Prologue - Happily Ever After

The sun was setting as Fiona poured herself some freshly brewed mushroom tea in her favorite wooden mug. She hoped for it to calm her anxious thoughts. And no, this time, her inner turmoil had nothing to do with the actual sun about to go below the horizon. In fact, this time of the day had become one of the things she had gradually begun to enjoy. She used to find herself in terror at the sight of the golden light and elongated shadows. But released from her fear, she had realized how wonderful this time of the day could truly be.

She watched as the steaming tea filled up the mug, releasing its aroma into the air. It was the mug Shrek had made for her birthday a couple of years ago. He wanted her to have something for herself. Something of her own in a house that, at the time, was filled with things that were just his. It held a special memory because not only was the present handmade with love and care, it was also the first birthday she had celebrated out of the tower. Together. Whenever she drank from it, it was a reminder of how thankful she should be for the life she got.

She took the mug and made her way to the front door. Whenever she opened that sturdy wooden door leading outside, she was met by the lush green of the swamp. Even more so now as everything had started to bloom. Soon spring would turn into summer. The days were long, the air humid, and bugs were with plenty. She was hit by a soft cool breeze that made its way through her loosened auburn hair. The scenery of the swamp kept astounding her time after time. It was beautiful. For it was so very different from the cold castle halls filled with marble and so different from the blackened stones of her old tower room. There was no way she could ever take this for granted. Here there was liveliness all around. And not just that; it had also become the place where for the first time in her life, she'd felt at home.

Home, where there was soil under her feet and a couple of lost twigs in her hair. Where there was no judgment and prying eyes. No one telling her what she should be or not. Being met by Shrek's embrace, his sturdiness surrounding her, her softness the answer. It's was the sound of her children's voices and laughter. It was long days and welcome fatigue. Bustling family dinners and quiet nights with Shrek. Home meant surrounding herself with warmth, chatter, family, and friends. Home was never being on her own.

But then there she was; Her kids tucked away in their beds, Shrek gone on his weekly night out with Donkey and Puss, and all of her motherly duties out of the way. How she wished she could celebrate having some time for herself, finally. After all, those were rare moments, but Fiona wasn't quite sure how to feel about them when they occurred. Yes, she did enjoy the thought of sitting back, having a moment of uninterrupted me-time, being able to do as she wished, anything. But reality had proven to be different. Instead, she often found herself rather uneasy being alone. Alone doing what exactly? She wasn't entirely sure either. She'd read all the books in the world. Often, she'd make or repair clothes, tidy around the house, gather supper with her kids around the swamp, doing laundry. But alone— alone quickly turned into lonely. Alone with her thoughts, gnawing at her, crawling in her mind. Looking for a weak spot to disturb that beautiful life she got. No matter how tightly she folded her kids' wardrobe or how neatly organized their tableware was. It was just a matter of time before there was nothing else to do but to sit as she hoped it would pass, as she hoped for voices to return, for Shrek to burst through that front door again. It was almost funny how terrible she had become at spending time by herself. After half a lifetime of practice, you'd assume to get pretty good at it. An expert even. But the truth was that after years of unwanted solitude, she longed for the presence of living beings almost all the time. Now, nearly every moment of peace and quiet only tended to remind her of that harrowing time spend alone.

As Fiona was taking in surroundings, admiring every detail meeting her eye, she took a long, deep breath—the earthly scent of the swamp entering her body, filling her lungs with cool air. The golden light of the descending sun glistening through the leaves hit her now-familiar green skin. Providing her with the slightest bit of leftover warmth. She wrapped both of her hands tightly around the heated mug, inhaling the aroma of toadstools that came from her beverage. She closed her eyes and took a sip. Letting the warm fluid enter her body.

She tried to focus on her breath, the serenity of the moment, the warm tea. It was all— should all, be perfect. Why was she still with her head in that tower so very often? It was long behind her, and yet it woke her almost every night as if it were right there. That familiar mattress underneath her, those lifeless skeletal stone walls closing in. She often found herself wondering if it was normal: those moments coming back to mind so frequently. There were no books about happily ever afters, how to live them. Just everything that led up to it, the after part should be easy. Right? But then why did she find herself in such terrors? Whywas her mind playing these games when it was all over? Was she now cursed with that stone prison still in her mind, reliving it over and over again?

If there was a potion that could erase it all. But then what would it lead to? It would leave her with even more of an empty filling of her past. A past that was already quite hollow to begin with. Her first years of newfound freedom had filled her life with so much joy. But at the same time, things that she had never thought of had begun to strike her. Realizing that she'd missed out on so many things that others hadn't. Shrek had shared a lot of his youth with her, she got but a grasp of how it shaped him into the ogre he was today. She had listened to his stories. Admired his tales. And although not all of them were pretty; In plain comparison, she'd spend her younger years facing the inside of a tower. It was in stark contrast with all of his life experience.

