# March 2015 - LM - Re-imagined Fairy Tale



## Bishop (Mar 4, 2015)

*March 2015 - LM - Re-imagined Fairy Tale*

Click here for the workshop thread

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​*Re-Imagined Fairy Tale​


The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.


Have the prompt included in some way into your story.


The judges for this round are:

Folcro; Guy Faukes; Amsawtell; Bruno Spatola


Rules




All forum rules apply. The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do not forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click here for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
No Poetry! Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click here for the poetry challenges.
No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed. If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the LM Coffee Shop. We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed. You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
Only one entry per member.
No liking entries until the scores go up.
The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word and Google Drive are the standard for checking this. If you feel it’s incorrect, send it to the host of the competition and we’ll check it for you and add our approval upon acceptance.






There are a few ways to post your entry:




If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the LM Workshop Thread which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.



Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score.

This competition will close on:

Sunday, the 22nd of March at 11:59 PM, GMT time.
Click here for the current time.


Good luck, everyone.​*​


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## W.Goepner (Mar 13, 2015)

Golden Fur (648 words)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ale-Workshop?p=1839936&viewfull=1#post1839936


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## NathanBrazil (Mar 14, 2015)

Wooden Boy (649 words)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ale-Workshop?p=1840450&viewfull=1#post1840450


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## inkwellness (Mar 15, 2015)

All Beast, No Beauty (560)


http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ale-Workshop?p=1840633&viewfull=1#post1840633

This is my first attempt at this contest. I am a new member. There are many good stories here and I am honored to be a part of this forum. Thanks.


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## Riptide (Mar 15, 2015)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Tale-Workshop?p=1840815&posted=1#post1840815

The First Little Red Riding Hood (649)


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## joshybo (Mar 15, 2015)

*Well Past Midnight*
(Language, 648 Words)
by joshybo​


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## rcallaci (Mar 16, 2015)

*In the Heavens Above (a re-imagined fairy tale concerning Creation) 650 words*

In the Heavens Above
(A re-imagined fairy tale concerning Creation) 650 words
​
Once upon a time, when Time was still young, and the universe was not yet fully formed-a great kingdom called Heaven came into being. It was as big or if not bigger than the universe itself, which is quite a paradox: if one was to think about such things in a metaphysical way.  

Its lands were full of lush jungles, majestic mountains, tundra’s, waterways, oceans, valleys, and vistas of unparalleled beauty: that gave birth to trees, flowers, bushes, and other wondrous things that grew out from its womb. 

 The King of this land called IT-Self GOD. IT was so pleased with ITS new creation and home that IT also decided to create day and night; so that IT could see the many different shades of its creation. IT was pleased and decided that it was all good.  

After a few billion years of being alone, GOD decided that something was missing.  IT decided to add some living things in Heaven. GOD imagined into being: birds, bugs, and bees, for the flowers and the trees, all types of fish, whales, and serpents, for the rivers and the seas. IT conjured from the air, animals of all sizes and shapes: such as dragons, lions, tigers, elephants, and other assorted beasts of the land. GOD let them roam and make their habitat in ITS jungles, tundra’s, mountains and valleys. The Heavens now teemed with life, and GOD was pleased with ITS new creations. IT decided that it too-- was good.

After only just a few million years or so, GOD was feeling more alone than ever. Although GOD could communicate with ITS living creatures, IT lacked a special closeness that IT yearned for. GOD wanted to share ITS thoughts and ideas with something other than IT-Self. So GOD decided on a somewhat radical plan. Out of a third of ITS essence, GOD created a being in ITS own image, of what GOD imagined IT would look like, if IT had form. GOD called this ultra being God--a corporal version of ITSELF. 

GOD now had someone to share ITS thoughts with and was content. Although GOD had no physical body, being that IT was pure SPIRIT, IT still had direct access to the body and mind of God. IT looked upon ITS creation and was extremely pleased, and decided that it was very, very, good.  

