Hello, all! Thank you for making it to chapter one on my loverly story (kind of, anyway.) And thank you to the wonderful reviewers! Perhaps there will be more ... ... ...
amy: Hopefully this should satisfy your desire to hear more. It's rather short, but at least it's something. Right? Right? And I'm glad you can see things that are happening. Sometimes I worry that I describe too much. Oh well ...
kirstie: Tell me if Gwyn starts turning spoiled-bratty. I also hate it when characters turn out like that and you just want to tell them to get a brain! Anyway ... thank you so very much for the tip about "demanding reviews". It probably sounds rather callow of me and I can see why it would turn you off from the rest of the story. So no more demanded reviews! (But please review anyway ... .:hint, hint:.)
Glitterpoison: Yes, it is a loverly button! Thank you for pushing it. But beware of most purple buttons ... dum dum dumm! Okay, craziness overwith. Yay! You like my writing!
Fiyero: I heart Wicked! My sister listens to it A LOT and I've kind of got hooked on it. Anyway ... yes, grammar is good. I'm obsessive about grammar. Probably not entirely a good thing ... and I also like the three dot thing. I think there is a part of the Hallmark Snow White that's influencing this, 'cuz it kind of runs toward the almost dark area. A more mature Snow White. Or whatever.
Okay, now to the story! (Sorry it's so short.)
Chapter One
The witch lived deep within the forest, far beyond the borders of where even the bravest hunter dared to go. She was not a good witch, as some witches are. She was a dark enchantress of the oldest kind, and the forest was hers. It was hers because she had set upon it a horrible curse that made even the dim sunlight that permeated the shadows seem evil.
She owned the forest but she wasn't happy. She wanted more—more power, more kingdoms, more riches. Looking around her cottage, she saw only poverty and hideousness. She believed herself to be better than that and therefore wanted to be better than what her life had given her.
And so, it was no surprise that she paid a visit to a new, unmarried king, carrying in the deep folds of her cloak a vial of the most powerful potion she could conjure—a love potion.
Gwyn was seven when her father remarried. There were no endless rehearsal dinners, no flurries of anticipation after a year of planning, no concourses of guests wishing her father and his new bride the best. The priest and servants were the only wedding guests, and the chapel was as quiet as stone when Gwyn's father and his bride exchanged vows.
King Henrich married Therese, Duchess of Enwall, a month after meeting her for the very first time.
Elissa, Gwyn's maid, had muttered dire warnings under her breath while preparing the young princess for the wedding.
"There's summat about her I don't trust," she said, yanking down a simple muslin over the girl's head.
"She's very beautiful," Gwyn said softly, turning around obediently as Elissa began buttoning the dress.
"Indeed she is," the maid said, snorting. "Maybe that's why I don't like her. There's summat in her eyes that just doesn't seem right. And another thing—there is no Duchess of Enwall. I've been doing some checking around and no one has ever heard of her."
Gwyn looked up at Elissa, emerald eyes innocent. "My father loves her," she said.
Elissa gazed down at the little girl and suddenly bent down to take Gwyn's cheeks in her hands. "I hope he does, child, for your sake. I sincerely hope he does."
Gwyn was seven when her father stopped loving her.
At first she thought there was some kind of mistake when Henrich didn't come to read to her as he did every night. She sat patiently on the edge of her bed for hours until she finally realized he wasn't coming. Heart heavy with a sense of foreboding her seven year old self didn't understand, she climbed under the covers and fell into a sleep riddled with sinister dreams.
Gwyn waited every night for three months.
One cloud-cast night, she couldn't take it anymore and slipped into the halls with the intention of finding her father. She had only just turned the corner when she saw her father walking purposefully towards Therese's chambers.
"Daddy!" she cried, running forward to meet him. He turned around and pushed her away as she flung herself toward him for an embrace and a kiss.
"Not now, Gwyn," he said shortly, impatient. Gwyn was taken aback. She stared up at him, confusion in her innocent face.
"Daddy, you're supposed to read to me." She spoke slowly and clearly, as if wanting him to claim he had forgotten, that he would now read her books to her.
He didn't look at her but began walking away.
"Daddy?" Still, he walked. "Daddy!" The cry was a heart-wrenching plea from the very depths of a young child's soul, but King Henrich paid no mind to it. Someone was calling to him from behind closed doors; someone who had a sweet potion to slip into his ready drink.
The door shut.
Gwyn stood motionless in the hall, tears lying unnoticed on her cheeks. She held clutched against her chest a book.
"Daddy," she whispered.
There was no answer.
