Distorted Fates

by R. L. Weeks

  “I know. I read it. We found it in your satchel.”

  “Well, that’s all the story I have heard.”

  “Good.” He paused. “It’s not all true, though, but that book does paint us in a better light than we were.” He leaned forward, his gaze on mine. “Before we get into that, I think you’re holding back. You have a lot of questions, why don’t we start with why you're really here.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. I was hoping that we could answer that last. “I remember some things. I’m not sure if they’re real. If they are, then I’m not a very good person.”

  “It’s Alexandre. He turned you into who you are today.”

  I searched my memories for my family, but they didn’t seem real. It was as if I was watching someone else’s life. “Where am I really from?”

  He stood up slowly, walked over to the bed, and sat on the side next to me. He took my hands in his. “Isabella. I am so sorry for what has happened to you. To have your life stolen from you like that.”

  I felt the color drain from my face. “I don’t even know what’s real anymore,” I admitted. My voice was cracked, and I no longer sounded strong. “I have all these different memories and so many of them are fuzzy.”

  “You have been under the influence of Alexandre for the longest time.”

  “What do you-”

  “He has the power to influence people’s minds. To make them see what he wants them to see. Your mind, my love, was his playground.”

  I felt sick. “How long?”

  “Years.”

  “No. That’s not possible.” I remembered going into the forest numerous times. Being at home. Being at the market stalls. Those memories were fuzzy now, but they were still there. “I had a life.”

  “A life he created for you,” Clarence said.

  There was a sadness in his tone that made me want to cry. He was telling the truth. “What about my family.”

  “None of that happened. Of what you remember.” He stroked my hand softly. As if I would break at any moment. “You need to find the line between what’s real and not real. I want to help you.”

  “How do I tell?” I asked.

  “The real memories were ones that had happened while you were awake. It probably felt like you were dreaming. But you weren’t. You had just temporarily been released from his mind-prison before you were thrown back into it.

  Sweat covered me. I pushed back my blankets. “My nightmares. The king. The one with the ice crown and green eyes. He was torturing me.”

  “Shh.” He lulled. “This will all be a huge shock to your body. I’m surprised you’ve been this okay so far. Waiting for his influence to wear off from you has been arduous. But we all waited for you.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand to stop the scream frozen in my throat from escaping. How could I process any of that?

  He continued but spoke slowly. He looked at me like you would a dying puppy. It was heartbreaking to be on the receiving end of it. “Isabella,” he said softly. “Alexandre has had you at his castle since you were sixteen. You and I were betrothed since we were young.” He paused. “Your real memories will come back to you soon, I’m sure of it.”

  I didn’t know what to say, to any of it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You weren’t in a state to listen.”

  We both sat in silence for a few minutes while I processed everything. I reached out in my brain for any shreds of what could have happened. I wanted to remember everything.

  I looked at Clarence. “How long was I captured there? How old am I?”

  “You’re twenty. Just turned twenty, actually.”

  I snapped. Every emotion flooded through me all at once. “Why would he do that? How do I not remember? What the hell is happening? Where is home? Tell me! Tell me everything!”

  He looked lost. He shouted for the guards outside the door. They rushed in and held me down as I flailed and kicked. Clarence nodded at them, signaling for them to push the huge syringe into my neck. Heartbreak mirrored on his expression to mine as I fell into a deep slumber.

  Chapter Five

  One Week Later

  I wish I had known sooner. Clarence was trying to save me.

  The last week was agony. Sorting through every memory and determining what was real and what wasn’t. Pieces of my life before Alexandre came back, but Clarence said it would take some time to remember everything.

  Alexandre had not only taken over my mind; he had also unhinged it.

  Alexandre was keeping me captive in his kingdom. My life in my small town with my parents wasn’t real. It was a dream-state that the eldest prince had kept me in since I was fifteen. My brain, trying to make me remember, had concocted a tale of the three princes to push me to see what was really happening.

  I was never one of Clarence’s things, his beauties. I was Alexandre’s.

  Now that Alexandre’s spell had finally been lifted from my mind, I could see things more clearly.

  Clarence was worried my memories would never return. I didn’t even care anymore. All I cared about was revenge on that sadistic, evil fuck – Alexandre. He had taken all those years from me and made me forget the ones I loved. I just wish I knew why. Clarence was hesitant on telling me. He didn’t think I could handle the truth, but one way or another, I would find out.

  I looked at the teacup, shattered on the table, and sobbed. I had done that. Alexandre had made me destroy it and made me think Clarence did it. In fact, he made me think Clarence had done a lot of things that he hadn’t. The spell on me had slowly deteriorated when Clarence brought me back to his castle after finding me in the forest. After I had stolen the rose on Alexandre’s orders.

  Only, someone had stolen it back from me and hurt me in the process. It was a good thing Clarence found me, or I would be dead.

  A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts – distractions were welcome. It was hell inside there. “Come in.”

