Misrepresentation, that's what it is.
They always blame us. I have read many fairy tales in my time, and have been frankly appalled at the way we have been made out. We are the evil ones, the ones that capture, torture, kill, put wicked spells upon others - and it's all lies.
Well, okay, so maybe it's not all lies. There certainly are a few witches that deserve the bad media coverage they've gotten. Clorinda, for instance, who was exiled twenty years ago for casting a spell on a girl that made her spit out frogs every time she opened her mouth. Clorinda tried to restore her reputation by changing her name - it used to be Malevolian - but it didn't work. She was exiled anyway. Sorry, I regress. Back to my story.
I never wanted for any of it to happen, and if it was anybodys' fault, I'd be more inclined to say that it was my sisters'. My sister, Aurore, 'of the dawn,' the golden one, the man magnet of beauty and charm. I was the ugly one...I mean, I wasn't like the pictures that you see in storybooks, with the warts, the crooked nose, the green skin and all. I just wasn't stunningly breathtaking.
*add some intro here* You can imagine my shock when he read one day, the tale of the poor girl who had been worked to death by her evil stepmother (I suppose she changed our relationship because stepmothers have a general reputation of being evil), and who was then rescued by a handsome prince. Of course, her evil stepmother attempted to kill her several times, with a magic apple, an enchanted comb, and so the poor girl fled to live in a small cottage with seven dwarves.
Well, I was amazed. So that was why everyone was so hostile to me, when I was leaving the kingdom. I had wondered, and now I knew. They had heard this incredible, vicious tale, and after reading it myself, I don't blame them for fearing me. I, however, do not wish to spend the rest of my life fleeing from kingdoms with witch-haters on my tail. No, I would rather stain my sisters' reputation but a little, and save my family so much pain. And so I will tell you a tale, now, of truth and treachery, of good and evil, of happiness and tears. But I will tell it the way it happened. I will tell it from my side of the story.
Everything began when our parents were killed in a carriage accident. Aurore had always been satisfied with our life until then. She and I never got along well - perfectly understandable, as I was our fathers' favorite and she, our mothers'. We were always a bit jealous, I think, of our parents' attention. Besides which, Aurore and I were as different as day and night. I had black hair and pale, almost yellow skin. My eyes were black and sometimes shot through with red and gold. My nose was long and sharp, with a tiny hint of a hook at the end. I had large, black, bristling eyebrows, and I cared nothing for how I looked. My father loved me for my quick wit, my eager mind, and my desire for knowledge. We spent long hours together in our mansions' well-stocked library, pouring over old volumes, tales of adventure, histories, and fairy tales.
My sister was as beautiful as the sunrise and the sunset combined into one glorious human form. She, with her long, golden curls, white skin, pink cheeks, red mouth, starry, intensely blue eyes...she was a thing of beauty. All loved her, just as all mistrusted me. However, and believe me, I hate to say this about my own sister, but - well, she was a witless wench. Whatever brain she did possess, she put to the task of finding men, talking about men, plotting to steal the hearts of men, and in all other ways controlling and taking men.
We stopped speaking to each other when I was ten and she was eight.
"Vivian, you are nothing but a big ugly witch!" With those words she killed all the affection that I might have held in my heart for her. I cried, feeling my heart wrenched by those words, more cruel than they were meant to be. For, little did my sister know, but I secretly longed to learn of things of magic. I feared what my mother would say if I made a request for magic lessons, so my longing stayed buried deep in my heart, quietly smoldering and waiting for the day that it could resurface in full force.
Life continued as it always did, with little change, until my father and mother made that fateful decision to travel to Decianopolis for a book-signing. They left in a coach carrying five other passengers, and as I waved farewell and watched as the dust settled from the large wooden wheels, I had a sinking feeling in my heart that I would never see them again. And, unfortunately for all of us, I was right.
"Lady Vivian! Lady Aurore! Bad news from Decianopolis!"
The messenger lad swung off of his sweaty horse and gave a scanty bow in my direction, unsure of my status. Aurore, always the perfect lady, fainted dead away on the steps.
"Lad, take your horse to the stables, then get some rest and food," I commanded him. He handed me a tattered scrap of paper and hurried off to the stables. I hastily unrolled the scrap of paper, and blinked at the few scanty lines written on that dirty, torn parchment. Aurore, recovering quickly from her faint, crowded over my shoulder, and for once we were less enemies and more sisters. Aurore clutched at my sleeve with shaking fingers, her lips white with shock.
