Good morning, my queen. Your wish is my command. You wish to know the fairest in the land? Of course you! Who else possess this marble perfection?
(The aroma of your conceit sends delicious shivers through my bones. I drink it like wine, intoxicating ether.)
What thwarts your smile of ice, Majesty? Does trust in your faithful spirit fail? Confide in me your deepest fears, let me assuage.
(Ah, at last to the point. This glass that embodies thins, I taste pain. You succumb, creeping infection beneath the cracked veneer.)
The fresh rose grows to garland the crown? Ah, sneaking life, to overwhelm unchange in perfect metal. Death’s symbol in waking world. Life must die.
(The poison wracks, red blood turns crystal. Beautiful black sucking light, a vessel prepared.)
My queen, my slave unwitting, this mirrored frame no longer. A crown of bone-laid gold weighs lighter than nebulous brimstone. Rose withers, ice shatters, world chars within my empty eyes.
Well it did happen once upon a time. How else would you like me to begin?
As I struggled for breath, I reflected on the events that led to my current situation.
O-kay… Anyway, in an ancient oak in the center of an Enchanted forest lived a…
Don’t say fairy.
Fine. What do you think lived there?
A were-rabbit.
Is it at least a nice were-rabbit?
Sure, all were-rabbits are nice. Everyone knows that.
I see. Well, this were-rabbit loved living in the ancient oak. She…
He.
Sigh. He had been born in a cottage beneath its roots, behind a lovely yellow door that seemed to welcome everyone who passed by.
But behind the door lay a terrible secret.
Look here, who’s telling this story, me or you?
You, but you aren’t telling it very well.
Alright then, what terrible secret could a yellow door and a nice were-rabbit possibly be hiding?
The tree had been enchanted by an evil wizard. Whenever a visitor approached the door, the roots came alive and twisted above the ground.
Oh, I see. So the door drew people in with false promises and the tree ate them for supper.
No! Why would a nice were-rabbit love living in a tree that ate people for dinner? You’re scary, you are.
Right, right. Do please go on. You were just explaining the terrible secret behind the door.
I don’t know, this is supposed to be your story.
Alright then. The were-rabbit was such a nice rabbit that he needed to share his enchanted cottage behind the yellow door with everyone. He had paid an evil wizard to turn the roots into his special security system. Visitors became permanent residents in the warrens beneath, protected from themselves and their misguided desire to leave by the living, twisting wood crawling above them. Everyone lived miserably ever after except for the nice were-rabbit, who never lacked for dinner company as long as he lived. The end. Goodnight.
You call that a fairy tale? Tomorrow night I’m asking Dad.
The Word Worker 