For over five hundred thousand years God enjoyed basking in the glow and essence of GOD. He built temples and magnificent cities in ITS honor. He wrote and sang hymns about the glory and perfection that was GOD. But He couldn’t touch, or see pure spirit, or walk hand in hand amongst the golden sands, and feel the waves beneath their feet, tickle their toes. God adored GOD and reveled in their divine communion but He yearned for someone, similar to Himself, to communicate and couple with. 

GOD felt His anguish and understood His needs and desires. IT brought God unto Him and said, _“Another sixth of MY GOD Essence I will bestow upon-- Your being-- Wherein: You would then have the ability to use a third of Yours’ to create Your, own Ultra Spirit to love, hold, and caress.  But Spiritual Diversity comes with a price. ME!”_

_“MY time in these Lands has come to a close and I bequeath this Kingdom to you. I will now reside in the Empire of Nothingness and become the OTHER, contemplating on the State of Being, unformed and forever growing.” _God was stunned: sad, distressed and overjoyed! A jumble of conflicting emotions welled within Him. He understood that Form and Substance needed to bear fruit and multiply. He graciously accepted GODS gift.

She was the most beautiful creature in the living universe.  God was pleased beyond measure, and fell in Love with Her-- at first sight. He called Her Lucy, short for Lucifer-and they did not live happily ever after…


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## bazz cargo (Mar 16, 2015)

*Family Feud * 
 by  
 Bazz Cargo (410 words).

 There was clunk as Snow White dropped the smoking, shoulder mounted rocket launcher. Swiftly she swung round her Kaplinsky sniper rifle and picked off the last of The Evil Queen's Ice Warriors.

 “Er, Snow, according to Sleeping Beauty we have incoming dragons,” said her werewolf general.

 “Knickers,” swore Snow. She brushed some invisible soot off her jet black cat suit, adjusted her crossed bandoliers and hitched her utility belt up. “Right, most of the left pincer movement had better retreat to the castle, the right can dig in at the foot of the cliffs and our group can set up an ambush from the tree line.”

 Wolfy threw back his head and began a long and complicated howl.

 * * *

 The trees hid the activity, gentle giants uprooted the straightest trees and stripped off most of the foliage, then sharpened the the other end, stacks and stacks they made. Dwarf miners dug complicated underground warrens, this was where they were putting down the line.

 * * *

 It was a half moon night. The five dragons came in a massive flying wedge, with a phalanx of witches on broomsticks.

 A curtain of flares rose on their left, from the base of the cliffs. As the five beasts turned they were attacked from behind, wave after wave of armour piercing rockets  set to enter the softer rears. The witches swarmed and dived into the forest, only to find it full of criss-crossing ropes that unseated them, sending them hurtling to the ground, that was thoughtfully full of pointy wooden stakes.  

 Then it was over, the ambush had worked even better than expected. It was time to take the war to the enemy.

 * * *

 A thousand of the best warriors the land could provide were trained specially for the assault.  

 As the castle walls came under covering fire from guns and rockets and mortars and epithets, the warriors ran forward with eighteen-foot poles, they vaulted up to the battlements and slaughtered the defenders.  

 * * *

 The victors strode in through the shattered gates. Snow rested her rifle against a broken well.  

 “There is no sign of the Queen, your highness,” said Wolfy.

 “Only to be expected, she will be hunted down.”

 “Until then?”

 Snow slid the scrunchy off her ponytail, her hair fell in a dark curtain. “Until then I will see what else I can get off Ebay.”


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## InnerFlame00 (Mar 16, 2015)

Fate (644 words)


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## godofwine (Mar 17, 2015)

*The Three Pigs – By Godofwine (650 Words)*


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## Bishop (Mar 17, 2015)

*Hansel and Gretel FTW [650w, Language, Violence, Fairy Tales]*
By Anonymous

Hansel couldn’t sleep and so cleaned his gun in his room with the door locked. Gretel cleaned her room, picking up small bits of tiny lint and dirt from the carpet until her fingers bled. 

They took off at daybreak. Neither kid had slept. Gretel kept batting her hands at phantom insects as Hansel marched along, clenching his decaying teeth. 

