"Fairy Tales," Forever Knight, PG
I intended to write more SG1/HL. Er, no. Have some more of the Nightcrawler's comments. I'll put this up with the other Lares & Penates pieces tomorrow here.
Fairy Tales
Once upon a time.
That is how the stories start, is it not? Once, as if it only happened there, never here. Never real, gentle listener. Upon a time -- which time, I wonder? And 'upon'? Did the event sit on time? Was it a soft seat? Was the event light as a feather, gentle as snow falling on skin? Or crushing as a fourteen year old boy feels the burden of a family to feed and support, now that they've buried his father?
Once upon a time. That is the whisper by the light of the candle, by the gleam of the hearth, in the veil of the dark. Once upon a time, as if the dangers are only in stories, as if it is only the stepmothers who are wicked -- who do you think tells these stories? -- as if only in the woods are there witches, only on the beanstalk are there giants. Are there no wolves in playgrounds, no fairy godmothers ready with curses in the grocery stores?
Once.
Upon.
A time.
And there, children, there you have it, there is the crux of the matter: Only once in time. And so clearly, not this time, and therefore, not this place, and therefore and most importantly, not to you.
Oh, no, not to you. Not meant as warning to you, lesson to you, advice for you.
Never worry what the woman who cleans your entire house might find or know, nor how strong her hands and arms have become while wringing your mop, scrubbing your floors. Try to forget that she is the one who returns all your belongings to their just-ordered places, who watches your accounts paid and your jewelry hidden away from thieves...
Never question the woman or man who takes a child into the woods, or the hills, or the coasts, and returns empty-handed. Never question the grandmother or traveling salesman with the sharp teeth and sharper smile...
Never mistrust the woman who found you lost and starving and wants only to feed you more, and more, and then provide you a nice, soft place to sleep with a door that latches from her side...
Your mothers meant you to believe that easy bargains for gold from straw have no hidden costs.
That a third son will win the princess, and never mind what that says for the chances of the first, second, and fourth sons, nor how he felt about burying his brothers... or what you'll feel.
No, children. Clearly, obviously, these are the safest words in the world, are they not?
Once.
Upon.
A time.
Oh, yes. So very, very safe. Everyone knows the start of those stories. But can any of you tell me where those stories must end? What words wash you up on the shore again, safe, and sound, and sane?
No.
I thought not. Another night, perhaps. Or once upon a time.
Good night, gentle listener. Sleep tight.
Don't let any... thing bite.
Fairy Tales
Once upon a time.
That is how the stories start, is it not? Once, as if it only happened there, never here. Never real, gentle listener. Upon a time -- which time, I wonder? And 'upon'? Did the event sit on time? Was it a soft seat? Was the event light as a feather, gentle as snow falling on skin? Or crushing as a fourteen year old boy feels the burden of a family to feed and support, now that they've buried his father?
Once upon a time. That is the whisper by the light of the candle, by the gleam of the hearth, in the veil of the dark. Once upon a time, as if the dangers are only in stories, as if it is only the stepmothers who are wicked -- who do you think tells these stories? -- as if only in the woods are there witches, only on the beanstalk are there giants. Are there no wolves in playgrounds, no fairy godmothers ready with curses in the grocery stores?
Once.
Upon.
A time.
And there, children, there you have it, there is the crux of the matter: Only once in time. And so clearly, not this time, and therefore, not this place, and therefore and most importantly, not to you.
Oh, no, not to you. Not meant as warning to you, lesson to you, advice for you.
Never worry what the woman who cleans your entire house might find or know, nor how strong her hands and arms have become while wringing your mop, scrubbing your floors. Try to forget that she is the one who returns all your belongings to their just-ordered places, who watches your accounts paid and your jewelry hidden away from thieves...
Never question the woman or man who takes a child into the woods, or the hills, or the coasts, and returns empty-handed. Never question the grandmother or traveling salesman with the sharp teeth and sharper smile...
Never mistrust the woman who found you lost and starving and wants only to feed you more, and more, and then provide you a nice, soft place to sleep with a door that latches from her side...
Your mothers meant you to believe that easy bargains for gold from straw have no hidden costs.
That a third son will win the princess, and never mind what that says for the chances of the first, second, and fourth sons, nor how he felt about burying his brothers... or what you'll feel.
No, children. Clearly, obviously, these are the safest words in the world, are they not?
Once.
Upon.
A time.
Oh, yes. So very, very safe. Everyone knows the start of those stories. But can any of you tell me where those stories must end? What words wash you up on the shore again, safe, and sound, and sane?
No.
I thought not. Another night, perhaps. Or once upon a time.
Good night, gentle listener. Sleep tight.
Don't let any... thing bite.