Lol stuff
Some fairytale... summarical angst, I guess, from ze Writing Class. If I never see the word "heart" again, it will be too soon. Was too chicken to actually write fanfiction ("Who is this 'Mundus' and why does he have tentacles?"), so had to make up stuff that ended up like a smush of many different canons.
Fantasy is the best genre ever. \o/ Magic roxorz.
Anyways, ~1600 words, not one of them is dialogue. o god why.
-oOo-
There was once a prince who wanted a heart.
The loss of it remained a distant memory, pale and worn into something fantastical with passing time. Whys and hows and whens were granted vague thought-common belief held it to be the Prince's own folly that had led to misfortune, or perhaps it was the thoughtless, cruel actions of all the kingdom-but the significance of it faded away, along with his joy and hate and love for life, until all that mattered was the hole, neat and round as a girl's fist, where his heart should have been.
So one day that was the same as all the day's past, the hollow Prince sent out his best, strongest, empty knights (for the fate of their lord was the fate of them all) to search through the land and find him a person with the power to make him whole once more.
They traveled far and fast, stopping neither for food nor rest (for those without hearts yearn for nothing save a most important something to fill the space) and maiming or slaying all who would stay their quest. Presently, they came across a girl-no, a lady-who they discovered to be a witch. And they observed her powers were so great, and her caring heart so vast, that she would suit their prince's needs.
So, in the weary and quiet dusk, they took her crying from her house when her brother was still away, and spirited her back to the castle surrounded by endless, shifting sands.
The Prince met her with smiles that betrayed how delighted he would be were it not for his lack of heart, there for all the world to see. She shed more tears at the horror, and still even more when he ordered her locked away, high and solitary within his keep, until she would find a way to restore his incomplete self. So she knelt on the cold floor of her prison, refused both food and rest, and worked through the days and nights, racking her mind for a solution. And at every turn of dawn, she would whisper a prayer-a fervent, longing entreaty-for her brother to come save her.
Her words carried well on the east wind and tails of passing swallows, and came finally to trickle down his ear as he at last turned his steed towards home. He took her words first in shock and anger, then a grim, determined air before tucking them away, safe in his own steeled heart, for he was a hero.
He loved her, so such was his duty to save her.
On the third day, the Prince ordered his knight to enter the lady's room and bid her partake of sustenance, for a dead witch was of no use to him. She knew he was a man-a knight-by the height of his form and the width of his brow. She knew he was a monster by the emptiness in his eyes when he captured her, and the neat hole in his chest that his armor could not quite conceal.
He bowed low and spoke neatly. Willingly or unwillingly, she would eat, and he placed a date in her palm. It was wet and very sweet when she thought it should taste like ashes in her mouth. Thereafter, the Knight returned at every meal to make sure of her intentions.
At first, she kept to her corner by the barred window whenever he entered, but gradually, she grew bolder with the utter silence and loneliness of her captivity. Tentatively, she asked him questions about all manners of things, some important, some merely to fill the many empty spaces in her cell. He replied with indifference and quite often not at all, merely observed her talk with his cold, pale eyes, but with this she was content, and blithely spoke of her home and family with a fond wistfulness in her voice. An imperfect companion was better than none at all, and her caring heart made room for another.
And the Knight began to linger beyond what was needed before recounting her stories to his prince.
Days turned into weeks. Still, she could not discover a way to restore the Prince's heart, and she began to despair. But the Prince, for all his faults, was not an impatient being, and her tales of warmth and her brother's love pricked at what remained at his curiosity. So when word came of a hero that had braved the dry and barren lands outside his castle, the Prince allowed the winds and swirls of blinding dust to part, leading the other carefully to barred gates, and stepped through to meet this hero himself.
This one was young, brash, and the Prince could see passion in the glare of his eyes and the seat of his face, could hear it in the Hero's fiery demands and the clear ring of steel as he drew his sword. He could feel it in the crack of their blades against each other.
It had been long since the Prince had felt.
Yes, he decided, this was one he wanted, and slammed his hilt down against the brow of his Hero.
When the other awoke with a quiet groan, deep within the castle, his sister cried in joy and threw herself over him. He smiled in relief-in love-to see her and hid his anguish at his failure to rescue her. And the Prince observed this in silence.
The next morning, he sent his Knight to the prisoners with an offer. If the Hero would consent to remain under the Prince's control, if he would offer his heart should the witch fail, then his sister could return to her home, free, and work perhaps even more arduously with her brother as hostage. The Hero agreed without hesitation and overrode her fervent protests.