Hours later, they wearily arrived at a house made of gingerbread. When their father knocked on the graham cracker door, his knuckles made little dents in it.

The door creaked open and the seeking eyes of a wizened old woman stared back at them, her skin like a moldy onion’s, gray hair clumped upon her pointed head like that of a long-dead horse. She smiled and stood aside as they entered.

The old woman’s voice was like an untuned violin: “Welcome to my home, little ones. Please, do make yourselves at home.” Bells of a clock chimed somewhere in the back of the house, and she and their father hurried off down the hallway.

When father and the witch were talking in private, Hansel was loading his rifle. When he busted in, their father had the witch’s dress pushed up over her head and her crusty brown underpants around her ankles. Seven quick, ear-splitting shots from the rifle and their father was a bloody heap on the floor. 

The witch, with a round in her belly, sat howling upon the floor in pain. Hansel pounced on her and tied her hands tight. She rattled off a few meager curses, but couldn’t sufficiently focus through the pain to bring them down on Hansel.

He tied her up and gagged her with her underwear. He put a boot on her neck and raised the butt of his rifle. With a pause, then a heavy whack, he put a crack in her skull. Hansel dragged his father’s lifeless body out into the fresh snow. The witch wriggled and moaned on the floor.

“You’ll quiet down,” he shouted, “or I’m gonna stab you in the eye. What’ll it be, bitch?” The pool of witch’s blood mixed purple with the red of their father’s.
Hansel rolled a blunt and made fire, then blew a great cloud of white-gray smoke out into the room where it billowed in pale, silent thunderheads. 

The fork rested atop the table an arm’s length from Hansel. He caught the witch’s eyes flashing toward it, so quick like a spider he snatched it up and jammed it into her right eye. She bucked and screamed like an impotent dragon whose fire had run out, thrashing and banging her bloody head against the stone hearth. “You aren’t getting away so easily,” he said through angry teeth. He reached out and curled a fistful of her coarse gray hair and pulled her head up close to his. His other hand held a sharp hunting knife. 

Gretel bashed in from the other room. “What are you doing,” she shouted. Below Gretel’s nose was the white dusty residue of a fresh line of cocaine, and above it, her frantic bloodshot eyes. Hansel sighed and dropped the hag to the floor. A stream of yellow ran from the witch’s nose. She screeched out a litany of muffled spells. 

He turned back to the witch and pulled her by the hair toward the kitchen. “Give me a hand,” he said soberly. They dragged the growling witch over to the oven, where Hansel flipped on the gas and lit a match. The oven whoofed alive and quickly warmed.

“Lift.” They each grabbed an arm and pushed the witch’s foul head into the oven. Her hair blazed up and she struggled, vomiting out a devil’s diatribe, then collapsing in a hissing, melted heap. 

“Hansel,” Gretel said, her face gaunt and horrible. “Th-that was our mother.”

“I know.” Hansel dusted himself off, turned around, and headed straight for his rifle.


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## TKent (Mar 18, 2015)

The Curious Companionship of Carla and Balo (641 Words)


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## BurntMason84 (Mar 18, 2015)

*Guy Who Cried Wolfe (650 words - Adult Language)*

Guy walked through the streets, copping feels of the prostitutes and laughing at their protests.  His shoulder bobbed on his lanky frame, obscene amounts of gold jewelry bouncing at his every movement.  Had a zoologist seen Guy’s appearance, they might have thought he was the human equivalent of the common weasel; spastic bobs and empty threatening moves, with an affinity for shining things.


                 As he turned the corner, Guy saw his reflection in a shop’s windows.  He took a moment, dusted the remaining cocaine from his red, puffy nose, and straightened his leather jacket, flipping up his collar, finally striking a pose.  Things were coming up for Guy, and he was going to ride that wave to success.  No more Guy, run this package; Guy, trail this cat; Guy, get rid of this dead hooker.  No sir, after tonight’s deal, Guy was going to be at the top of the food chain in Mr. Wolfe’s crew.


