Soon to be titled (Fairytale, 23/03/2005, Finished)
She knew; the queen knew all. Knew when the girl snuck from her bed to join him in the crystal cave where summer never invaded and snow drifted despite the warmth. And he knew the queen knew what they did by night - never dirty but always innocent, the soft memories of child-like innocence once lost - and he also knew she did nothing about it.
Her words lingered in his heart by night, lingered in his mind by day, haunting, tormenting, and always there. If she was free from the words, trapped in a fog, then he was cursed by them, bound to them in bright sunlight and whimsical moonlight.
“You know the story. You know it. The mind represses, but the soul never forgets.”
And so the night began again, the same sayings whispered over and over, she with the eyes of sky destined to never remember the words: somewhere, inside, she knew she must repress them, for fear of something more coming to pass.
“But I don’t remember. Please, just tell it to me once more. I swear I’ll remember this time.”
The same words, echoed over and over; she said them by rote, hardly paying attention, but struggling to find the source of the repression - to know why, why she kept the story in the darkest part of her mind.
He watched her struggle, and knew - knew that she did as always, protecting him from the queen who had once stolen him away. Never to find the love she had so desperately craved, the queen went forth and took for her own what she loved had at her own disposal.
“You always say that. But you always forget. You should go.” He paused, the first time the night was broken by unfamiliarity and it startled her, mouth open as she struggled to form a reply. He filled the silence for her. “What is the queen to you, now?”
The events of the day past, and the days before that, stretching back since she could remember (for it was all she could remember) were easy to recall, made impossible by marks and memory to forget. And even as she basked in the pictures brought forth by his question, she stilled, heart and mind, knowing, knowing he would never understand.
To tell him would be a sin, a sin almost as bad as the one done to her.
The words, whispered in her mind, echoing between other thoughts, drew a frown to her face, marking the features that never changed in that frozen world. And he seized on that.
“You remember,” he breathed. “You remember the past!” He should have guessed, even before, that a break from the norm would have shaken her, broken the hold of the lock on her memory and mind. Maybe - he hardly dared think the thought, hope the hope - he could free her, from the icy prison where heat lingered in the halls the same as an unnatural icy light did.
“No, no.” She shook her head, even as the echo of her words brought forth knowledge: knowledge of a past that should have stayed locked away locked deep in the mind of the girl who should not have even known it.
But even as she protested, he reached forth to grab her, arms slender and fragile beneath his wizened hands, hands of a man who should not be as old as his face said he was. The shake he gave her rattled her bones and he could feel the give beneath his own. Knowledge was a heady drug and this even more intoxicating than most: if he wished it, he could easily snap her in two.
As the thought ran through him, stilling his blood in his veins, she looked at him, wide-eyed with fear, a fear he knew she didn’t feel for the queen who kept her abed, and shame washed over him, as quickly as the thought had.
This time, when she spoke, her words were the ones he should have spoken:
“I must go. The queen will be stirring shortly. She would be angry.” Her words were whispered, for they were not the truth, and she fled from them, and the cave, and the boy who awakened memories she cared to not remember: the queen knew and did nothing to stop her. And the pain she would receive in the bed would be enough to punish her, and the release from the pain would be enough to tie her to the queen in ways bonds never could.
Her words lingered in his heart by night, lingered in his mind by day, haunting, tormenting, and always there. If she was free from the words, trapped in a fog, then he was cursed by them, bound to them in bright sunlight and whimsical moonlight.
“You know the story. You know it. The mind represses, but the soul never forgets.”
And so the night began again, the same sayings whispered over and over, she with the eyes of sky destined to never remember the words: somewhere, inside, she knew she must repress them, for fear of something more coming to pass.
“But I don’t remember. Please, just tell it to me once more. I swear I’ll remember this time.”
The same words, echoed over and over; she said them by rote, hardly paying attention, but struggling to find the source of the repression - to know why, why she kept the story in the darkest part of her mind.
He watched her struggle, and knew - knew that she did as always, protecting him from the queen who had once stolen him away. Never to find the love she had so desperately craved, the queen went forth and took for her own what she loved had at her own disposal.
“You always say that. But you always forget. You should go.” He paused, the first time the night was broken by unfamiliarity and it startled her, mouth open as she struggled to form a reply. He filled the silence for her. “What is the queen to you, now?”
The events of the day past, and the days before that, stretching back since she could remember (for it was all she could remember) were easy to recall, made impossible by marks and memory to forget. And even as she basked in the pictures brought forth by his question, she stilled, heart and mind, knowing, knowing he would never understand.
To tell him would be a sin, a sin almost as bad as the one done to her.
The words, whispered in her mind, echoing between other thoughts, drew a frown to her face, marking the features that never changed in that frozen world. And he seized on that.
“You remember,” he breathed. “You remember the past!” He should have guessed, even before, that a break from the norm would have shaken her, broken the hold of the lock on her memory and mind. Maybe - he hardly dared think the thought, hope the hope - he could free her, from the icy prison where heat lingered in the halls the same as an unnatural icy light did.
“No, no.” She shook her head, even as the echo of her words brought forth knowledge: knowledge of a past that should have stayed locked away locked deep in the mind of the girl who should not have even known it.
But even as she protested, he reached forth to grab her, arms slender and fragile beneath his wizened hands, hands of a man who should not be as old as his face said he was. The shake he gave her rattled her bones and he could feel the give beneath his own. Knowledge was a heady drug and this even more intoxicating than most: if he wished it, he could easily snap her in two.
As the thought ran through him, stilling his blood in his veins, she looked at him, wide-eyed with fear, a fear he knew she didn’t feel for the queen who kept her abed, and shame washed over him, as quickly as the thought had.
This time, when she spoke, her words were the ones he should have spoken:
“I must go. The queen will be stirring shortly. She would be angry.” Her words were whispered, for they were not the truth, and she fled from them, and the cave, and the boy who awakened memories she cared to not remember: the queen knew and did nothing to stop her. And the pain she would receive in the bed would be enough to punish her, and the release from the pain would be enough to tie her to the queen in ways bonds never could.