Young Writers Society

For the last ten years, I had stared at the same door, morning, evening, afternoons, and night. I had never thought much of the door until I realized how the door was specially crafted for me.

The door was made of pristine white wood, crafted from the ancient Ulvish pines from the North, known for their pristine, diamond-like beauty and inability to rot. But as soon as the tree’s wood was chopped down and put on hinges, it was bombarded but ants, termites, disease, and fungus. Everything the tree hadn’t known was forced inside of it, and all it could do was slowly swallow it until it died. The tree that was supposed to bless me had quickly become a curse.

I listened as the door creaked open and a man stepped inside. The man was handsome and young, with full lips and white hair. His blue eyes darted toward me wearily as he shoved a plate of food in my face.

“Spinach again?” I asked, looking at it in horror. I had eaten spinach for the past three days, and I would probably turn green if I ate any more. “You must have something else.”

“You know food is slim,” the man said. “And you aren’t allowed to eat the fatty foods the rest of the village does.”

“Fine,” I hissed. “I’ll eat it. If you let me outside.”

“Not a chance,” the man sighed. “You already have a wrinkle on your forehead, Bethan. Do you want wrinkles on your cheeks too?”

I scrunched up my nose, which the man quickly attempted to smooth out in his panic. I huffed and took a bite of the spinach.

“You know, Father,” I said, swallowing the greens, “it may help me stay pretty if you let me do something I want. I heard depression leads to quicker aging.”

“Funny,” my father said stiffly. He sat down beside me and plucked a single leaf off the plate to scarf down. “But you would die if I let you out there.”

“I would rather die out there than in here.”

My Father looked at me with tear-filled eyes. He was weak and innocent, as all the people in my village were. They had taken pity on me the day I turned thirteen. The day a strand of my hair went gray. White hair like my father’s was prized, seen as a blessing of the Ulvish trees. But I hadn’t been blessed as he was. I was the hidden secret of our village, a monster of society. Cursed to die.

A village cart rolled past my hut with a squeak. Father got up from where he sat beside me on my bed and quickly slipped out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Everyone always asked him questions when he entered my hut. Ever since the rumor of murdering his own daughter came about, he had always been suspected of other crimes.

“I’m telling you, all that’s in there is a cellar!” my father yelled. Soon another man’s voice rose louder than my father’s, deep and husky.

“I don’t care what the building is,” the man said slowly. “I want to see what’s inside.”

“You have no right to barge in on me like that!”

“Really? The badge on my chest says otherwise.”

Feet thumped on the ground as the man on the cart jumped off and walked towards my door. I slammed my body against it to try and keep him out. I wouldn’t die today. Not when I hadn’t even seen the world.

“The door is stuck,” the man growled. “Break it open.”

“But that door was crafted with my own two hands!” my father gasped.

“I don’t care. Break it.”

I took in a sharp breath as my father kicked the door. The door fell on top of me, my head breaking through it and covered in splinters. I took it off with a huff and ran to the corner of the little wooden hut. I couldn’t let the man see my face. I couldn’t die. Not for this.

The man gasped as he inched closer to me. “Her hair! It has grey.”

“Genetic mutation,” my father lied. “The rest of her is very young. Not a day over sixteen.”

The man slid his hands onto my shoulders. I shivered. I had never been touched by anyone except my father once my hair turned grey.

“Show me your face,” the man whispered into my ear. “Before I kill you right here and now.”

I let out a breath.

“I promise you I am very beautiful,” I lied through gritted teeth. “My beauty my stun you. You could pass out.”

“I have seen the prettiest women in all the world,” the man murmured. “You won’t compare to any of them. So show me your face.”

I blinked away a tear and stifled a shudder. I couldn’t let my eyes turn red. It would be another sign of my aging.

I turned around. To my surprise, the man didn’t gasp or pull away. He gently grabbed my neck and pulled me closer to himself to examine.

“Full lips,” he began, “pale grey eyes, pale skin. You are all about grey, aren’t you?”

“It’s my favorite color,” I said dryly. The man chuckled. I frowned.

“You would be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, if not for the wrinkle.” He pressed his index finger on my forehead, where a small amount of my skin sagged and folded. It made me hideous. It made me scared.

“And I didn’t forget the grey hair,” he continued. “It’s a shame I have to kill you.”

“Wait!” I said sharply. The man looked up from his pocket, where he began to pull out a knife. “I can work. I can work until I drop dead. You can keep me a secret all the days of your life in a basement. Just please, don’t kill me.”

The man looked at me curiously. He was no different than the other faces I had seen before; bright blue eyes, slick, black hair, and a sharp jawline. But he wasn’t innocent. His eyes were tired. I wondered how many people before me had died at his hands.

“And tell me, girl, what skills you acquire? Surely you haven’t learned much being trapped in a shed all your life.”

“You’d be surprised. I am an excellent carpenter.”

The man stroked his chin. My argument needed to be compelling.

“So let’s say I do take you back to the capital as my personal carpenter to live in my basement. Someone will find you out. And if they do, I’m the one who’ll be blamed. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Then why don’t you make it fair for both of us? All I need is to be blessed by a royal-blood to live all the days of the earth. And then my youthful immortality is sealed.”

The man gave me a mischievous smile. “You’ve thought this out, haven’t you?”

“What else am I supposed to do with all this time on my hands?”

“Fair enough. But it’s too risky. The gene will still be in you, and you’ll terrify the King.”

“Who said I was meeting anyone face to face?”