We regret to inform you that your parents have been killed in a carriage accident. The bodies were not recovered from the river.
Aurore read the words and hugged me, hanging onto my shoulders for support. Her slender body shook with sobs. I gently put her away from me and sat her on the steps. My mind was blank and numb.
"Nurse. Take Aurore to her rooms, please," I told our beloved old nurse. She nodded, her lips compressed firmly together in a tight red line. I sank to the steps, my garments billowing around my ankles. I stared at the black lines on the page, not understanding their meaning, not wanting to comprehend them. I stared at the lines until they blurred at the edges, until all I could see was a black blur. The last thing I remember is letting out a long, loud, horrible scream that stampeded all of the horses in the stables and curdled the servants' blood. Then, all I saw was darkness.
They say that I lay in bed for three weeks, motionless. Nurse forced down a drop of water and a bit of food down my throat, but otherwise they did not know what do to for me. They say I lay with my eyes wide open and staring. I do not remember anything that happened during those three weeks except this: a white hand and a black hand, pulling at opposite sides of my heart. The white hand clutched at my heart with a firm hold, and its' grip pulled steadily upwards. The black hand held just as firmly to the bottom of my heart. On the last day of the third week, the white hand pulled more and more firmly at my heart until finally...I awoke.
When I sat up that morning, the Monday of the third week after my parents had died - I was stone blind. I could not see a thing.
"It is a good thing you can't see yourself," Aurore told me on the day I woke. "Your face is so white and worn, you look like a ghost. And you have a big white streak through your hair in the back. You're quite a fright, you know." Her voice, as always, was light, frivolous, and grated on my nerves like a knife cutting through metal. I braced myself, expecting the sudden rush of anger that always coursed through me when I heard one of her idiotic statements - but none came. Instead, there was amusement, and a little scorn.
"Yes, Aurore, I'm a fright. But then, I always was, wasn't I? So often you've told me so. 'An ugly witch,' that's what I am." As I stated these words, I felt a certainty pass through me. It is so hard to explain now, but it was as though I had spoken, unknowingly, the words of my own destiny. "Yes...a witch! A witch." I said it again, liking the satisfying sound of the words. Aurore stared at me, her cornflower-blue eyes widening.
"Vivian? Are you all right? I have to - I have to leave."
I listened with satisfaction to the fear in her tones and the quickened pace of her running feet as she went around the corner.
"Nurse!" I snapped the command loudly, with conviction. "Bring me someone who can teach me of magic, of the mystical powers."
My nurse, far from being alarmed, replied calmly;
"I knew you'd get around to asking sooner or later. I have someone who has been waiting to meet you."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but then nodded.
"Bring her, then, to me."
With that command, I began some of the happiest years of my life.
The woman that my nurse brought to me was known as the Sorceress. She knew no other name. She was a respected magic worker throughout the land, and had been watching me grow. It appears that I had some sort of enormous potential, and she was waiting until I was grown up enough to learn. And I did learn. We spent hours every day in the library, as I had with my father, reading books and scrolls, practicing spells, and learning all sorts of witchcraft. I had a quick memory, and eager mind and steady hands. I so enjoyed those years of learning, that much time passed without me knowing it.
My sister, Aurore, was not so content in our solitude as I. Since my father and mother had died, we had not had any visitors, nor had visited anywhere. Little did I know, that as I studied the magical arts, my sister plotted. She felt it was her fate to be married to a handsome and courageous prince. Since there were no princes to be found in our mansion, she decided to send out for one. In secret, she sent out messengers with fictitious tales about a beautiful, captive princess who was held prisoner by her evil stepsister. I do not know why she changed our relationship to 'stepsister'...perhaps because stepsisters generally have a worse reputation, due to the Cinderella incident, than real sisters do. Well, she called for help. And help, if you could really call it that, did come.
The first I knew of her plotting came on the day when the Sorceress left me. She told me that I had completed my training, and the rest of the knowledge of life, I would have to learn on my own. So, to celebrate, I took a walk in the garden. I knew my way around the mansion so well that I could walk even without a cane, now. Sometimes, too, if I concentrated extremely hard, I could lift the veil of blackness that was upon my vision with magic, and see for a brief instant, the objects around me. Now, however, I was content with simply smelling the trees, the flowers, and feeling the brown dirt beneath my bare, white feet.
So I was in the garden when I first heard it. My ears, sharpened by five years of blindness, heard the faint sound of horses' hooves - two of them, galloping full speed across the stone road leading to the mansion.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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