                 Rounding the corner, he stepped into his favorite dive.  The bars patrons, all manner of hooligans who were down on their luck and probably couldn’t pay their tab, greeted and cheered for Guy as he strode through the door.  To them, he was the richest man this side of the train tracks, even though guy was no more than a low level thug for the crew he ran with.  Still, he was the only person to have bought drinks for all the patrons in a number of years, and that made him something worthwhile.


                 Guy strode over to his usual booth and sat down.  He glanced at his knock off brand watch, and smirked.  Another 10 minutes and his contact with DEA would walk through.  This time, he had the goods to make sure he handed Oliver Wolfe’s head on a platter.  Once Wolfe and his lieutenants were out of commission, the remains would be ripe for the picking.  He sipped on the cheap beer the bartender reverently brought over to him.  Maybe he could afford the good beer after this deal, the pick of the litter of all the imports.


  As the clock struck half past the hour, Guy began to become nervous.  His contact was supposed to be here already.  He whipped out his cell and frantically called the number assigned to him.  “This is Manning,” came the voice who answered.


  “What the fuck is going on Manning?  Where the hell are you?” Guy nearly shouted into the phone.  The stragglers in the bar looked over their shoulders at his commotion.


  “The deals off, Guy.” Manning replied without hesitation.


  “What?”  Guy now shouted, not caring about making a scene.


  “That shit you fed us last time was so bogus that we nearly lost the entire case to another department.  We’re cutting you loose and all deals are off, you fucking crackhead.” And with that, the line went dead.


  Guy couldn’t believe it.  He really had something this time; he had all the information of Wolfe’s shipments, contacts and even knew where some missing bodies were buried.  This couldn’t be happening.  As his mind raced, the front door to the bar swung open.


  In strode a gentleman wrapped in a black fur coat, which underneath he wore a red button vest and black, pin-striped trousers.  His shoes were black as midnight, with silver wing tips flashing.  His chiseled jaw line bore in immaculately trimmed beard, with his goatee ending in a point at the end of chin.  His right ear bore a platinum hoop earring, despite his ear being a mangled lump of flesh.  He sat down at Guy’s table and smiled, bearing a silver tooth which flashed.


                 “Hey, Mr. Wolfe!  What’s happening man?” Guy tried to act jovial and nonchalant, but the words barely escaped his trembling lips.  Glancing around the now vacant room, Guy wondered how everyone left so quickly, not catching the flash before Wolfe’s brass knuckles caught Guy’s temple.


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## Meteli (Mar 19, 2015)

Get Rich Wish

Is still under 650 words. Except if some of my compound words are actually not compound.


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## aj47 (Mar 19, 2015)

*All Sales are Final *(649 words)(Language).

Uncle Ernie’s Used Computers was having their annual Babbage’s Birthday Bargain Bash. I had gone in looking for a real (read “mechanical”) keyboard. I didn't exactly need one, but I’d heard Ernie had recovered a dozen or so from some “Storage Wars” guy who found them in a forgotten unit. And it’s always better to have a spare or two.

They were IBM Model M keyboards. The sticker price was higher than it should have been, but the discount made it worthwhile. I got two. On my way back to my Jeep, I stepped on something hard—someone’s old flash drive. It was a plain, brass-colored, Kingston 8GB drive. I stuck it in my pocket.

~ * ~
​I forgot about the drive until it turned up in the bottom of my washer. I’d heard you could dry electronics in a bowl of uncooked rice. Why not try saving it? It was free, after all. Maybe it had some good porn. 

I left it for a couple of days and then decided to explore it on my Linux box. When I tried to plug it in, it didn't fit—turned out a partial grain of rice had wedged it. Using the smallest flat-blade screwdriver on my Leatherman, I gently pried out the rice, plugged the drive into my hub, then mounted it to a test directory. Something smelled funny. I looked up and saw purple smoke pouring out of the flash drive. I reached over to yank it out--it was icy cold and I dropped it in surprise. The smoke formed into the shape of a turbaned head.

