Eternal Sleep [On Hold but Not Forgotten]

Eve of the 16th

Shuffling my feet about the wooden planks that had begun to peel from their dirty underbelly, I examined each tip of my finger with anxious wonder. Upon one of these fingers would lay the destiny of my kingdom, were I to make a grim mistake with them. My father had banished every spinning-wheel in the land to ensure my safety and then swept me to this humble cottage within the country side to doubly confine me from what evils may lay in wait beyond the kingdom.

The Faeries tended to my every worry and want; despite having lived in a humble hovel, my life had been anything less than magically extravagant. Dishes were never wont to being undone and every tear within the fabrics of my stitch-less gowns were easily mended by some unseen, ethereal threads.

My fair face had to be hidden from town to avoid suspicion, but on rebellious occasions when I would venture beyond the edge of the wood, I could easily gather a small crowd of potential suitors, all insistent that they could lend me the world without a hint that I could already hold it all in my dainty, unscathed hands.

Of course, my story was not lacking for villains: some old broad had doomed me to eternal sleep lest "true love's kiss" wake me—the thing was, the eternal sleep part wasn't due to start until I was 16; I was supposed to prick my finger on an old spinning wheel. I knew that somehow, even though my father had gotten rid of "every one" that there would inevitably be one there tomorrow when I woke. I had accepted this as fact. The only thing I could hope to do was resist the temptation to touch my finger on the thing and prick it.

I understood that the witch could come and force my finger upon it—there was always brute force as an option for people like her—but somehow I felt that she would find it beneath her to stoop to such methods. To use such an intricate, drawn-out curse upon my father for merely neglecting to invite her to a party suggested that she was too self-centered to use simple methods like that.

She would find some more elaborate way of forcing me to my doom--what's a party without a story filled with her feats of intricate planning and eventual victory over a seemingly hopeless child unless those intricate plans made me look insufferable and dimwitted—not merely helpless. That would paint her poorly in the memoirs she would undoubtedly have commissioned after having settled with old age and "golden age" accomplishments. She had to validate her actions by making me look spellbound by my own greed or something of the like.

Stars twinkled knowingly from beyond my open window; a warm summer breeze tried to lull my eyes to sleep, but my heart was wide awake with the knowledge that it may never be a part of the waking world again. I had no true love; I doubted that anyone would come to save me when I went to greet my sleeping Fate tomorrow. What a tragedy... I was always exceptionally grateful for the things I'd been given in my childhood to equate for what I'd miss as an adult. I think the Faeries knew... they would not spoil me unless they knew that I was doomed to some terrible Fate like this—a Fate of sleeping my life away unto Death; forfeiting living for an eternal, slumbering lie...

A whisper arose from the corner of the room.

"Hello, child. It is nice to see you again—I remember when you were just a babe," she cooed.

I tensed. Even though I'd spent my life preparing for this moment, I could not help but fear what she might do next in the coming moments. Midnight must have struck—I was sixteen. The spinning wheel wove itself from the invisible void that shone with the tapestry of vision and free air. I would miss seeing the real world—dreaming could not be all that it was cracked up to be. I had never dreamed when I slept; I knew somehow that my body was storing them up for what would be a long time to do such novel things.

"Go ahead. You know what you must do."

I shook my head.

"Why not? Don't you think that pricking your finger might be in your best interest?"

"And why would it?" I asked, my voice quavering.

The Faeries would not interfere. They had warned me—they could not stop Fate any more than they had. While the witch had not condemned me to Death as all had thought, she had originally intended for me to sleep right away. The Faeries had bought me this extra time to give me a double-edged sword—a life with a timer doomed to sleep.

Her beautiful, silvery orbs appraised me lovingly. I was struck by how compassionate she seemed toward me. Raising her fingers to my chin, the rest of her elegant figure appeared, dressed in a midnight black to rival the canvas of the stars. She was no demon—she was a beautiful woman with raven hair and a porcelain complexion framed by silvery eyes and ruby lips. She was statuesque and strong—she looked exactly like me.

"Because I know what's best for you—I am your mother, after all."