A Modern Fairytale

The great deception (1)

Long, long ago, a fairy princess was exiled from her own kingdom, leaving her companion behind to evade the wrath of the new king. The princess went unheard of for decades, only to show up again at the forefront of a human king's army. She tore the fairy king's wings from his back as a souvenir for her new lord, stopping for only a few hours to briefly reunite with her companion. When she left, she left the entire kingdom in his hands. The princess returned to her new lord, expanding his empire. At times, she seemed even more eager than he was—a thirst for blood, a hunger for war absent in the king of man. She left traces everywhere, everywhere except her home country; her sights were set everywhere, everywhere except the land from which she was first exiled.

Sometimes, it wasn't so much that she left traces behind or took from the thrones she destroyed; sometimes, ghosts from her battle records followed her, now without a home to return to.

One such "ghost" was a witch by the name of Liraz.

"I really liked Venethema, you know," the violet-eyed witch remarked, lifting her silver-blue hood to reveal her face to the fairy. Above them, the sky had turned dark—darker than it had ever been in both of their long lives. But it had been that way for an abnormal period of time and answers to that mystery were drawing near only slowly.

"As did I," Valerie Ginemoux replied, tapping the petal of a blossoming yellow flower at the height of her ankle. At her touch, that singular petal turned red. The fairy stood back up, turning now to the witch and ignoring the flower. "A perfect kingdom with perfectly functional people, ruled by a perfectly charming king—and altogether so perfect it must be either utterly fake, completely rotten, or both. Who wouldn't love that?"

The petite witch fell silent for a moment. She frowned, then took a step closer to the crimson-haired woman. Valerie was smiling upon her, her smile looking as genuine as her comment sounded.

"Hey, that's mean," said Liraz.

"Perhaps. But you tell me, Liraz, why would you be drawn to Venethema? You were there before Ulric, and you left now only because there is nothing on that land anymore."

"Hm..." Liraz narrowed her eyes.

Valerie continued walking, strolling through the trees to reach the castle gates. It was only when she almost arrived that the witch sprinted to catch up. After all, the guards may not let her in if she weren't with the princess.

☆☆☆

Liraz could not tell her friends all the wonderful memories she'd torn from her customers. She was a witch, yes, but above all else, she was the witch of memories. Men and women approached her, often seeking to alter or cut away parts of their memories. Each and every time, she ensured that they understood fully what it was that they were doing to themselves. Sometimes they decided to reconsider, sometimes they didn't. By way of promise—promises that her customers would no longer remember after the exchange—the witch would not tell another soul what she saw or obtained from them. She kept her unenforceable promises; such an action was the only integrity she had with regard to her naturally questionable business.

In all her years of business, Liraz remembered one girl particularly clearly. She was an ordinary mortal in terms of her lifespan, but her powers precluded even Valerie from actively seeking armed conflict against her. In hindsight, maybe the two concepts were unrelated after all—that girl, although she protected her kingdom, cared naught for it. She did it only out of convenience, and mostly only to protect her loved ones. She fought because that was all that she knew how to do. She tried to love but was convinced that she couldn't.

Liraz was almost tempted to skip the cautioning part when that girl sought her out one day. Back then, she still lived ordinarily in Ulric's Venethema; she hadn't yet met Valerie. But even then, she felt herself to be more biased towards the witch-like fairy than the mortal. The silver-haired girl was simply unapproachable—at that moment, at least.