A Modern Fairytale

Curse upon curse

You must have thought it impossible when you landed the curse. You cheated yourself. Ironic that you'd done it twice in the same night; even more ironic that you have always been the only person truly capable of cheating yourself.

You didn't have to do it. You could have cooperated with yourself.

Instead, you cheated yourself.

Always, for all time, and without fail.

☆☆☆

Long, long ago, a false angel was born into this world without a story. He, like his brothers and sisters, knew only that he was a false angel, what it meant, and what his name was. He knew that the spot where he woke up was not where he was when he was first created, and he knew not how, when, or whence he was transported; he knew only that this was where he belonged now. He was the prince of a fictitious kingdom; he bore a title with no meaning. The woman who bore the accursed crown was kind to him, but they did not know each other. His appearance was as mysterious to her as it was to him: it just happened. And while he knew, by the very fact that she was wearing the Venethema crown, that she was real, there was no way for either of them—or anyone, for that matter—to find out whether he was a product of her imagination or something that actually existed.

"I think the next bearer will be you, Ulric," said the queen one day as she combed his hair.

"Your Highness, but you don't even know—"

"If you're real? And call me Dorothy—now, I won't say that again. Got it?" said the woman with a smile.

"...got it."

"I don't know if you're real, that's true; by the same token, I don't know if you're false either. And that, Ulric, is good enough for me."

"You don't even know where I came from. I don't know where I came from. One day, you suddenly have a prince—and you just accept that?"

Queen Dorothy planted a kiss atop his head. "I would have adopted you if you weren't given to me."

He wanted to believe those words. He wanted those words to be believable. He wanted to, but what Dorothy had said was a big "if" that would never have taken place anyway. There was nothing for her to prove; although equally, there was nothing for him to prove against either. In the end, he did not reject her, but he did not fully accept her affection either. He simply...existed alongside her.

One thing led to another, and in the end, when she drew her last breath, Prince Ulric was in Jena Kalyna's place rather than by her side. It would not give him redemption, but somehow, he felt calmer when he saw his feathers turn black. It wasn't that he longed to be a fallen; it just seemed to make more sense. He no longer had to explain to anyone that he was not an angel—well, not that there was anybody left to explain anything to.

King Ulric gazed upon the late Queen Dorothy's body, bloody on the ground. The world around him had already rebuilt itself as if none of the bloodsheds had ever taken place. And yet...the source of that bloodshed was still hovering above him.

"So...what now?" King Valen questioned, watching a silent Ulric stare at the late queen's body. "I have never seen anything like it, but it's almost like none of that ever even happened."

Was that a hint of disgust in the fairy's voice? Ulric could not be certain, and even if he could, he may not have believed it. "What do you suggest, Valen Ginemoux?" the semi-fallen muttered.

"Honestly? I don't know," came the answer, "You just inherited a curse that has nothing to do with you—just as she did. And when you die, somebody else will suffer the same. I suppose that is the truth behind Venethema's legend."