  The Asian lady, who I found out was called Vienna. She was so strong. She never showed weakness. I admired that about her. But today, she looked different. Sad.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Isabella, but we have just got word back from the castle.” She told me, referring to Alexandre’s castle. “Clarence is dead.”

  Those three words sliced through me like a knife. Dead? He couldn’t be dead? He was powerful. Smart. Most importantly, he loved me, and I never got a chance to love him back.

  “He can’t be. It’s a trick, from Alexandre.”

  She shook her head. “It’s horrible.” She said, close to tears. “They sent him back to us to prove a point.”

  I froze. “He’s here?”

  A tear slid down her porcelain-like cheek. “They sent back his head.”

  My hand shot up to my mouth. Bile rose in my throat.

  My gaze darkened. “Did Alexandre kill him?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and…”

  “Tell me!”

  “He sent a letter with it.”

  I let the rage build up in me. “Give it to me.”

  There were two letters. One from Alexandre, and one delivered after, from Clarence. Sent before he was killed.

  I read Alexandre’s first.

  Isabella,

  Now that your prince is dead, come and play in my castle. If not, I’ll come to you. You have two days.

  A

  That sick son of a…

  Vienna pulled the letter from my hands. “Ignore him!” She told me coldly. “We will fight. He won’t take you.”

  “Maybe I want him to,” I said through my teeth. “I want nothing more than to see that bastard in the flesh and make him pay for what he did to me and to Clarence!”

  “Don’t be hasty. Anger will cloud your judgement and you’ll be able to be influenced by him again. You don’t want that do you?”

  I shuddered. “No.”

  She handed me Clarence’s letter. “I’ll let you read this one alone.”

  I w
aited for her to leave the room before opening the scroll. My heart dropped as I read the first line.

  Dearest Isabella,

  By the time this reaches you, I will be dead.

  I am sorry I couldn’t do more. When I reached the kingdom, I was captured while staying in a village inn. They had been waiting for me to leave. It is far worse here than I thought. It’s only through those who were kind to me before I fled that I could write you this letter at all. There are good people left at this castle, but it’s hard to separate the good from the bad.

  Alexandre will do anything for power, for money, for loyalty from his subjects but he does not realize that he will never get that by force. But he has a secret. That secret, my sweet Isabella, has always been you. Your whole life you have believed that you grew up with your father in the kingdom, but it was all a lie that Alexandre made you believe you had. None of it was true. You, Isabella, are the daughter of King Charles from the Kingdom of Snow. We were meant to marry, but Alexandre never wanted that. Your father would have never let you marry Alexandre.

  So, he took you from me as soon as he was king. That’s when I fled. I grew up in this castle, alone, until you showed up and stole the rose from me. I know now it was him who was making you do it. I realized it when you were begging me to let you go when you had no idea that you had stolen it in the first place.

  When I fled, he knew the only person who could get to me was you. I created an army with the dead to keep myself safe. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, but it was the only way to protect myself and the rose. I had tried to get you out of there so many times, but he has powers far greater than mine.

  He wanted you, Isabella. More than he ever wanted anyone. You were mine, but you were also the desire of both my brothers. Alexandre never let you go. He hated you for choosing me. He still does.

  Please, take care of my lost souls and use them. Find the rose. Take down Alexandre once and for all and live out the rest of your life in peace. Go back to your kingdom, find your family, and be the queen I always knew you could be.

  I know this must all be confusing for you. I hope Vienna and the others will take care of you. Stick by their sides, my love, no matter what you hear.

  I am sorry that we couldn’t spend more time together free of Alexandre’s influence, but you must know that I loved you, Isabella. From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one.

  In another life, we will be together, I hope.

  Always, C

  My heart hurt. For once, I was glad I couldn’t remember Clarence before Alexandre locked me away. Remembering all those feelings would hurt too much. It already did, without all of that.

  He thought I could fight. He wasn’t wrong. I would fight. I wanted my life back. I wanted to make Alexandre pay for all he did, and I wanted to bring Clarence back.

  If I could just find that rose, then I could do that. Like he had done to so many others.

  I looked in the mirror at the horrid scars covering my arms and legs from my time being locked away. That’s when I knew. Clarence was never the beast because I was. He was the beauty that fell in love with me.

  With no prince charming to save me, I had to be the one to save him.

  With nothing but an army of clocks and candlesticks, several guards, and a hoard of women who I had found out that Clarence had saved from Alexandre’s trafficking ring, we could take them down.

  Both brothers, Alexandre and Bastien. One could kill with one touch. The other could make you go mad.

  But a hurricane was coming, and her name was Isabella.

  The End

  This short story is part of a full-length novel titled Kingdom of the Lost releasing in 2019. If you’re interested in finding out more, you can sign up to Rebecca’s monthly newsletter to receive updates.

  http://bit.ly/RLWeeksNewsletter

  Malia’s Curse

  By Amy Cecil

  Malia’s Curse

  By Amy Cecil

  Maleficent (adjective):

  working or productive of harm or evil

  Part I

  “You know what, Malia?” Carter Jones says to me as I walk to the bus. I try to do what Mom says and ignore her, but then she grabs my arm and says, “Look, girl, when I’m talking to you, you listen.”

