The continued rough draft of untitled, unset, untimed, un-everything fairy tale. Moral of the story (thus far anyway), never make a wish then squash your fairy ring 😉
Morgaine stared at the upholstered underside of her canopied bed. Teeth, cleaned. Silver-blue curls, brushed until they glowed. Silly, frilly, fussy nightdress, on. Covers, tucked tight. Cheeks, good night-kissed and bedside candle, blown out.
Daddy was busy. He had to attend a meeting.
Morgaine heaved a sigh and turned over to her side. Squeezing her eyes shut, she resolved to find another fairy ring in the morning and try again.
She was in the twilight realm between wakefulness and dreams when she heard them.
A light, sweet voice, one that made her think of soap bubbles twinkling in the summer breeze, said “Is that her?”
A deeper voice, one that made her think of a plough horse hopelessly mired in muck, responded. “Yes. She made the wish.”
The spell worked!
Morgaine kept her eyes closed, her breathing regular and consciously relaxed every muscle on her torso. She did not want to scare them, whoever they were. Not if they could take her to see Mother. She sensed rather than heard the two entities circle around her bed, coming closer. Her nose flared at the scent of night-blooming jasmine that unexpectedly assaulted her senses.
They must be very close.
“Are you sure?” Soap-bubble said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Whatever happened to: ‘Skin of alabaster/ Hair of spun gold/ Grace incarnate/ Behold the maiden fair’?”
“I mean, look at her. Why do we always get the ugly ones?”
Morgaine sat bolt upright, the embodiment of wounded outrage. “Hey!” She squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the two entities.
Soap-bubble, somewhere to her left. “She doesn’t even have proper witchy eyes. What self-respecting witch has brown eyes? Should be green. Or violet.”
Plough horse. From the right. “Or electric blue. So she could fry you with a glare.”
Morgaine flapped her arms around, trying to catch them. “There’s nothing wrong with brown eyes!” The air whistled as Soap-bubbles and Plough-horse ducked her open palms.
“Or silver even. At least then it’s obvious she’s blind.” Soap-bubbles, from above her head.
Morgaine gritted her teeth. “Am. Not. Blind!” She swiped at where she thought Soap-bubbles was, but caught nothing but crisp autumn air with one hand and a fistful of her own hair with the other.
“It’s not nice to tease the blind, Sledge,” Plough-horse said, somewhere unexpectedly close to her left ear.
Morgaine reared away, instinctively batting at her ear. “For the last time, I’m not blind.”
“Only calling it like I see it, Twinkle. Just look at her flail around.”
“I’m also not deaf. Are you?”
Twinkle, from somewhere behind her. “Epilepsy.” Morgaine heard a groan from Sledge and the smacking sound of a face-palm. Twinkle continued his sonorous drone. “Epilepsy could explain why she is flailing around.”
“I don’t have epilepsy. Whatever that is.”
Sledge, from her right. “I’d prefer simple stupidity to epilepsy. Or narcolepsy.”
Morgaine clenched her jaws and kept still, waiting for Sledge to get closer.
“Do you remember Sleeping Beauty, Twinkle? She looked the part, but what a nightmare to work with.” Sledge chuckled. Morgaine heard a whir wings and felt a gentle breeze on her left cheek. “Sleeping Beauty. Nightmare. Get it?”
She weaved her head – fast – and snapped her fingers closed on… something. A set of wings beat a frantic tattoo against her palm.
“Twinkle, help!” Sledge’s soap bubble voice was muffled. “The Hag’s got me!”
Hag? Morgaine growled. She brought her closed fist up to her face. “Who are you calling a hag, you –“ Morgaine yelped at an unexpected sharp pain from her side.
“Let. Sledge. Go!” Twinkle roared, punctuating each word with a head butt.
“Yeah,” Sledge said. “Lemme go. We were just teasing. We knew you weren’t asleep.”
“Let. Sledge. Go!” Twinkle roared again, each word accompanied by a burst of pain from Morgaine’s side.
“Can’t grant your wish unless you let me go.”