The Witch in the Forest and the Boy King with his New Clothes
I've always wanted to write a fairytale, my first attempt. Hope it's not too bad.
"Elizabeta Hedervary. Elizabeta Hedervary. Elizabeta Hedervary. With your name, I ask of you a deal." He whispers under his white breath; he lifted up his arms in the air, the cold moves in and took every last trace of warmth snug warmly in between, it sends a shiver mercilessly down the side of his waist.
The heart of the winter cared for nothing of the dripping decadence in this secret room at the top of the castle, not the moon shine against coloured glasses, nor the intricate stories told on the walls in marbles and precious stones. Candles fill the room; it burns but it never warms.
The biting cold seep deep into his flesh and bones, they are screaming for him to seek the comfort of covers but desperation have already coiled around his heart like a whispering serpent, telling him to stand in here, in the middle of this forbidden room, to call out for her.
He knows his noble blood lingers at the back of her throat like the taste of a rot that never fades. But she is his only chance.
The still air in the massive room suddenly swirl with unnatural winds and that vaguely familiar, seducing voice laugh maniacally across the space. "Again." Elizabeta said, then followed by a chuckle, she continued: "For your blood, I'll grant you your wish. With your flesh, I'll demand my bargain. Now how is that…. for a deal? Boy King." Her words, slow and deliberate, dragging the last two words out knowing that it's the deepest insult.
"I accept." Gilbert Beilschmidt replied firmly, his brows slightly furrowed. Being called a Boy King have always been a dripping wound in his heart, he never thought it would hurt this much again from the Witch's lips. Despite that, his fists clenched by his side, trying to stop the tremble that shook his very core, he don't know if it's because of the cold or because of the Witch. "I…" He breathe, tasting the air on his tongue. He knows it sound so ridiculous, but he knows she must have a way. "I want to be free of the situation I am in."
A short silence, then a genuine chuckle. Then followed by a deep inhale and a sharp exhale. "Then I'll demand my bargain. A bet just for you."
Gilbert frowned, he look up and around the circular room, bewildered and scared. The stories in the ceiling and walls carved in marble and stones dance round and round and round, narrating, singing, laughing. His breath hasten with anxiety, his head spins, the serpent in his heart seems to know, it tightens its coil, taking Gilbert's breath with it. There was never any precedent of the Witch asking for her bargain this fast.
"With your flesh, I demand a Kingdom full of self-deception." He stiffens at the whisper breathing these demands beside his ear.
"Self… Deception?" He barely managed, taking a sharp intake of breath as he felt the presence behind him leaning against his back .
"Yes." the voice hissed softly. "If you win my dear, you will be free as you wished. If you lose, your flesh will belong to me, as we agreed."
"What?" Gilbert blurted out, turning around. But the deal was already made, and the Witch is already gone.
Rapidly paced footsteps brushes against the gravels of the stairs resonated through the quiet night, Gilbert knew whose it belongs to even before the man reaches the door. The wooden door opens up and a man hurried in worriedly to him.
"You said you wouldn't Gilbert."
"Why are you here, West?"
"I can't find you in your room. This is the only place you would go whenever you are upset, but I know why you are here now. Have you forgotten how our uncle went insane from the deals he made with the Witch? How he slaughtered his brothers and sisters. Our father died under his sword." He berated.
"I am the King. I can do whatever I want to." Gilbert muttered, looking away.
"And you are my brother. You are the only person I have left." the man shouted.
"I am a White King, the only one that could call upon the Great Witch, the one the ministers in my court so endearingly called the Boy King. I have been thrown onto that throne ever since our uncle died, and I have struggled my whole life wrestling controls from those that want to hurt us. Ludwig, open your eyes and see." Gilbert explains desperately.
"No…." Ludwig breathe out. He look at the man in front of him, he see the shadows of all the White Kings before his brother. He sees the same sort of obsession in his uncle's red eyes that haunts Gilbert's, they realise their uncle's paranoia too late, and he vow to never let it happen to his brother. But it is not just paranoia that plague this King, Ludwig doesn't know what Gilbert wants, even Gilbert doesn't know what he wants. "Nobody is hurting us. There's no need to call on the Witch."
"You don't understand Ludwig…." Gilbert muttered. "That is alright."