sleeping Beauty.]
It's not useful. [She shakes her head.] It means I start in a different version of my story, and I couldn't even remember my other lives before. And now that I do remember, those memories double. I'm lucky that not a terrible lot has changed, but the things that do, I have trouble...I can't always remember which is true right now, and which was true before.
And it also means I don't get to go back and finish anything I started. And lately, each time I wake up, the worse my story gets.
[She points to the briars wound at her gut. Emerging from her gut.]
These aren't supposed to be here at all. And they weren't half so bad last time.
I don't have it as bad as some people. [She smiles, thin but gracious, giving his arm a soft squeeze.] Thank you for listening Charles. You're a really great guy, you know that?
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WEEK 3: Monday
There's the Fairy Godmother, necrotic, mad, glass shard impaling her chest. Her loyal servants, half-formed or less from furniture and with the ravenous minds of beasts, unthinking, unyielding.
Then there's the losing side. A puppet, arm broken off. Dead. An old man with a great book, a little girl with wolfen ears, both dead. The cat cannot be seen. The frog prince makes a last stand against the fairy godmother.
And then there's Rosamund. Less thorny, less scarred, but still ravaged by briars. Dead. Her eyes fixate on nothing. Her bow has fallen from her grasp. A half-barrel man stomps over her corpse, ignoring the dead to chase the last of the living.
Then suddenly it's gone. They're in a tower, and Rosamund is waking in bed. There's no thorns or scars at all. It's exactly like the tower he'd seen before. She looks around, starting at a voice from the door beyond. She opens it to a emptiness. Just a voice.
"Oh! Oh, my apologies. You're awake."
"Yes, good morning. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
"Sorry."
There's a clinking, then a helmet is removed and the invisibility dispelled, revealing a beautiful woman in glass armor. Older than Rosamund by a few years, armed with a glass shield and polearm, looking relieved to see this young woman.
"Are you Cinderella?"
"I am Cinderella. Are you Sleeping Beauty? Rosamund?"
"Yes."
The woman gives a sigh of relief. "It worked."
"What worked?"
"We managed to catch you before you were completely gone. Or, rather, midway to where you are going."
"Catch me?"
"Yes. May I come in, if that's all right?"
And the scene fades...]
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well, he's not sure what to say to that, for a variety of reasons.]
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[She's been along for the ride, of course. Looking mighty queasy now. The sight of her own dead body had snapped her mouth shut. The sight of the rest of them had squeezed her heart.
But they're out of it now. Rosamund bites her lip and reaches for his shoulder.]
Charles, are you okay?
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Yeah, I'm fine. That's what I should be asking you, Princess.
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Everything worked out.
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[Her lips press tight together. Maybe she should have tried to cover but that was a an inescapably departed soul there. Eyes wide open, didn't even flinch when she got trampled.]
Um. Well. Who doesn't? Eventually. I try not to. Same as everyone else!
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All right, I get it—very personal, I won't ask further.
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It's not that I don't trust you Charles. I just... I don't know how...
[She gnaws at her lip.]
Actually, can you come with me for a moment?
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[but he will go with her if she wishes.]
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For now she leads him back to their rooms, dipping quietly into hers and coming out with a book.]
Do you remember how Totty looked different the trial? And he said he was some sort...I don't know, animated. Thing. [She sighs.] I'm a little like that. Only much more old fashioned.
[And here she presses the book into his hands. Though sapped of its power it still gives an aura of potency. Something about the too-fine finish maybe. The title is scrawled in a golden embossing: Sleeping Beauty.]
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So you're... a character from fiction, or something like that?
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[She grimaces.]
I don't know how it works for anyone else, but for people like me, we can live as many times as our stories have been told. If I die, I start over.
I just didn't realize it until...well. Until that very time. Cinderella told me.
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That... sounds useful, but also extremely unpleasant.
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And it also means I don't get to go back and finish anything I started. And lately, each time I wake up, the worse my story gets.
[She points to the briars wound at her gut. Emerging from her gut.]
These aren't supposed to be here at all. And they weren't half so bad last time.
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[Also...]
You're going to make someone very happy someday.
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[but at the second comment, he gives a sheepish grin.]
I certainly hope so. Thank you, Princess.