DISCLAIMER
If you recognize it, it's not mine.
If you don't recognize it, it still might not be mine.
I just really think these two deserve this kind of story so let me have my sordid fun
The young Carrionite was buffeted hard by the wind as she sought shelter. She had landed on this early planet of Earth on accident, intending to meet her sisters Bloodtide and Doomfinger further south, but she had miscalculated her words and landed in the wrong place. She wasn't too far off in location, but she had landed in a completely unprotected area in the middle of a bitter snowstorm. Struggling through the snow, her cloak flattened against her leathery hide by the wind she at last spotted what could be called shelter. A gorgeous palace of white-washed stone, probably white sandstone with a thin layer of ice over it giving it an extra shine. She conjured up a rose, enchanted to give beauty and long life to the owner. Hopefully the castle inhabitants would be afraid enough of death to grant her a nights shelter from the storm in exchange for a long life of beauty.
The gardens she passed were well kept despite the cold. The paths would be mud-free even after the worst of thaws or storms. She approached the huge wooden door and raised the knocker to announce herself. The knocker sounded like a death kneel and was heavy brass in the shape of a serpent twisted upon itself to strike the person who dared use it. Within the palace many scaled heads turned toward the door, what madman was out in this death storm?
"Open the door!" Princess Vastra hissed, jumping off of her throne. She was young, but nobody doubted that she would take over for the old leaders when they died. She was the strongest, the fittest, the most beautiful of any warrior-princes or princesses that had been sent to answer the call when they had announced that they needed an heir. For all that she was the most impressive of all the candidates, and had won the throne (well, the title of next in line to it, though she was happy to abuse that power and sit in the throne while the Tribe Leaders were away on business) she cared very little for anyone who wasn't a warrior like herself. The fact that she all but kicked a small, imported microceratus out of her way as she marched toward the door was enough proof of her temper for most. Several servants, including French Candle, head maid Tikka and Sea Devil Kettle scrambled to get to the door first, pulling them open (ignoring the fact that their own hands and faces where nearly frozen off by the instant blast of cold air that erupted inward through the door).
"Well, who are you and what do you want? Go ahead and speak you ugly thing, before I lose my patience and use you as hunting practice." Vastra's voice was haughty and sharp, only a slight hiss clinging to it as she glared at the pile of rags and leathery bird-like features huddled on her doorstep.
"Please, Highness. I am but a humble beggar lost in the storm. All I have to my name at this time is this rose, enchanted to bring the owner a long life and great beauty. I will give it to you, in exchange for shelter from this bitter cold and storm." Vastra's pale blue eyes narrowed and the Carrionite realized that here was a lizard with nothing but cold blood in its veins. There was no love at all behind those sharp eyes, she would have been surprised to find that the heart inside that tubular chest could even beat.
"My kind live forever if we chose, and I am beautiful as any warrior needs to be. You and your gift should leave before I cut you both to pieces and feed you to the raptors." The Carrionite swallowed and tried one last time, her temper rising against this stubborn and heartless Silurian.
"Be careful, Highness. Appearances can be deceiving, true beauty is in the character and heart of a person, not their hide. Now please, accept my gift and allow me shelter." The sneer that now graced those glittering scales told her what she would need to do before the lips parted.
"Get lost you stupid bird. I've no time to deal with every begging bag of fleas that drags itself to my door. Be glad I only send you back into the storm instead of separating your head from your body." The Carrionite hissed and used her powers to transform then, her temper breaking like a wave.
"FOOLISH SILURIAN PRINCESS! YOU HAVE NO LOVE, NO COMPASSION, NO HEART! I CURSE YOU, I CURSE YOU AND YOUR CASTLE AND ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF! MAY YOU SUFFER UNTIL YOU LEARN LOVE! THIS ROSE WILL BLOOM AS LONG AS THERE IS HOPE, BUT IT WILL WILT AND DIE AS YOUR TIME RUNS OUT! WHAT ONCE WOULD GIVE YOU BEAUTY AND A LONG LIVE WILL NOW GIVE YOU LIFE WITHOUT DEATH OR MERCY AND NO BEAUTY!" With those words and a shriek she fled into the storm, chanting her spells. The warrior princess was wracked with pain that brought her to her knees as the skin under her scales bubbled and roiled. The pain caused her to rip at her face, her shoulders, her arms, everywhere she could reach, trying to ease the pain that twisted her, breaking her jaw and bending her whole body to its will. None of the servants came to her aid, they were all undergoing their own metamorphoses, as was the castle around them. White sandstone became black chert nodules, angels watching over the inhabitants became demons snarling down at them, fruiting trees rotted and died where they stood.
Soon it was over, and Princess Vastra lay panting on the once-smooth floor of the entry hall. Her whole body hurt, but she looked around, looking for someone to yell at to get her a mirror… There was no one else in the hall… or at least, no one Silurian. For the first time in her life she tasted the bitter acid of fear under her long tongue… a tongue that couldn't fully pull back into her mouth because of how her jaw was now twisted. With a hiss of frustration she scrambled to one of the mirrors in a nearby hall, unaware of the random jumble of items in the hall that was now starting to move. Her anguished cries echoed through the whole castle, and the fleeing Carrionite cackled as she heard the faint echoes. Hopefully that would teach the green bully a lesson.
Vastra raged within her palace, destroying every image of herself that she could find with claw and sword and even fire, although Candle protested valiantly to being used to deface the palace he had been hired as a chef for. Vastra ignored him, even throwing him on the ground when she was done using his fire to destroy as much as she dared. She sulked off then, dressing herself in her battle uniform that hid the scars and boils, throwing a heavy cloak on over that to hide that she could no longer stand straight, but instead had to bend and scuttle like an unevolved lizard.
She scooped the rose up carefully and spirited it away, hiding it and making sure that nobody would go near it. Slowly over the years the castle regained some sense of normalcy to those within it. Vastra skulked in the shadows at every turn, striking out whenever anyone tried to speak to her. On the off chance a sentient being found itself in the castle grounds over the millennia they often ended up dead, either from fright or from a heavy back-handed strike from the foul tempered warrior. Vastra had given up all hope, but her servants had not. They knew that they would have scales and proper faces again someday, even if they had to wait millions of years for that day to come.