Fractured Fairy Tales

by Catherine Stovall

  Now, though, I have no choice. I am bound by the owl’s body during daylight and my human form by night. That’s not so bad, you say. It’s not much different to what I had before, Wrong! Not having control over one’s body is the worst curse you could wish upon a person. Imagine being trapped inside your own mind, unable to speak for the rest of your daylight hours. It is a horrible burden to bear, and one which I intend to break. Just as soon as I figure out how.

  Not only did Joringel and his love bind me to my feathered counterpart while the sun is in the sky, they also took away my beloved nightingales. The ones I had spent years in waiting to collect.

  Every person in this land knew of the consequences for the maidens who strayed too close to my castle at twilight, and yet they still came. Lured here by the beauty of my gardens, they became trapped in the form of a nightingale by the powers of my song. They were my pride and joy, my pets, my companions—and they took them from me. You may think that I deserve to be bound to my owl shape, but I do not. The maidens that wandered in knew what would happen, they had warning. I did not.

  Now, I have nothing. Loneliness is riddled throughout me, my life destroyed by the last nightingale, Jorinda, and her saviour. But never mind, they will pay dearly for their actions. No one curses the most powerful witch in all the land without paying the consequences.

    

  It’s twilight on my seven-hundred and thirtieth day trapped in the feathered body. I sit upon my regular branch overlooking the flower garden that has ensnared so many maidens over the years. I hear rustling below, and dive from my perch to take a closer look at the person who dared encroach upon my territory.

  Two years ago, this never would have happened. Any man who dared to meander into my garden would have been paralysed by the curse I had placed upon the land. Now, though, they walk about freely as if they own the place. It is despicable to say the least.

  The tall man’s eyes meet with mine as he looks around at the sound of my screeching, and he appears as lonely as I feel.

  “Hello there,” he says gently, tilting his head to one side. “Are you hurt?”

  His piercing blue eyes gaze at me in concern, like he expects an answer. I am about to start screeching again, when I feel the familiar burn within my body that means the transformation back to human is beginning. I stare into the mysterious young man’s eyes for a moment longer before shaking my head slightly and flying away to transform in peace.

  I struggle to get back to the castle, the change back to human taking over and becoming uncontrollable. My heart pounds as I bank right, feeling the rush of air over my wings. Shadows move under me, food rustles through the grass and my stomach gives a lurch, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today. That isn’t important now; I just need to get…

  I jerk my gaze up and scan the tower. There is a ledge not too far away, if only I can reach it. But the weight of my body holds me down. A call wrenches from my mouth, cleaving through the night. It is a call of both desire and defeat.

  The ledge is nearing with each beat of my wings. The cold air rushes through the grey, downy plumes against my body as I surge forward faster. My claws are ready, extended wide, my nails ready to grip what I can. The surface slides under my grip. I pierce the wood as my body shudders. My nails slip, the claws no longer enough to hold me. Long fingers replace my pointed talons as I hold on for dear life.

  The thin ledge is a cold comfort. I wrap my legs around the surface and shudder. Feathers turn back to flesh. My skin, not made for this cold, puckers. I push myself up and slide from the window. My bare feet hit the cold marble floor, soft pads echo in my wake as I move through my bedroom and head for the hallway.

  The glow of the corridor is weak, but enough for me to step across the threshold until I stop. Bare… I am bare. I spin back and race for the bed. In the dark, my robe is a splash of blood against the white feathered quilt. I grab it, shiver and slide my arms through. I head back toward the hall, but decide upon returning to the open window I had so recently clambered through. The pull within me to see the young man’s face once more, taking over.

  The arched window faces the east of the Kingdom below me and frames the amazing sight. Picture perfect, I think as I look below. I’m surprised that the man is still wandering among my roses. Usually, though the curse is broken, they still don’t stay long. There are rumours about the Kingdom, of the castle being haunted. Which I, in fact, don’t mind in the slightest. I don’t like to be interrupted, so I encourage the whispers among the people.

  This man though, he doesn’t appear to be weary at all. Curious, I peer down at him from my tower, and notice that he is picking my flowers. Rage boils inside me. This is my garden, my flowers, my life. All that is left of my life. I sigh as the rage dissipates into longing and sadness, and place my elbows upon the window ledge to watch for awhile longer.

  “My love, my love she went away,

  I tried though I could not make her stay.

  My love, my love took all of me,

  And in the dark stole my heart.

  My love, my love she went away,

  I tried though I could not make her stay.”

  The young man’s musical voice is astounding as he sings of lost loves, and I wonder then, what loving someone feels like. I had loved my nightingales before they were stolen away from me, but it was a different kind of love. I have never loved a human. I have never even liked humans. This human though, seems different.

  He turned then, his gaze meeting mine peering down from the window. I draw in a sharp breath and turn to run. The tower, in which my bedroom resides, is littered with thousands of wicker-work baskets, and as I run, I stagger into them in my haste. The first sets off a chain reaction of falling wicker baskets, and I fumbled to get through them.

  The stairs that spiral down the side of the tower and lead into the main castle are steep, and I take them two at a time. I feel more like my owl self now, as I soar with my arms outstretched, my fingertips gliding along the banisters.