So the Knight took her to the gate and placed her atop her brother's horse. Just before she rode towards the East horizon, she place a necklace-a tin locket and one of a matched set-into his palm. The shape was a perfect heart, and she begged him to treat her brother well in return.
The Hero did not shed any tears as he watched her disappear from his window; he would show not weakness in front of his foes, but he could feel his chest tighten and something inside almost crack.
The Knight did not shed any tears, for he had none to offer, and there was nothing inside himself to break.
And the Prince smiled, for he had ever and ever to learn-perhaps even to remember-these mislaid emotions, and a heart at last-even if it were not his own-should he tire of his Hero.
So the Prince kept him in a different room than his previous captive-a room without windows, so nothing would earn the attention of his Hero save himself-and every morning would perch against the doorway to talk, to play, to merely watch how one with a complete self would act. With this he grew enchanted, far beyond what the witch could have ever offered.
And his Hero despaired.
Weeks turned into months. Or perhaps years; the Hero could no longer tell, for the only measures of time he could keep were wakings and drifts of sleep and the visits of his fawning Prince.
And on one day that was as any other day past, the Hero realized that to stay any longer in the pale, faded castle, surrounded by vast and colorless sands, would ruin what was left of his aching heart. So he strayed from his room without windows to seek out the Knight, for he had seen the token of his sister's binding affection draped across the other's neck, and the Hero asked of him two favors. An answer-an oath-was given the next night.
One was much harder for the Knight to fulfill than the other.
With the new dawn, the Prince woke smiling and rose from his bed, relishing the thought of the day to come. Yet, when he opened his chamber doors, he stared down in something very nearly akin to horror at the bloodied spread and small dagger that lay at his feet.
And on the silver tray, a heart with bruised, ragged edges that wasn't quite as perfect as what it should have filled.
Below, by the massive gates to the East, the Knight cradled a perfect tin heart-matched set to the one gently brushing across his chest-and quietly nudged his mount forward.
Once upon a time in a castle far across endless sand, there lived a hollow prince who'd been granted a hero's heart. He realized, far too late, that the emptiness stretched through his chest had very little to do with the hole, neat and round as a girl's fist, that he'd so desperately sought to fill.
-oOo-
Fanime is popping up waaaay too soon for comfort. *freaks out*
Fantasy is the best genre ever. \o/ Magic roxorz.
Anyways, ~1600 words, not one of them is dialogue. o god why.
-oOo-
There was once a prince who wanted a heart.
The loss of it remained a distant memory, pale and worn into something fantastical with passing time. Whys and hows and whens were granted vague thought-common belief held it to be the Prince's own folly that had led to misfortune, or perhaps it was the thoughtless, cruel actions of all the kingdom-but the significance of it faded away, along with his joy and hate and love for life, until all that mattered was the hole, neat and round as a girl's fist, where his heart should have been.
So one day that was the same as all the day's past, the hollow Prince sent out his best, strongest, empty knights (for the fate of their lord was the fate of them all) to search through the land and find him a person with the power to make him whole once more.
They traveled far and fast, stopping neither for food nor rest (for those without hearts yearn for nothing save a most important something to fill the space) and maiming or slaying all who would stay their quest. Presently, they came across a girl-no, a lady-who they discovered to be a witch. And they observed her powers were so great, and her caring heart so vast, that she would suit their prince's needs.
So, in the weary and quiet dusk, they took her crying from her house when her brother was still away, and spirited her back to the castle surrounded by endless, shifting sands.
The Prince met her with smiles that betrayed how delighted he would be were it not for his lack of heart, there for all the world to see. She shed more tears at the horror, and still even more when he ordered her locked away, high and solitary within his keep, until she would find a way to restore his incomplete self. So she knelt on the cold floor of her prison, refused both food and rest, and worked through the days and nights, racking her mind for a solution. And at every turn of dawn, she would whisper a prayer-a fervent, longing entreaty-for her brother to come save her.
Her words carried well on the east wind and tails of passing swallows, and came finally to trickle down his ear as he at last turned his steed towards home. He took her words first in shock and anger, then a grim, determined air before tucking them away, safe in his own steeled heart, for he was a hero.
He loved her, so such was his duty to save her.
