Disclaimer: Faerie Tales are for all...my story does not belong to me, but to all of you.
Needles
You know, I never asked for it. I never wanted it. It's not my fault that I am so cursed. It's not my fault that I am so hurt.
You never thought that, did you? That it hurt? Have YOU ever pricked your finger on a spinning wheel, on a needle, on a knife? Well it hurts, even if the pain is momentary. And, when you fall into that horrible sleep that comes with the drugs, with the self-induced slumber, with the cursed sleep, that pain, being the last thing you ever felt, is what you sleep with. What your dreams revolve around.
Not your beauty, not your legend, not your story, not even your true love. No, it's the pain that follows you into the netherworld. And it's the pain that befriends you.
When I awoke, it was pain that awoke me. Him, his lips, massaging the feeling back into my own. Pain like prickers spiking up and down my entire body. I didn't care about him being my true love. I didn't even care that the curse had been lifted. What I cared about was that which I knew, which I know: the pain. I reveled in it, for it was not pain created by a brain that has slept for a hundred years, but REAL pain, real spikes shooting up and down your spine.
It hurt like Hell when he lifted me off of the bed and into his arms. And my gasp, that which the poets have put down to the joy of being awakened by HIM, was for the pain that shot up my arms when they, instinctively, tried to return the hug. There are reasons why, now, I never hug anyone...
The years went by, and I grew to forget the dreams brought on by my curse, by my beauty. But I never forgot the pain of that spindle...the pain of reawakening into a world that I was unfamiliar with. And I needed more.
I found the needles. I found the drugs. I found the stimulant that would make the pain shoot me skyward, only to fall a hundred times deeper when it left. And I found the supplier that keeps the pain accessible.
My husband's mother, a good woman, is the only one who encourages my addiction. The only one who comes to see me, telling me, again, and again, that I am beautiful...that the drug-induced state makes me look like a porcelain doll. And she tells me of my daughters, and she tells me of my husband. And I dream of the pain that came when they were born, the pain when he woke me up, the pain of the spindle, piercing my flesh, ever-so-delicately...
She tells me he has gone to war. That there are battles and warriors and wounds to be found in far-off countries. She tells me that she will care for my children, my beautiful daughters. Aurora and Dawn. Aurora and Dawn...
There is a new pain...Aurora has died. My beautiful daughter...the little girl I never hugged...the little girl I never saw...Aurora has died. And the physical pain chases away the mental. And I love the pain...I love the pain...
There is a new pain. Dawn has died. My beautiful daughter...the little girl I never hugged...the little girl I never saw...Dawn has died. And my husband's mother, a soft smile on her face, jams the needle back into my arm...and the physical pain chases away the emotional...and I love the pain. I love the pain.
There is a new pain. Fire flicking at my skin. Heat boiling away at the flesh...and he is there. He has come, once again, to awaken me from the dreams of pain. His mother is fought, back, back, back, into the fire...and the heat is no longer on my skin, and, for the first time since I pricked my finger...the pain has fled my mind.
It's not my fault, you know. I never asked for it. For the beauty, for the curse. I never desired it. I never, never asked for it. But he holds me in his arms, now, and there is no more pain. And I don't need it, anymore.
A/N: I don't know if I like this ending. So, if you think it should be changed, please review. If you think it's okay the way it was, please review!