  I have no choice but to stop walking as she is holding my arm so tight. Carter is a year older than me and, frankly, my worst nightmare. For some reason, she believes I am inferior to her and makes it known just about every day. And some days, more than once.

  “What now, Carter?”

  She glares at me. “Don’t take that tone with me, girl. It will not end well for you.”

  I have no choice. If I want her to go away, I must at least humor her. I hate it because I am submitting to her bullying tactics, but really, what else can I do? “I’m sorry, Carter. You were saying?” I smile at her, hoping to soften the blow of her harsh words.

  “You’re ugly, Malia. And just because you got special privileges to attend this school, you don’t belong.” She looks around to her posse of friends who have joined in. Laughing, she says, “I mean really, look at your clothes. Did you get them from the secondhand shop?”

  All the girls who have gathered begin laughing as tears well in my eyes. I fight with everything in me to hold them back. The last thing I want to do is show her she has succeeded in making me cry. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Carter, that I am so offensive to you.” I pause. “May I please get on the bus now?”

  She releases my arm. “Get outta my sight. You’re disgusting.”

  I hurry toward the bus, and once I am safely inside, my tears begin to flow. Every freaking day it’s like this. I have no idea what I have done—except exist—that bothers her and her friends so much. I move to the back of the bus and take a seat. There are only a few other kids on the bus, none of whom are my friends. Luckily they leave me alone.

  I watch out the window as Carter and her friends, Shanna, Cady, and Kristen, also known as The Mean Girls, are all standing around, still laughing. I hate this school.

  The bus finally pulls out, and I am thankful I don’t have to deal with them until tomorrow. At least I will have a few hours of peace—that is if I stay off Facebook and Instagram.

  My stop is the last one. I don’t live in the school zone limits but on the outskirts. I should be attending the public school in my town, but mom wanted more for me. She works for the State Board of Education and was able to pull some strings to allow me to attend the Wilton Academy for Girls. It’s a private school, and some girls live there. Part of the agreement was that I could not take residence there and would have to be bused to and from school. That is perfectly fine with me. I can’t even imagine what my life would be like if I actually lived in the dorms at school.

  When the bus pulls toward the front of my house, I gather my things and make my way to the front. As I step out, the bus driver stops me and says, “Malia, I heard what those girls said to you. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t believe what they say.”

  I totally could not believe what I was hearing. This woman, although I believe her intentions are good, has no idea what she has just done. No longer able to hold my tongue, I snap back. “Thank you, Doris. I truly appreciate your kind words. However, if you were any kind of grown-up, you would have stepped in and stopped Carter in the first place.” I don’t give her a chance to respond and turn and step down off the bus.

  Nothing makes me madder than someone who enables bad behavior.

  I walk along the sidewalk and rush into the house. My mom is in the kitchen making dinner. It’s just Mom and me. I lost my father when I was twelve, five years ago. He had cancer for a few years until he lost his battle. It’s been hard without him, but Mom tries her best to make up for it. I tell her all the time she doesn’t have to overcompensate, but sometimes she still does.

  “Hey, Mom!” I drop my backpack onto the kitchen table.

  She turns back toward me and says, “Malia, you’ve been cr
ying. What’s happened?”

  “Carter Jones, that’s what’s happened.”

  “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I really thought that when I spoke with your headmistress this would stop.”

  “Yeah, me too. But it only lasted a day.”

  “You never said anything about it still happening.”

  “It’s my problem, Mom. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Malia Centura, you listen to me right now. It’s not your problem. It’s our problem. Do you think I want some uppity, stuck-up rich girl messing with my baby? You’re all I got, and I won’t stand for it.”

  “Mom, I know that, but nothing you do will change anything. It is what it is. I just have to deal with it.”

  “What if I talk to Carter and her parents?”

  “Oh God, Mom, please don’t. You’ll make it all worse.”

  “But, Malia, it might help.”

  “No, no, no. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Well, if you think so.” She goes back to the stove and stirs the pot she has there and then turns back to me and says, “You know, this will only make you a stronger adult. Friends are overrated, sweetheart. You are learning to be more independent by doing things on your own.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I guess you are right.” Why is every adult in my life so clueless? Don’t they understand I want nothing more than those girls to be my friends? Don’t they know I would give anything if they invited me to hang out with them or have lunch with them? Just because I am not from their inner social circle or their town even, I’m marked as different. But other than the bullying, we are not so very different. We all want the same things. Every girl my age wants to be liked, to have friends to do things with, and to be part of the “in” crowd. Oh well, it will never change.

  I grab my backpack and turn to leave the kitchen. “I’ll be down in ten to help with dinner,” I call back to my mom.