On the third day, the Prince ordered his knight to enter the lady's room and bid her partake of sustenance, for a dead witch was of no use to him. She knew he was a man-a knight-by the height of his form and the width of his brow. She knew he was a monster by the emptiness in his eyes when he captured her, and the neat hole in his chest that his armor could not quite conceal.
He bowed low and spoke neatly. Willingly or unwillingly, she would eat, and he placed a date in her palm. It was wet and very sweet when she thought it should taste like ashes in her mouth. Thereafter, the Knight returned at every meal to make sure of her intentions.
At first, she kept to her corner by the barred window whenever he entered, but gradually, she grew bolder with the utter silence and loneliness of her captivity. Tentatively, she asked him questions about all manners of things, some important, some merely to fill the many empty spaces in her cell. He replied with indifference and quite often not at all, merely observed her talk with his cold, pale eyes, but with this she was content, and blithely spoke of her home and family with a fond wistfulness in her voice. An imperfect companion was better than none at all, and her caring heart made room for another.
And the Knight began to linger beyond what was needed before recounting her stories to his prince.
Days turned into weeks. Still, she could not discover a way to restore the Prince's heart, and she began to despair. But the Prince, for all his faults, was not an impatient being, and her tales of warmth and her brother's love pricked at what remained at his curiosity. So when word came of a hero that had braved the dry and barren lands outside his castle, the Prince allowed the winds and swirls of blinding dust to part, leading the other carefully to barred gates, and stepped through to meet this hero himself.
This one was young, brash, and the Prince could see passion in the glare of his eyes and the seat of his face, could hear it in the Hero's fiery demands and the clear ring of steel as he drew his sword. He could feel it in the crack of their blades against each other.
It had been long since the Prince had felt.
Yes, he decided, this was one he wanted, and slammed his hilt down against the brow of his Hero.
When the other awoke with a quiet groan, deep within the castle, his sister cried in joy and threw herself over him. He smiled in relief-in love-to see her and hid his anguish at his failure to rescue her. And the Prince observed this in silence.
The next morning, he sent his Knight to the prisoners with an offer. If the Hero would consent to remain under the Prince's control, if he would offer his heart should the witch fail, then his sister could return to her home, free, and work perhaps even more arduously with her brother as hostage. The Hero agreed without hesitation and overrode her fervent protests.
So the Knight took her to the gate and placed her atop her brother's horse. Just before she rode towards the East horizon, she place a necklace-a tin locket and one of a matched set-into his palm. The shape was a perfect heart, and she begged him to treat her brother well in return.
The Hero did not shed any tears as he watched her disappear from his window; he would show not weakness in front of his foes, but he could feel his chest tighten and something inside almost crack.
The Knight did not shed any tears, for he had none to offer, and there was nothing inside himself to break.
And the Prince smiled, for he had ever and ever to learn-perhaps even to remember-these mislaid emotions, and a heart at last-even if it were not his own-should he tire of his Hero.
So the Prince kept him in a different room than his previous captive-a room without windows, so nothing would earn the attention of his Hero save himself-and every morning would perch against the doorway to talk, to play, to merely watch how one with a complete self would act. With this he grew enchanted, far beyond what the witch could have ever offered.
And his Hero despaired.
Weeks turned into months. Or perhaps years; the Hero could no longer tell, for the only measures of time he could keep were wakings and drifts of sleep and the visits of his fawning Prince.
And on one day that was as any other day past, the Hero realized that to stay any longer in the pale, faded castle, surrounded by vast and colorless sands, would ruin what was left of his aching heart. So he strayed from his room without windows to seek out the Knight, for he had seen the token of his sister's binding affection draped across the other's neck, and the Hero asked of him two favors. An answer-an oath-was given the next night.
One was much harder for the Knight to fulfill than the other.
With the new dawn, the Prince woke smiling and rose from his bed, relishing the thought of the day to come. Yet, when he opened his chamber doors, he stared down in something very nearly akin to horror at the bloodied spread and small dagger that lay at his feet.
And on the silver tray, a heart with bruised, ragged edges that wasn't quite as perfect as what it should have filled.
Below, by the massive gates to the East, the Knight cradled a perfect tin heart-matched set to the one gently brushing across his chest-and quietly nudged his mount forward.
Once upon a time in a castle far across endless sand, there lived a hollow prince who'd been granted a hero's heart. He realized, far too late, that the emptiness stretched through his chest had very little to do with the hole, neat and round as a girl's fist, that he'd so desperately sought to fill.
-oOo-
Fanime is popping up waaaay too soon for comfort. *freaks out*