Once upon a time there was a beautiful, lonesome princess who had been cursed by a Bad Fairy (because that's what Bad Fairies do) and as a result, could never be clear with anyone. The Bad Fairy's spell had wrecked her self-esteem, and the more she lived her life under this curse, the more she knew it to be true.
Her father would pace the red carpeted hallways of the castle, shouting questions in a frustrated voice. "Jarelda, why are you so quiet? Jarelda, why won't you wear your royal, blue dress? Jarelda, where have you got to?" But his daughter would hide tucked into the corners of cupboards, her eyes watchful, her breathing still, knowing she couldn't speak of the curse for her own version would come out wrongly. "Some say you're quiet because you're motherless," the King would rant, his gold crown gleaming. "But how can you miss what you never even knew? You are lost inside your head, some say. But heads contain no labyrinths!" Just wait till he goes, Jarelda told herself. And of course, her father always gave up because Jarelda was brilliant at hiding.
Three days before her sixteenth birthday, Jarelda got particularly low. When her father died, how would she rule? With no way of being clear with the people, it would surely all go pear-shaped. So in the middle of the night, in her turret room, among the eerie noises of ravens flapping through the upper chambers and the wind blasting through the belfry, Princess Jarelda started to invent. She dreamed herself tales of other princesses -- ones who hadn't lost their mothers in childbirth or been cursed by the darkest of fairies. These princesses climbed mountains barefoot and cheered, punching the air, when they reached the top; they sewed gowns out of the finest silver thread and learnt magic spells that turned them into doves and butterflies, and small, green frogs with bulging eyes. Even when they weren't birds or doves, they claimed they weren't lonely. They had some kind of quality -- confidence perhaps -- that made them love their own company. And when princes asked them out, they were always utterly clear. "Yes!" they'd cry. Or "No!" And that was the end...or the beginning. But alas, these were only dream-tales, and Jarelda often woke with her eyes full of salty disappointment. If only she could be a clear princess! Then she might express herself truly and let it all out.
On her birthday, after a miserable lesson from the royal tutor, in which poor, cursed Jarelda had answered "Yes" when she'd meant "No," and "No" when she'd meant "Yes," our princess took a walk in the castle grounds and considered how she would ever rule the realm with no way of being clear with her people. Just as she was pausing beside the rose-trellis, the moonlight falling softly through the criss-crossed lattice, she smelt a drift of powerful perfume and turned to see a supertall woman -- a superbitch, no less. This woman was surrounded by an ice-cool aura of light, and her lips were deadly red and her eyes were black as coals, and she was wearing the most incredible gown with a pale, lace bodice and long, silver sleeves. "I am the Bad Fairy," said the Bad Fairy, "and I have come to renew your curse." (Bad Fairies, I should add, always announce their magic before they begin. This is partly out of vanity, and partly because it's helpful to the plot).
Jarelda started to tell the Bad Fairy that she didn't realise her curse needed renewing, though due to her struggle with clarity what actually came out of her mouth was "I always thought you would."
"Ha!" laughed the Bad Fairy, throwing back her head and glaring at the moon with a vicious glee. "I can see you're still as cursed as ever. Well, Little Madam..." And she raised her arms as if about to conduct an orchestra.
Then suddenly Jarelda felt prickles in her shoulders. She turned to see a brown-eyed dove perched on her left, and a bright blue-black butterfly sitting on her right. In the quiet voices only the magical possess, these creatures whispered that Jarelda should look at the facts. The reason the Bad Fairy had had to return was because the curse was wearing off -- Jarelda's dreams had given her the potential for clarity; after all once you know your fantasies, you start to know yourself.
"Tell her something true," whispered the brown-eyed dove.
"Tell her who you are," said the blue-black butterfly.
"All right," cried Jarelda, who really meant to say, No, I can't...for how could a princess who was cursed to be unclear ever be assertive?
But as the Bad Fairy waved her slender arms about and mumbled strange Latin through the silvery light about her, Jarelda realised who this bird and butterfly were: the princesses from her recent dreams, the ones who could change themselves into creatures and conduct themselves assertively with princes, and climb mountains, and such. Astonished, she cried out, "You are my dreams! How very confusing!" then proceeded to clap her hand across her mouth, realising she'd spoken something incredibly clear.
In that very moment, the moon grew vast, and the garden was lit up by its new, mellow light, and the Bad Fairy screamed as she began to shrink...smaller and smaller she grew, staring in horror at her miniature hands. For through her dreams, Jarelda had begun to create a world that was hers alone; and it had given her the clarity to turn the Bad Fairy to nothing.
"But I only existed to curse you," said the Bad Fairy, who was now so small that her voice was faint and squeaky.
"That," announced the brown-eyed dove, "is what all the abusers say. Which is why, in the end, they turn out to be so small."
Before the Bad Fairy had completely disappeared, the princess turned away and observed the white roses in the new, brighter moonshine and the lovely topiary hedges, and the grey, turreted castle ahead. Soon, she had forgotten about the shrinking superbitch, and didn't even look back to see the steaming patch of earth where the Bad Fairy had disappeared. A smile edged softly onto her lips, though it was slightly slant -- a touch ironic, shall we say. "So I can create and destroy," Jarelda said. "Then I guess I must be an artist."And as the dove flew in circles above her head and the butterfly flitted in its stained-glass beauty, the princess laughed and clapped her hands. And the laughter carried through the castle grounds and across the dark forests and sunken land, and every prince that heard it said, "My, how clearly it rings!"
By Sue Williams, who only has the ability to communicate right now through the wonderful guise of story. Happy New Year to All.