A voice came from the head, though the smoky lips did not move. “You have freed me. I will grant you one wish.”

“What the FUCK!?!” 

“I will grant you one wish,” it repeated. The voice reminded me of Darth Vader without the respirator effect. 

“Can I wish for anything or are there limits?” My head spun. What one thing did I really, really want? I could wish for true love…or maybe I shouldn’t be selfish. Would it grant world peace?

“You may wish for any one material object.” As if reading my mind, it continued, “Nothing intangible like peace, love, or justice.” 

“I can wish for anything?” I thought about it. My Jeep was always in need of work, but I could wish for a new one. Or I could wish for money or something I could sell for money and then pay to have the work done. 

“You have one day to decide.” 

“I don’t need a day,” I said, suddenly certain what I would wish for.

“Tell me your wish and I will grant it.” 

“Okay, I want one of the winning tickets for tomorrow’s Powerball.” That was simple enough. 

The head dissolved and the smoke was sucked back into the flash drive. As I watched, the drive melted into a white puddle with a red swirl. It firmed up into something that looked like a slip of white and reddish paper with writing on it. I picked it up; it was colder than the drive had been. It definitely _looked_ like what I pictured a Powerball ticket to look like. I Googled images for “Powerball ticket” to make sure. It definitely looked legit.

~ * ~​
The site with the ticket image also had the URL where the live drawing was Webcast. I was ready when the numbers started coming…3, 29, 17, 14, 45 – I looked at my ticket. Three numbers matched. The red ball was 14. That matched too. According to the site, that was good for $100.  I had pictured winning $103 million (the current annuitized jackpot). How had I screwed up? I thought it over—what exactly did I say? I wanted a winning Powerball ticket. _Shit! I didn't say “jackpot”—I’m an idiot! _I was lucky I didn't have a $4 winner.


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## Charlaux (Mar 19, 2015)

Big Teeth - 641 words


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## Zeynith (Mar 20, 2015)

*The Fifth Wife (650 words - Mild violence)*


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## midnightpoet (Mar 20, 2015)

Goldilocks and the Three Baers


We were working the day watch out of southern division when we caught the squeal.  About eleven a.m. the “Three Baers” restaurant had been hit with an armed robbery.  Frank and I jumped in the Crown Vic and headed south.  The restaurant was just inside the city limits, and well known for it’s hearty breakfasts.  It had a lot of atmosphere, with deer and moose heads on the walls, and a full size stuffed grizzly bear that greeted customers. By the time we arrived the uniforms had the place shut down.  I flashed my badge and crawled under the plastic tape.  “Papa” Baer was sitting at a table drinking wine.  I couldn’t blame him, this kind of thing was traumatic. The place was a mess.  Tables turned over, wine bottles broken, blood spatters on the wall.    

“I’m Detective Sergeant Jack Sprat, robbery squad,” I said, showing him my identification.  “This is my partner Frank Leen.  Can you tell me what happened here?”

“Can’t tell you much,” Papa said.  “I was out back with the trash when it happened.”

“Was there anyone else here?”

“No, we didn’t have any other customers at the time,” Papa said, lighting a cigar. “It was a slow morning. I heard the gunshots and came running.  I found Mama on the floor with a bloody wound on her shoulder.  The woman had already grabbed the cash and split, but not before she did all this damage. I did catch a glimpse of her, but I was more concerned about Mama. I called 911.  Luckily they got here before she lost too much blood.”

“Can you describe her?” I asked.

“All I remember was blonde hair. My daughter Sue had minor burns, she’s at the hospital with Mama.  I just checked a few minutes ago, they both are fine.  They can tell you more. Mama insisted I stay here.  I hope they finish soon, I need to see my family.  What makes a person do this?  She didn’t need to start shooting.”

“Stick to the facts, sir, just the facts.”

The crime scene guys were busy, and he was too much in shock, so we headed for the hospital.

Charlene “Mama” Baer was in a hospital bed, bandages on her shoulder.  Sue ”Baby” Baer was by her side.  We went through the usual routine.  Baby did the talking.

