The eye catches the stained glass windows, the glass of color transform into a homeless, shrunken and defeated man. The man is tired and cold. He shivers, his feet slipping on the steps of the castle. He picks himself up before he falls in front of the alluring castle home to the beautiful French princess. The man regains composure, the little he has. He lifts his dirty hand. He knocks on the large stone door, a sharp sound roaring through the castle. The man hears movement behind the large stone door, he reaches out, he calls for shelter, he rumbles for the need to be warm. The beautiful princess fumbles behind the door, she opens it, the creak echoing down. She peers at the devastated man, his helpless demeanor, the beautiful princess pauses.
She needs to show her power.
The beautiful princess laughs, a laugh of emotion, the sweet melody beating his face. She immediately refuses him entry. On the outside, the princess is a powerful beauty, she can control and rule over anyone and everything. But on the inside, she is a tiny bit scared.
Because if this man came in, the man would see she is not powerful. And probably rape her.
The man thunders that she should not judge appearances, he warns her as he scavenges in his dense clothes and pulls out his pen- a carrion flower stem. He offers the smelly plant to the young princess for shelter. "Please," he begs, his voice catching in his throat. The princess gages as she looks squarely in the clean eyes of the dirty man. She opens her mouth,
"No."
The two-letter word vibrates across the castle, over the forest, and through the village. It ricochets to the ear of a handsome man in the village to imbue in his book to notice. Instead, he notices his itchy nose.
Back at the castle, the beggar man hollers as the two letter word bitch-slaps him across the face. In his mind he sees who she must be, a woman who does not know her place. The beggar pauses. In that silence, his excitement grows. Just before the Princess closes the large stone door he flings off his dirty clothes revealing his true appearance. The Princess holds the door open, he is a stunning sorcerer. A sorcerer with just enough muscles, with hair that flops perfectly in his brown eyes, and with a smile that could charm a rock. The Princess sees the man, sees the gaudy perfection and she cringes, her knuckles white against the door. She sees his true self, he is power.
More powerful than her.
She screams an apology her voice raspy. The superlative sorcerer laughs, the steady rhythm deep and hollow. A laugh without emotion. She opens her mouth,
"Please."
The six-letter word disappears the moment she lets it go. It does not vibrate across the castle, nor over the forest, and not even a whisper echoes through the village. The handsome man in the village, still bathed in words of gold, does not even have the chance to consider it. The six letter word vanishes. All the handsome man in the village does, is sneeze.
The sorcerer says nothing, his laugh now only an apathetic smile. The Princess freezes, she knows this smile. A smile that is not really a smile. She knows this facile smile is just a harbinger for an arduous event. She can feel it. All her power, the power of a princess, will vanish. She knows it, she expects it. A man with power only wants more.
The majestic man opens his mouth, the words of a curse beginning to rise in his belly, up his throat, and across the air. He conjures the curse of curses. As far as curses go, this one is good.
The Princess does nothing. She just waits for it to wash over her.
The curse of curses does more than wash, it floods over her, soaking her gown of silk, hair of fudge and necklace of gems. Her eyes of jade, nose of buttons, and lips of rose vanish. She is lifted up and begins to glow an ailing pink, the thick curse absorbing into her skin. The beautiful princess melts into pink darkness. The world stops.
The world starts.
The Princess is a hideous pig.
She is not the cute kind with large eyes and tiny stouts. Instead, the kind that drip in dark splotches and squeal when they are hungry, tired, or, wait nevermind, they always squeal. The pigs that smell like the food they eat. The pigs that are the reason she is vegan. The hog of a princess plummets to the cold stone ground, the curse still sticky on her now leather skin.
The supreme sorcerer's lips do not stop, he keeps going, the words overflowing continue to spill out. He finds her servants, their measly shapes flooded with the curse. They become the household item they have dedicated their life to. A horny energy efficient light fixture in need of a sexy vacuum, an annoying digital clock, a mug with a mustache and a shot glass daughter named Flake. The curse surges over the Pig Princess's kingdom, her luscious valley, dry, her inviting forest, ominous, her bright castle, dark. The curse runs till it's feet become tired, stopping just outside the village, only fifty-seven yards from the handsome man whose eyes continue to taste his book. The handsome man in the village only wipes his nose.
The Hog awakes. She squeals and scrambles up, the world now hell. A powerless hell she will never be able to leave. A Hog Hell that will never end.
The suave sorcerer's curse has finished it's reign of destruction, and he knows it. His emotionless smile leaves his face.
He turns and casually waltzes down the steps, over the bridge, and to somewhere other than this uninviting castle. He leaves behind his beggar clothes skewed on the floor, and his peni- carrion flower stem. The Hog watches his joy and knows she should do something. She should tear down this sorcerer, should make him change her back; the Pig Princess should kill him. There are more deaths by hogs than sharks per year. But key word here is should, because the Hog does not.
Instead, she picks up the stem and closes the large stone door.
The cling of the lock roaring in her ears.
