An old gem.

[Yva]

I got pretty far into this too. I may pick it up again. The uhh, idea was the fairy tale princess becomes a zombie and starts eating the fairy tale kingdom.

*****

The Abbot called it a blessed day. The Fairy Godmother said the sun had surely smiled upon the kingdom of Darrows. The King beamed with pride. The Queen slurped pain numbing tea as fast as it was brewed. Celebration! Let the wine flow like water! A princess and heir had been born to the noblest of families, the Dragonsbane family, well into its sixth century of rule.

By pigeon, by mouth, by parchment and sea, the news traveled fast: Lucretia Elsabet Sarramia Dragonsbane was, by all accounts, perfect. As perfect as could be. Every peasant’s smile, every toast and cheer affirmed what everyone had already suspected; the hopes and dreams of a kingdom were now twined round the pudgy pink fingers of an infant girl.

In the royal chamber, Millicent eyed her sister, her fairy wings fluttering behind her. In theory, they were moving fast enough to set her aflight, but the fact that she outweighed most pack mules and perhaps a Clydesdale or two meant her feet remained planted to the ground. “Bloody hell, Anne. It took you long enough to pop one out. You’d think Harry wasn’t in your drawers all the time.”

The queen made a rude gesture before wilting into the pillows. “Do shut up. I don’t see you giving the kingdom any new royal blood. And take it from me, it’s not without its pains. I feel like my insides have been drained.”

“It’s not my time,” Millicent said, waddling over to the window. She threw open the sash and lit a cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke at the heavens. “Besides, I’m whale-like enough without nine months of blubber.”

“MY LADY Millicent!” the newly appointed nursemaid exclaimed, swooping in to pick up her newborn charge. “The child shouldn’t be exposed to . . . to your tobacco habit.”

“Oh for heaven’s . . . then take her to the nursery. I had a trying day by proxy, damn it.”

With a ‘hmph’, the nurse scurried from the room, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

“You hire the most annoying servants. They’re far too lippy.”

“Sister dear, nothing ever truly pleases you.”

“Perhaps.” Millicent mashed her cigarette against the windowsill, closing the shutters to keep the chill at bay. Now alone with her exhausted sibling, she approached the bedside to lean down and grace the queen’s brow with a kiss. “Don’t be telling anyone I said this,” she whispered, “but you did fine today, Anne. Very fine indeed. She’s perfect.”

Anne’s smile was weary. “The perfect princess in the perfect kingdom. Everything is just . . . Perfect.”

>><<

At eighteen years of age, Lucretia had - as everyone expected - turned into the quintessential fairy tale princess. She had creamy white skin, as soft and as smooth as the best of satins. Her garnet spun hair cascaded down her back to sway around her hips. A swanlike neck, graceful hands, and eyes likened to a pair of sapphire stars set the romantic’s heart aflame. She had magnificent posture, a beautiful mouth, and her voice! Her song would shame the larks to silence.

She was what every farmer’s daughter wanted to be. She was what every field hand wanted in a wife.

The perfect princess.

Lucretia dropped her hairbrush onto her vanity, blinking at her reflection. What to do with herself? Her tutors had given her the day off in commemoration of her birthday. She supposed she could go riding, and maybe for a hunt, but her favorite mare was recovering from a bruised foot and the rest of the horses were far too docile.

With a sigh, she went to her bedroom window, surveying the land she loved. Darrows: lush greenery, sprawling vineyards, picturesque villages surrounding an enormous castle of white marble peaks. From here she could see the nearby lake; Rayne’s Tear, where she swam to cool off in the heat of the summer months. The Lion’s River snaked to the east, providing fresh water to Darrows’ dark grape vineyards renowned for their sweet – yet tart – harvests. She could smell fresh baked bread, and hear a peasant singing as he prodded his mule along the cobblestone streets below.

The perfect kingdom.

Lucretia wandered from her room, nodding at the servants dusting and straightening the halls. She made her way to the gardens, navigating the maze-like hedges with ease. Her mother was here, somewhere; she always did needlework with her ladies in wait during lunch. Lucretia smiled; a visit with the women would do her good. At least, it would give her something to do for a while. Through the rose bushes and around the rhododendrons, Lucretia meandered until she heard their chatter. They were across the way, by the lily pond. She hiked her skirts and dashed through the grove, enjoying the feel of grass crunching beneath her feet.

