"Will you look at that? A piece of royal jewelry on my beautiful Giselle. Ha, it's almost as if you're a princess all on your own," Malcolm muttered as he admired the tiger lily pendant hanging around her neck. The young woman beamed proudly, her smile brightly shining.
"Princess Tiger Lily, at your service!" she exclaimed before doing a graceful leap onto her feet. She did a graceful, regal bow with her chin held high. It was clear she was imitating the posture princesses held so effortlessly.
Malcolm let out a warm laugh, his green eyes shining towards the dancing girl. Malcolm wasn't the best dancer and thus, he mostly just watched her leap and twirl as if she were some delicate snowflake caught in the wind.
"Come, the festival is still going on, it's not too late to join in on the fun," Giselle exclaimed as she skipped towards the boy, her hand held out for him to take. With a happy smile, Malcolm nodded and followed the sweet Giselle towards the village square.
Hilarion was close to follow suit, hiding from the happy couple. The gameskeeper was growing incredibly jealous of those two and had set out to destroy them in some way shape or form. He had found a way, but he wanted to wait until the perfect moment before he would reveal Malcolm's true self.
It was well into the festival with games, music, food and cheering all around. THe harvest was successful and the harvest for grapes was greatly due to Giselle and her hard work (as well as some help from Malcolm). Malcolm and Giselle almost became a sort of a staple in the last few weeks, always being seen together.
There were three who opposed this: Hilarion, Giselle's mother and Wilfred.
In those few weeks, Bathilde made some visits to the castle. Of course, Malcolm was there to greet her but he easily grew stuffy of the confined walls. He wished to be in the vineyard or in the village. Away from the duties of a Duke. Malcolm was quick to avoid Princess Bathilde, and he thought that she had left the festival to wait for him in the castle.
"Wait! Stop! There is something you must know!" Hilarion exclaimed as he entered the centre of the village square. He even stepped onto the fountain ledge so everyone could see him. "Our new villager isn't who he says he is! What do you say about this, Malcolm?"
Hilarion then pointed out Malcolm to the ground. He saw familiar faces twist into confusion. Namely Giselle's. Yet there was another.
"Albrecht? What are you doing here?" Bathilde asked before she stepped forward. The sparkle in Malcolm's eyes disappeared as he spotted his betrothed.
"Princess, you are mistaken. This is Malcolm. He is… a blacksmith here in the village," Giselle answered meekly, afraid to use the word "lover".
"No, he is Duke Albrecht, my betrothed."
"The princess speaks truth! I have found his noble sword and underneath his cloak, you will find the royal brooch!" Hilarion exclaimed. Malcolm narrowed his eyes towards the gameskeeper. What a hardhead.
"Malcolm? Tell them that it isn't true. You're not a noble!" Giselle proclaimed, looking at everyone else to find some kind of reassurance. When she found none, she put all her trust into Malcolm.
"I'm not! But… I am. Giselle, it's complicated but please, what I've told you isn't a lie," Malcolm said with a soft plead. A nearby villager lifted his cloak to reveal the royal brooch that belonged to Duke Albrecht. "No, listen, I am a blacksmith. A royal wouldn't have these hands!"
"But you are Duke Albrecht," Bathilde said with a affirmative tone.
"Yes… no!"
"The Duke is delusional! He lies to himself and thus, he lies to us!" Hilarion accused, shouting at the top of his voice.
"Giselle, I would give up royalty to be with you. Please, you are my princess," Malcolm pleaded with the peasant girl. Bathilde gulped heavily, watching the scene play out. The adoration in "Albrecht's" eyes was genuine, just as it had been genuine for her once.
Unfortunately, Giselle no longer could hear anything. She couldn't comprehend what was going on around her. Giselle could only see ghostly figures dance around her, milky whites and ghastly grays playing in her vision. Her eyes were glazed over. There was a heavy pain in her chest that she couldn't amend.
"You… lied. You lied to me," Giselle whispered, "You're the Duke. The Duke! Duke Albrecht can't be with a peasant. Can't be with me."
Then, Giselle began to let out an ugly, wrenching sob. Tears began to effortlessly flow down her face as her shoulder shuddered. Hilarion jumped down and moved to comfort her, though Bathilde stopped him in his tracks. Malcolm placed his arms around her in an effort to stop her sobbing, though she thrashed against him.
Once she was free of his hold, she let out a pained scream that turned into more horrible crying. Her cries became more erratic as he feet began to step to a faulty beat. She would spin into villagers, all who attempted to comfort her, before she leaped away in another scream. She was dancing, as if possessed by some spirit. Whispers began amongst the villagers.
Giselle was becoming mad.
Her cries became laughter, her tears no longer streaming down her smooth cheeks. Her brown eyes lost all the glimmer and shine that made her the happiness of those in her life. As she moved in a flurry of hysterical twists and turns, people were becoming afraid.
Giselle had a weak heart.
"No, my baby! Stop! You must stop this!" her mother cried as she tried to console the insane young girl. Bathilde was now sobbing, too, out of pity for the poor dancer. Malcolm was at a loss, so ashamed of what he done that he had fallen to his knees.
Giselle had made a wide circle in her maddening dance before she ended up in front of Malcolm once again. There was a small flicker of reason in her eyes before she let out a choking sob, then let out a hacking cough.
"Giselle!" her mother cried as the peasant fell to the ground. Her eyes were glossy and unfocused, staring up at the sky. Malcolm lifted his head to stare at her, the emptiness that was once his darling love.
"No, no, no. No! What have I done? What have I done? Giselle!" Malcolm exclaimed as he crawled to her body, her eyes still staring up at the sky. Soon, he too began to cry as the peasant's mother sought console with a close neighbour. Malcolm had no one in this village. Wilfred was up at the castle, unaware of the entire situation. The only person he had was Giselle. He cradled her body in his arms, his cries hoarse.
That day, Giselle died of a broken heart. Her heart, so fragile, was shattering into a thousand pieces within her body. She died dancing, as well. It was inevitable to what she would become.
A vengeful spirit that died of a lover's betrayal. A Willis.
"I hope I'm saying this right," Henry began as he held the tiger lily pendant in the palm of his hand. He was in his room, hopefully safe from any magic. "Voudriez-vous danser avec moi?"
A puff of orange smoke began to emanate from the pendant. Henry tensed, watching the magic unfold with wide eyes. Then, just before his bed was a silhouette. A translucent figure of a very familiar girl. She had a white, silky dress on with white ballet slippers on her feet. Her skin was a coppery brown and her hair a rich, dark brown. She had a warm, demure smile and happy, polite eyes. She did a graceful bow with her chin held high and her back perfectly arched.
"Princess Tiger Lily, at your service!"