HOW DOES THE PRINCE SAY HE LOVES YOU
10-01-2013, 10:36 AM
Faerie tales have a rather whimsical and unrealistic charm to them; they are like well-loved dolls, broken and bent from petty play, with princes who fall in love at first sight and pale princesses who stay locked away in towers for ages in waiting, waiting for their true love to ride a noble steed and save them from fiery and unfair demise. But they were always twisted in favour of the innocents, for the script cared little of how the knobby, gnarled tree-giant felt, or if the warted witch ever felt the warmth of love. Karmen was the witch, and she did not have to hide it, she warmly embraced all the slippery and nasty things that made holes in her head. But she was a princess all the same - feminine, outrageously womanly in all of her doings, elegant, dainty and fine-grained like a porcelain china-doll all dressed in sunset-red and gold kimonos. She was beautiful, very obviously so to the naked eye. She was the colour of expensive jewelery, with glittering willow-green eyes that would have you convinced she were a forest sprite, a faerie by nature, with opalescent dragonfly wings and leaves in her blonde hair, with palms made for flower-holding. But Karmen was the kind of faerie who would open her whole head and eat the flower and still be hungry. Perhaps there were princes somewhere out there for her, princes who also sickly accepted their sadistic side, or someone who would write Karmen's side of the story. She was romantic and malevolent all at the same time. Until she found a writer who gave two cares about the damned, she would be content all by her lonesome, walking along the edge of Kennocha Lake, which had frozen solid by the kiss of Winter. The night-sky was a filthy gray, billowing clouds released tiny snowflakes that floated effortlessly to the ground, and Karmen gracefully moved across the pan of ice, her body a tempting lantern in the early winter flurries. |