“She was blonde,” Baby said.  “Probably a bleach job.  Had these curly locks that trailed down to her shoulders.  She was wearing jeans with holes in the knees and high top boots and a black leather jacket.  Had a ring in her nose. We think she left on a motorcycle, I recognized the rumble.”

I scribbled notes on my pad.

“Yeah?”

“Well, she seemed nice at first,” Baby said. “She ordered porridge, one or our most popular dishes.  Well, she tasted it, said it was too cold.  I thought that was strange at the time, we pride ourselves on making the food right. I took it back to the kitchen anyway and heated it.  Then the blonde said it was too hot.  Next thing you know, the bitch was throwing the bowl in my face and shouting obscenities.  Mama was in her usual place at the cash register, and the woman pulled an automatic out of her jacket and demanded the money we had in the till. After she put the dough in a sack she started shooting.  Mama got one in the shoulder as the bitch went out the door. ”

I excused myself and called headquarters.  The description fit a notorious armed robber with the nickname “Goldilocks.”  She had already hit three places this month, similar M.O.  I called for a BOLO.  Back in the hospital room, I continued the interview.

“She say anything else?”

“You know, it was strange,” Baby said.

“Yeah?”

“She said she’d be back when the porridge was just right.”


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## Bishop (Mar 21, 2015)

*The Tower
By Anonymous*


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## J.J. Maxx (Mar 21, 2015)

*Skytop Terrace, a Subsidiary of Jack & Giant Companies, LLC **[637 Words] (Language Warning)
**by J. J. Maxx*


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## M. Cull (Mar 22, 2015)

Allerednic - 650 words

There was a time when stories made me feel like conquering the world. The heroic deeds, the glorious battles, the stalwart men and women who never made mistakes…

“Your majesty,” a quiet voice penetrates the lightless emptiness. “She has arrived.”

My son told me once that he thought I was just like all the men in those wonderful stories. To him I am a man of unassailable character. This will change that.

“Send her in.” I say, then open my eyes, bloodshot and rimmed by hard lines. Around the throne room stand my attendants, stiff and still as trees stripped by winter’s blasts, all staring at the ground. In fact, the only person looking at me is a woman with a black mask, stylized with lines of red and silver. Her massive six-foot axe rests easily in her right hand, already a familiar appendage.

“I congratulate you, my king. The people will thank you.”

“Be silent.” I seethe, unsheathing my sword. I step down off the dais, approaching her slowly. “You are a headsman now, nothing more. Your days as ‘fairy godmother’ have ended.”

“This much is true,” the mask says. Its red and silver mouth is curved into a permanent smile. Death, gloating in its omnipotence. “For the time being.”

I bring the edge of my steel up to touch the skin of her neck, gazing through the mask at the woman behind it. She doesn’t move.

“You will cease your impudence, sorceress, or you die _now_.” I snarl. “Without your wand, you are mortal again.”

“Why threaten me now, my lord?” the mask asks, careful not to move. “Have you not already won?”

“I won’t be satisfied, _headsman_, until you’ve beheaded every last accomplice in your plot to destroy my kingdom.” For a moment, my hand almost moves of its own accord. To be free of that smirk…

My sword comes down.

For a long moment, my jaw remains clenched, the knuckles of my sword hand pale. “No one ever wins, though. In this game we play, there are only losers and the dead. Nothing more.”

The massive doors to the throne room swing open then, and a woman is brought through trussed in heavy chains, blank-faced guards at her sides. So this is my son’s beloved ‘innocent servant girl.’

I step toward her, for a bare moment unable to avoid the remorse. It flashes like a magician’s trick, then is obliterated as iron-fisted resolve crashes down. The figure before me stands tall, defiantly looking me in the eye, despite her obvious disadvantage. Her beauty is truly remarkable, and the fire so obviously burning within her heightens the effect.

I walk over to stand in front of her. The legendary kings of my past would probably have sat on the throne in my position, demanding to have the criminal brought to stand at their feet. But I am nothing like them. Nothing at all.