  I come out in the large kitchen, the brickwork untouched since the day my mother had commissioned this castle built. I push the memories of my mother to the back of my mind. She was a cruel lady, crueller even than I am. I do not wish to remember her right now.

  I find my escape in the rear garden, but I am not alone for long.

  “Excuse me,” says the man. “I’m sorry if I scared you. It wasn’t my intent. Is this your castle?” he asks like he doesn’t know who I am.

  “You very well know that it is, and if you had heeded the warnings from the Kingdom, you would know not to be here.” I say the words with as much malice as possible in an attempt to be rid of him.

  “Warnings? I know of no warnings. I am new to the kingdom. I was passing through, and I saw your garden. I was unable to continue without stopping to smell your roses. They are remarkable.”

  “I…” I don’t know what to say. I have never in my life been paid a compliment, and I’m not sure how to react.

  “You…? Are you alright?” he asks tenderly, his hand outstretched as if to touch my arm. I move back two steps out of his way. No one is allowed to touch me.

  “I’m fine,” I snap, unable to find any other words. I am infuriated at myself for allowing a mere human to render me speechless. I straighten out and glare, projecting my anger towards him.

  “My name is Alexander Shiltz. It is a definite pleasure to make your acquaintance…?” his introduction ends with a question. He wants to know my name.

  I search my mind for a minute before answering him. It has been such a long time since any person has uttered my name that I have almost forgotten it myself. “ Abrielle,” I say quietly.

  “Do you have a surname, Abrielle?” he asks, though I am shaking my head before he finishes his question.

  “No. I was never gifted with one.” Alexander looks at me with curiosity in his eyes, but I know without a doubt that he will not ask the question he so desires.

  “For yo
u,” he says as he offers me the small bunch of roses he picked from my garden earlier. I take them without thanks and turn on my heel to enter my castle, and be left in peace.

  I watch from the tower once more as Alexander makes his way through the dense forest that surrounds my home. He is gone. My rage flares once again as I remember his low voice, the stubble on his face, his wavy brunette hair. Everything about the man now infuriates me. How dare he render me speechless? How dare he ask my name? My name! He asked the greatest witch in history for her name, like I was some commoner. I am disgusted with myself for allowing it. Two years of solitude has made me soft.

  “Damn you, Joringel! Damn you to Hell!” I scream at the top of my lungs out the arched window, and hear birds ruffling their feathers in the distance. “Tomorrow, when the sun goes down, I will hunt you, I will find you, and you will tell me how to break this curse, or you will die.” I finish quietly, my head still reeling from the outburst of anger.

    

  Twilight, again. This time, though, I see no sign of Alexander ferreting around my garden. I dive down to the grassy land below me, and await the transformation. I am ready for it this time, and the burn that resonates through me matches the fiery anger that resides within me. I snatch my robe from a low hanging branch and fasten it around my waist. The shoes that have not adorned my feet for two years, now sit at the base of the tree, and as I pull them on, I squint at the unfamiliar feel of the boots.

  My legs carry me through the forest faster than possible; the human fear of running into obstacles does not apply to me. I am one with the forest; it is part of my witch heritage. I close my eyes and allow my body to take over as I glide through the dense trees. The wind on my face is like a breath of fresh air, and I relish in the crunch of leaves underfoot.

  Before long, I am in the marketplace. It is abuzz with life, night time vendors call out, trying to make a living from selling their stock and goods.

  “You!” I say, pointing at the burly man at the first stall. “Where will I find Joringel?” I demand to know.

  “I…I don’t know. Can I interest you in some chickens though, ma’am?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

  “Chickens? Chickens! No you cannot interest me in your damn chickens!” My hand is suddenly around his throat, and he is gasping for air. I release him, finger by finger, my nostrils flaring at the audacity of him.

  “Fine!” I spit, “If you will not tell me, I will find someone who will.” The chicken vendor says nothing, but shrinks down under my gaze. He knows nothing.

  Five stalls later, I have as much information as I entered with, and I am beginning to lose patience with the daft townsfolk. The next vendor is selling bread of all sorts. The delicious smell fills my nose, and I wish I had time to stop and eat.

  “Do you know Joringel?” I ask softly. My voice is lower now, but still holds the same amount of malice.

  “Yes. He’s a frequent customer. Why? What do you want with the boy?” the baker asks wearily.

  “It’s a personal matter. I’d appreciate if you point me in the right direction.” I’m nicer now. I finally have what I want, there is nothing stopping me at this point.

  “He lives on the other side of town. Small brick house, flowers out front. It’s hard to miss.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I leave the stall, a smile plastered to my face.

    

  “Welcome, Abrielle. Please come in.” Jorinda is more than accommodating. I wonder if she would be still, if she knew who I really was.

  “Thank you. I have walked a long way tonight, my body is weak.” Though I’m not weak at all, quite the opposite actually, I feel like I am buzzing with life. Joringel is not home, so there is only one thing to do while I wait.

  “So, Jorinda,” I start, the young girl’s soft, pale face looks up to me, glowing with the light of the fire. “How long have you and Joringel known each other?”

  “Forever. Our parents were acquainted long before Joringel and I were born.” Her voice is sickly sweet, and I want to empty the contents of my stomach all over the rug under our feet at the sound of it.

  “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.

    

  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.

    

  “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.