She found them in the shade of the great oak, their wicker chairs set in a circle, their heads collectively bowed over their latest sewing project. Lucretia smoothed her rumpled skirts, scanning the dozen or so heads until she found a familiar silver crown.

“Hello Mother,” she said.

The queen gasped, her fingers flying to her throat. “Lucretia! What are you doing here?” She said on a choke. All conversation promptly ceased. There was a distinct lack of noise as the cross-stitching assembly gaped at the princess in horror.

“Erm, just visiting.”

The queen’s smile was tight. “Right then. “ She regarded her attendants with a delicate shrug, and they began to whisper amongst themselves. Lucretia couldn’t hear them, but whatever it was they were discussing yielded much head shaking and gesturing.

Well. Isn’t this just awkward.

She shuffled her feet, unsure whether she should stay or go.

A moment later, the queen stood from her chair, beckoning her daughter over. “We have a gift for you, though it’s a bit early.”

“Are you sure, Anne?” Came a disembodied voice, and Lucretia looked around, recognizing the not-so-dulcet-tones of her Fairy Godmother.

The queen growled. “Millicent? Where are you hiding?”

“Here, darling. Here.” The corpulent Fairy Godmother appeared on a golden chaise just behind the party. She took a drag from her ciggy-on-a-stick, waving a hand to clear the coil of purple smoke. “Just listening to you hags go at it. I really didn’t know Penelope’s baby belonged to Captain Hawkes. For shame!”

Anne settled her hands on her hips . “I hate it when you do that, you bloody snoop.”

“You decided to be a queen, I decided to be a Fairy Godmother. Different skill set, love.” Millicent projected herself from her dais and waddled over to Lucretia’s side. “Hello lambie.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. “Good to see you.”

Lucretia crinkled her nose at the cigarette smoke clutching at her aunt’s hair. For all her magic, the woman couldn’t seem to overcome that stench. “Good to see you too, Fairy Godmother.”

“Lucretia, come here. We want you to try this on.”

“What am I trying on again?”

“This.” The ladies in wait stood as a single unit, flourishing a magnificent gown of silver and white before them.

Lucretia blinked at it. “What’s that for?”

“Your ball.”

“What ball?”

Millicent prodded Lucretia forward, jabbing a thick finger into the middle of her back. “Go. Try on the dress, before your royal mother loses her royal mind.”

“But what ball?” Lucretia repeated, walking stupidly towards the gown. She had to admit it was gorgeous; the bodice and underskirt were a pure snow white, the overskirt a fine gossamer silver. The silver embroidery had been done by hand; she knew her mother’s work when she saw it.

“Your birthday ball. We need to find you a prince,” Anne said brightly, ordering a pair of servants to retrieve some dressing screens.

“A prince?!” Lucretia squawked, her distress stifled by the mass of ladies now milling around her, pulling at her gown, tugging on her hair. “What prince?”

“There are a few to choose from, actually.” The screens didn’t arrive, they appeared thanks to some hand waving of Millicent’s and were promptly set up in a circle. The queen shepherded her daughter behind them with a smile. “Oh, hungry dear?”

“Not really. What princes, mother. I’d really . . . “

“Here, eat something.” And before Lucretia could finish her thought, the queen crammed a finger sandwich into her mouth. “Egg salad. It’s luscious.”

Lucretia felt like a puppet as her arms were raised above her head. Her simple blue frock was thrown to the side. Just as she thought she would catch a chill from standing around in her chemise, the silver gown was dragged over her head. At least four sets of hands set about tying and lacing the thing together.

“Wha ‘prince, moffer,” she said through her egg salad.

“Don’t worry yourself, lambie. Just wear the bloody dress, mmkay?” Millicent said, stepping back to eye her niece. “Oh, aren’t you just a dish.”

Lucretia wanted to tug on her hair and scream. The dress was getting tighter and tighter as the lacing on the corset was pulled taut. She swallowed the mouthful of egg salad, desperately trying to catch her mother’s eye. “Mother, what are you planning? What ball? What are . . . ” But her voice was lost amidst the praise of the ladies in wait. They all cooed at how pretty she was, at how delicates she looked in the new silver gown. Lucretia very much wanted to shred the thing with her bare hands, to stamp her foot and demand answers, but that wasn’t what princesses did.

“Mother, please!” she wailed, her protest quickly staunched by yet another sandwich jammed into her mouth. She tried to speak through the half chewed food, she tried to swallow it down, and that was likely her mistake. Because you see, the perfect princess in the perfect gown in the perfect kingdom promptly choked on her sandwich.

And died.