The wind wept wherever evil went, and a smell of decay, of defecation, followed the princess all her days long.
The Princess had never married, however she did take a great many suitors into her night room - who would do as instructed … tapping twice in the annex and thrice on the door - usually at the mid of night, led by a courtier or mistress to tend to her royalness.
If the candidates failed to satisfy the Princess they were put to death the following morning.
Not one youth had survived her expectations, and this unhappy sequence took so many lives that the army was debilitated thereby, and eligible bachelors were now in short supply.
Her search for ‘love’ persisted nightly, with the routine execution to follow for more than half a century; and she, although now exceeding seventy years, still called upon the youth of the surrounding towns, to entertain her wants and desires.
Any man who refused this calling was immediately shot through the heart with an entire sheath of arrows.
When Frollo was called to her parlour, his own mother had cautioned him saying:
“The chamber, my son, has two doors - one to go in by and another to leave by. I fear for you. I do not believe that all of those sturdy young men were later conscripted to the army to never return - no, no, we have all heard from the townspeople of the axeman and his daily duty.
“I say this to you: kill the witch and kill her fast - and then leave before the new light when you are to be collected. I see no other way.”
Fable, Frollo’s angel, overheard his mother’s scheming and pleaded on behalf of his conscience to consider the impropriety of this crime. He weighed the decision tentatively, overcome with a deepened anxiety for Frollo’s eternal prospects.
“Also, and not precluding”, spoke his mother, as she handed to him a fine silver carry knife … “I should very much like you to avenge the death of Zachary” (a neighbour who had been called and never returned, some twenty years before).
She had then wrung her hands together, reliving the anguish of this recollection. She pressed in his other hand a passing gift of a single sweet wrapt in rice paper.
With one last kiss to the cheek, her eyes followed him for the length of the road, now caught in the enclave of the royal carriages. She cried a mother’s tear and returned to her empty home forlorn.
Rap rap rap
Tap tap tap
Any man who refused this calling was immediately shot through the heart with an entire sheath of arrows.
When Frollo was called to her parlour, his own mother had cautioned him saying:
“The chamber, my son, has two doors - one to go in by and another to leave by. I fear for you. I do not believe that all of those sturdy young men were later conscripted to the army to never return - no, no, we have all heard from the townspeople of the axeman and his daily duty.
“I say this to you: kill the witch and kill her fast - and then leave before the new light when you are to be collected. I see no other way.”
Fable, Frollo’s angel, overheard his mother’s scheming and pleaded on behalf of his conscience to consider the impropriety of this crime. He weighed the decision tentatively, overcome with a deepened anxiety for Frollo’s eternal prospects.
“Also, and not precluding”, spoke his mother, as she handed to him a fine silver carry knife … “I should very much like you to avenge the death of Zachary” (a neighbour who had been called and never returned, some twenty years before).
She had then wrung her hands together, reliving the anguish of this recollection. She pressed in his other hand a passing gift of a single sweet wrapt in rice paper.
With one last kiss to the cheek, her eyes followed him for the length of the road, now caught in the enclave of the royal carriages. She cried a mother’s tear and returned to her empty home forlorn.
* * *
Rap rap rap
Tap tap tap
The chamber door swung open. “A Princess!” he exclaimed out loud.
Frollo had prepared himself for a woman old enough to be his grandmother, yet instead his eyes landed upon the most enticing maiden he had ever seen.
Her skin was bronze, her night dress shimmered milk white, and her naked breasts sat atop a sash of silk and pearls. Her demeanour, if anything, was frightened.
“Have you bewitched me?” he asked tentatively.
Frollo had heard tales from the North of the hags at Delphi … and the lore of the sodden mermaids, who also were far from what they seemed.
“No.” She replied. “I have not hazarded you with magic - you only see my true self.”
His mind became downcast for he perceived that he could no more be a match for this wondrous lady than the suitors who had come before him. He fumbled in his pocket and covertly drew the fine silver knife; and when she was not looking at him, he slid it into the fire grate.
From his other pocket Frollo took the sweet that his mother had given him and he offered it tenderly. She seemed pleased.
“I shall plant this in my garden” she said.
“No no, it is to eat” he said.
“What use has a spirit for this?” she said off-handedly - “I have long been deceased my boy - having perished by the hands of my very first lover.”
“This I did not know” he said confused yet again by his circumstance and now feeling very foolish, and somewhat disappointed.
You see we die a little every day, and then, come the morning, we are reborn. Seventy two years, the unsatisfied woman is the soul who exchanges each day for the next - until that final day, the day of their own death.
We are but each character within - this is the secret of this fable of the soul. We are the youth, with fresh eyes coming to the aged, yet desirous soul. We are the princess who forfeits each moment for the next. We are verily the axeman, who does not allow the memories of the days events to linger. Yes, we are all of the characters within this tale.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series
Frollo had prepared himself for a woman old enough to be his grandmother, yet instead his eyes landed upon the most enticing maiden he had ever seen.
Her skin was bronze, her night dress shimmered milk white, and her naked breasts sat atop a sash of silk and pearls. Her demeanour, if anything, was frightened.
“Have you bewitched me?” he asked tentatively.
Frollo had heard tales from the North of the hags at Delphi … and the lore of the sodden mermaids, who also were far from what they seemed.
“No.” She replied. “I have not hazarded you with magic - you only see my true self.”
His mind became downcast for he perceived that he could no more be a match for this wondrous lady than the suitors who had come before him. He fumbled in his pocket and covertly drew the fine silver knife; and when she was not looking at him, he slid it into the fire grate.
From his other pocket Frollo took the sweet that his mother had given him and he offered it tenderly. She seemed pleased.
“I shall plant this in my garden” she said.
“No no, it is to eat” he said.
“What use has a spirit for this?” she said off-handedly - “I have long been deceased my boy - having perished by the hands of my very first lover.”
“This I did not know” he said confused yet again by his circumstance and now feeling very foolish, and somewhat disappointed.
* * *
You see we die a little every day, and then, come the morning, we are reborn. Seventy two years, the unsatisfied woman is the soul who exchanges each day for the next - until that final day, the day of their own death.
We are but each character within - this is the secret of this fable of the soul. We are the youth, with fresh eyes coming to the aged, yet desirous soul. We are the princess who forfeits each moment for the next. We are verily the axeman, who does not allow the memories of the days events to linger. Yes, we are all of the characters within this tale.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series
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