What stories did she have to tell? How, by the end of her stay in the dragon's keep, she'd managed to carve a perfectly straight line into those stone walls. How time felt surreal as the hours crept by. Her curse reminding her of every passing day. Hard grey blocks encasing, intruding her mind. Suffocating. How her imagination shifted from non-existent to vibrant imagery, visions she could see right in front of her. Spending her days acting out the same scenes over and over. Made-up conversations just to kill time; Oh sir-knight, how are you on this lovely day? I'm quite fine, thank you kindly. Oh yes, I'd love to go for a stroll in the gardens, please escort me there. And how she would so desperately long for human affection, a hand softly caressing her cheek, a gentle arm around her body. The feeling of someone embracing, acknowledging her existence. She lingered for it as she used her most vivid imagination, feeling arms wrap around her, trying so desperately to feel that touch. Assuring her, she was alive, not forgotten, and certainly not a hideous beast who was left to rot by herself, deprived of any type of love and caring. She often found herself on that stone floor, eyes closed, her hands caressing her own arms, breathing reassuring words that turned into air like they were nothing.

And in contrast, crudely blaming that non-human side of her as if it were routine. Screaming at it, cursing that awful monster who caused her exile in the first place. The hatred for that ogre grew by the day as years went by. She'd pace days at an end in that circular room, tired of hearing her own voice, the way it would echo against the walls, but continuing because it was better than the sound of the boiling lava outside. Humming the same tune, for hours, days, how long? Until her vocal cords would tire, the sun would begin to set— Waiting for the night to have her beauty be submerged by the heaviness of that thick green layer. Tears flowing as she wished upon her handkerchief time and time again that tomorrow, tomorrow would finally be the day that she'd take a step outside. Her handsome prince beside her. For that belief, that story, was the only thing that kept her alive.

Yes, that sure made for a very thrilling and entertaining tale for dinner nights.

Fiona sighed and sat herself down by the small lake a few feet from their house. She bent over, looking into the water surface below her, seeing her own bothered face staring back. A frown had crossed her face. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and tried to relax her tense expression. Happily ever after had gotten her a long way, but she sure had hoped for it to release her from that burden, those awful memories— the ability to put them behind her. Apparently, happily ever after didn't quite work like that. It didn't erase memories, and it didn't replace parts of your life with better ones. The past was still there, and it was, in fact, not all happy.

Her incredibly outlandish upbringing had definitely more than once created a gap between her and Shrek. As she failed to understand him, and he failed to understand her. But it was true; she barely knew anything about life. It had more and more started to dawn on her that she knew so very little about such a big world. She knew the inside of books by heart. She had knowledge that existed out of letters and pictures on paper that she could rephrase out of the top of her head. But she had no idea about the diversity, the complexity, and all the earth held. For such a long time, she was shielded away from almost everything. Her royal position and imprisonment made sure of that. It had begun to frustrate her that, in conversations or their dinners with family and friends, it was primarily others doing the talking. For they already had a life full of things to share. But whenever she thought back to the time before she and Shrek met, it was just a lot of loneliness that she tried to fill up with stories that weren't even her own. There were no actual sleepovers, parties, balls, laughter. Let alone adventures. Most of her reality existed out of endless pages filled with letters making up the lives of others: royalty, astronomers, professors, sorcerers. She had imagined her life through the construction of a made-up world inside her head. She had dreamed but never lived.

It made her feel… empty. Pathetic really.

And right now, had she created a life for herself that she wanted to live? Had she become the person she wanted to be? Or had she just slipped herself into another role, now that the one of 'beautiful princess' had become quite unsuitable? Who were you when most of your childhood memories were a made-up mess because you tried to survive on the edge of sanity? Holding on so tightly to that one story that was gonna fix it all. Being in a role kept her safe, kept her sane. Was she holding on to another role now, the one of ogre, mother, wife, so that she would not have to face who was really behind that facade? Was she keeping herself occupied just so she wouldn't have to sit with her grim thoughts? With the sense of an unknown 'self'? In a way, she feared that if it was just her, she would be boring, unexciting. Her story might have made for a tragic, thrilling fairy tale. In reality, she felt it made for a very bland individual.

She had stumbled from being a locked-up princess into marriage with her wonderful husband and ultimately a proud mother raising three children. She wouldn't trade it for anything, but that didn't keep her from wondering if it hadn't all gone... too fast? She never really got to experience the person she was outside of that spiral room, when her nose wasn't stuck in a storybook, or when she wasn't occupied with managing a household. She knew how to keep herself busy with things outside of her, running from whoever it was inside. It felt easier than facing a seemingly unknown void.

Fiona thought back to the last page of the fairytale book. Happily Ever After; The essence of a fulfilled life. She wanted that. Everyday. For she feared what would come after the actual ending. Because what would happen if you closed the book? Had she stopped herself from finding out, out of fear, what the rest of that story— her story, might hold?

Taking on a role in a fairytale was safe, secure. You didn't have to deal with what, or rather who is underneath it. You learn the lines by heart. Convincing the reader is, after all, easier than convincing yourself. But she felt that by now, she was reciting that same line over and over again. Happily. Ever. After. However safe she may feel there, maybe it was time to finally turn the page, face the ending and close the book. Shut that sturdy leather cover, and take a leap to find out who was really reading it all along.

A/N

What, a prologue? Is this gonna be a longer story? Yes. I'm excited about this one. It's been on my mind for years and I finally got to sit down to start writing it.

Thanks to hanny spoon for inspiration and helpful insights for leading this story in a good direction.

Of course you're more than welcome to let me know what you think!