fairy tale 100;
058. The Girl who Does Not Know Herself
When she’s born, they tell her she’s a princess. When she’s four, they tell her she’s loved. When she’s six, they tell her she’s an Ace, and when she’s eight they tell her she’s grown up enough to actually be that.
When she’s eleven, Leigh shakes her head slightly and tells her different. She’s brown hair, usually tied up. Blue eyes, often slightly wide in anticipation. Average height. Slightly nervous shoulders that twitch when she’s thinking too hard. A slow, methodical pace of movement, most beautiful in bursts of exuberant speed.
When she’s fifteen, she tells them she’s a Two.
074. Building castles in the air
She’s too tall to be carried on shoulders or backs or even on hips particularly far. Too old to be all right with being spoken down to the way people almost always do with children. Was never actually young enough to believe fully in fairy tales.
But Elani stops their lessons, now and then, makes her close her eyes and just spin until the Clubs Castle fades into nothingness. Throw herself into a movement until she’s dizzy and reeling and willing to open up her lips and heart in a silent desperate wish that no genie will make come true.
081. Cards fall from the sleeve of the preacher
The boy’s sixteen and smiling, entirely unassuming when he holds out the stuffed bear he’s won to his Suit’s young Ace. He tells her it’s nice when she’s smiling. Eileen’s grin isn’t overly bright, but it sticks on her lips as she thanks him and turns back toward the castle.
Julien shifts from the shadows of a tent and sets an oddly tight hand on her shoulder, doesn’t smile at all when she shows him the cheap carnival prize. His fingers brush a little hard over her hair, only soften when she admits she doesn’t even know the boy’s name.
061. The practical girl
Eileen was never taught to properly use her imagination. That makes it no less overactive.
She lies awake at night and watches the shadows play across her wall. They make no boogeymen or monsters, no demons or faeries. She peers into them and sees men with knives. They shift to form the ugly twisted metal of a car she didn’t see, the pool of blood they cleaned off the floor of the Spades Castle, the limping horse that returned from the Outposts with no rider.
Her own mortality keeps her awake, listening to the sound of her mother’s rasping cough.
022. The dance among thorns
She doesn't come every week. Remembers better on the days she sits in on Mr Dewitt's English class, gets dragged along by the other students to the dance studio.
When she does come regularly, it’s every day, once the classes have dispersed and the studio is empty. He never asks what’s got her brow so furrowed and cloudy, even on the rare raw days when tears are prickling in the corners of her eyes. Maybe that’s why she comes here. No questions, just the soothing pulse of a rhythm and the ability to forget her own life for a while.
010. The Princess in the Shroud
Edgar is dead. He is survived by his loving wife and only child. The Clubs mourn him, have nothing but sympathy for his family.
Andrew is dead. He is survived by his grieving widow and adopted daughter. The Clubs rally for him, hold an execution at the feet of his wife and child.
Lancelot is presumed dead. He is survived by a child-Ace to whom he had been like a father. The Clubs laud him, tell the girl he would be so proud of her now.
Eileen is not dead. She is buried alive under the weight of their memories.
When she’s born, they tell her she’s a princess. When she’s four, they tell her she’s loved. When she’s six, they tell her she’s an Ace, and when she’s eight they tell her she’s grown up enough to actually be that.
When she’s eleven, Leigh shakes her head slightly and tells her different. She’s brown hair, usually tied up. Blue eyes, often slightly wide in anticipation. Average height. Slightly nervous shoulders that twitch when she’s thinking too hard. A slow, methodical pace of movement, most beautiful in bursts of exuberant speed.
When she’s fifteen, she tells them she’s a Two.
074. Building castles in the air
She’s too tall to be carried on shoulders or backs or even on hips particularly far. Too old to be all right with being spoken down to the way people almost always do with children. Was never actually young enough to believe fully in fairy tales.
But Elani stops their lessons, now and then, makes her close her eyes and just spin until the Clubs Castle fades into nothingness. Throw herself into a movement until she’s dizzy and reeling and willing to open up her lips and heart in a silent desperate wish that no genie will make come true.
081. Cards fall from the sleeve of the preacher
The boy’s sixteen and smiling, entirely unassuming when he holds out the stuffed bear he’s won to his Suit’s young Ace. He tells her it’s nice when she’s smiling. Eileen’s grin isn’t overly bright, but it sticks on her lips as she thanks him and turns back toward the castle.
Julien shifts from the shadows of a tent and sets an oddly tight hand on her shoulder, doesn’t smile at all when she shows him the cheap carnival prize. His fingers brush a little hard over her hair, only soften when she admits she doesn’t even know the boy’s name.
061. The practical girl
Eileen was never taught to properly use her imagination. That makes it no less overactive.
She lies awake at night and watches the shadows play across her wall. They make no boogeymen or monsters, no demons or faeries. She peers into them and sees men with knives. They shift to form the ugly twisted metal of a car she didn’t see, the pool of blood they cleaned off the floor of the Spades Castle, the limping horse that returned from the Outposts with no rider.
Her own mortality keeps her awake, listening to the sound of her mother’s rasping cough.
022. The dance among thorns
She doesn't come every week. Remembers better on the days she sits in on Mr Dewitt's English class, gets dragged along by the other students to the dance studio.
When she does come regularly, it’s every day, once the classes have dispersed and the studio is empty. He never asks what’s got her brow so furrowed and cloudy, even on the rare raw days when tears are prickling in the corners of her eyes. Maybe that’s why she comes here. No questions, just the soothing pulse of a rhythm and the ability to forget her own life for a while.
010. The Princess in the Shroud
Edgar is dead. He is survived by his loving wife and only child. The Clubs mourn him, have nothing but sympathy for his family.
Andrew is dead. He is survived by his grieving widow and adopted daughter. The Clubs rally for him, hold an execution at the feet of his wife and child.
Lancelot is presumed dead. He is survived by a child-Ace to whom he had been like a father. The Clubs laud him, tell the girl he would be so proud of her now.
Eileen is not dead. She is buried alive under the weight of their memories.