Tale As Old As Time

Prologue: An Enchantress Spurned

Once upon a time, is how the old lie goes. For truth is light as leaves in the current, and time it ever flows. And a tale as old as this, with the conquest of love's true kiss, has been washed in the stream so long it's polished clean and oh does it ever gleam.

A tale of a woman named for a face so fair, who disarmed a man made beast of hair and tooth and claw, conquered his despair and enkindled a love so rare it should be treasured. A tale with a third and fourth actor; both the malefactor, one reviled and one forgotten. The hunter, the boaster, the village's leading man, who when the mob came to break the gate he lead it from the van. And the other villain, forgotten save for a wilting rose, whose curse enclosed both servant and serf for a sin one should suppose no worse than demanding an inkeeper's toll.

This is the tale we are told, a story washed clean of vagaries old. True love triumphant, a future of idle comfort, and of greatest import; happily ever after.

And pried loose from the tale; inconvenient truth. Ever the first casualty in a fable to be told to tomorrow's youth.

But this tale as old as time is in my hands now, reader mine. And this song as old as rhyme has some darker notes to play. Bundle up, if you're made of sterner stuff, and let me tell you a tale.

We begin on a dark night. A night so laden with stars the new moon blots the heavens in a spherical scar. A night where candles show their brightest glow, and lanterns lay across a cobbled way, little soldiers to keep the dark away. And with the jingle and tingle of bells, up this luminous street came a lady most fell.

She rode a carriage of ivory and gold, glittered more brightly than the stories your mother told. She sat upon cushions of crimson satin, and wore jewels found before men spoke Latin. Her hair and skin like the two faces of the moon; curls black and twisted like the midnight water, skin paler than silver in a coffer. To call her beautiful would demean the matter, as well call the sky blue for all it would flatter.

And she came with the storm, though none — not even she — knew it.

To this night of lights and such fair sights, she rode to a palace on a hill. The warm hearth fires shone from the castle's spires, a tribute to the rising sun. Laughter rode and music flowed, the air tasted of perfume and wine. Past ivory'd gates her fate awaits, a prince lay inside.

She came to a stop and crossed the footman's block, grey dress shone like silver mist. Servants bowed, eyes held at the ground, guardsman and maid all suitably cowed. She smiled down as she passed, her graciousness a porcelain mask, and none looked up as she knew they would.

The hall doors parted, and trumpets rang out to announce her. But a portly man threw himself in her path, and her blood burned at the slur. She was brought to stop, like a beggar at a town hall, but she smiled sweetly and said, "monsieur. So bold a maid might gasp. I cannot help admire it, even as you reach far beyond your grasp."

He wilted 'neath her words, a flower caught in first frost. His puffy cheeks sagged, his waistcoat bagged, as he quailed before the lady he crossed. But "madam," said he, and reached far beyond his station. "Do you, by chance, have an invitation?"

From frost to winter full beneath her scrutiny, her scorn unveiled. On this warm summer night the servants could see their breath and the gardens in frost were scaled. "Servants, like furnishings, are meant to improve the comfort of your betters. They should dare not impede, lest you find yourself in fetters."

From eyes gone wide the servant's monocle tumbled. His voice gave out, his words stumbled. And a reassuring hand fell on his shoulder, a gentle whisper to move over, and another servant joined the fray. He bowed halfway to the floor, gestured through the open door, and said, "allow us to see you to the fete."