“I don’t wish to kill you.” I say, careful to keep my distance despite my still naked blade.  “One final time, I extend my offer to you.”

Silence.

“Tell me who you work for, assassin.”

“My name is Cinderella,” she says, almost smiling, “I only came for the ball.”

“The trail of dead behind you tells a different story.” I scowl. “Did you ever actually love him? My son?”

The assassin’s smile blooms fully.

“Do you realize that he would _die_ for you, ‘Cinderella’?” I rage at her, my voice echoing.

“He and the rest of this pathetic kingdom,” she says, then spits at my feet. 

“So be it then. Headsman,” I don’t look over at the mask, but continue staring at the assassin, the woman for whom I will break my son’s heart. “Read her sentence.”

“For attempting to kill the king and crown prince using trickery and black magic,” the mask speaks, its voice hollow, “you are hereby sentenced to death.”


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## Bishop (Mar 22, 2015)

*The Big Good Wolf
By Anonymous*


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## Jorm Arcturus (Mar 22, 2015)

*The legend of the moon*

Long before our time, in the days before the sun followed the moon in their endless dance, in an age where magic and wonder and evil in equal measures filled the land, twins were given to a lowly woman, wife of a woodcutter. When they were born, the wind hushed as it glimpsed their loveliness, and the streams and rivers across the land burbled and laughed their names. The land itself murmured quietly, whispering of their future greatness, for of all the spirits, the earth is the wisest. And the sun said nothing.

Mera, whose hair was pure onyx, was the eldest, and even in her infancy she exhibited a beauty to rival the stars. Sey, whose hair was the color of wheaten gold, was the youngest, having been brought from the womb last, and her magnificence was that of the sun. And when the midwife delivered them to her, their mother wept, for she felt a shadow would seek to divide them. But she dried her tears before her husband returned, for she would not allow him to see her weep on a day that should be joyous. But she could not shake the portent.

As they grew, their mother could be seen watching them play, and her features would bear sadness, but none who saw this could say why.

Soon, according to the wind and the streams and the earth, the children grew to womanhood, and each had many suitors. Mera was stalwart and reserved, kind and strong, but her ire was great when roused. She was tall as any man, her eyes were grey as a stormy sky. Sey was slight and quiet, and her complexion was pale. Her smile was always ready, and her hands were always quick to help those in need. But there were times when she would weep with unknown sorrow. And her eyes were green as the sea.

One day, a man in silks and fine thread came to their land from the east, with pale skin and eyes, and his name was Gerra. He was strong and honorable, and yet also courteous and thoughtful. His hands were rough with creases, borne of long years at the sword, which was belted to his waist. When he beheld the twins, he dropped to one knee, and took Sey’s hand and kissed it, and Mera felt the hot weed of jealousy spring forth in her heart. In the same token, Gerra took Mera’s hand and kissed it as well, and the same emotion burned through Sey. And the shadows deepened.

As the days went by, the twins grew estranged, as they both sought the attentions of Gerra. And though he teased and toyed with the both of them, Gerra would not make a decision on either, and their jealousy grew, nearly blooming into hatred.
But their mother had seen how Gerra swayed them, and so she drew them close, and wept as she had on their birth day, and told them of the portent she had been given. Gerra would strangle the love they had for each other in coils of shadow.
Great was the wrath of Mera, to feel so used. She demanded retribution. Sey softly counseled forgiveness, but Mera would not be persuaded.

That night, while the village slept, Mera and Sey petitioned the spirits to come to their aid. Strong Mera demanded Gerra be slain, to never break a woman’s heart again. But sweet Sey asked for Gerra to be spared, for though he had wounded them deeply, he did not deserve death.

The requests were at odds. Then the Earth spoke, and she said, “Sun, what should we do?”

The Sun said quietly, “Give unto me this wayward one, and I will have him follow me, until my death.” And the others agreed. And thus, Gerra was placed in the sky, to accompany the Sun until the end of time.


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