"Gwendolyn!"
The girl in question spun around and promptly crashed into a tree. Rubbing her nose, she looked around for the caller.
"Gwen!"
A beautiful girl with cropped black hair and yellow eyes came running from a small, dilapidated wooden house. She flung her arms round the gangly Gwen and leaned back to smile.
"Something wonderful has happened," the girl cried excitedly.
Gwendolyn took the girl's hands. "What?"
The girl spun around lightly on her tiny feet. "I am to be engaged!"
Gwendolyn's smile vanished. "Engaged?" she said, unable to keep the horrified shock from her voice.
The girl's look of glee was replaced with disappointment. "You're not pleased, Gwen?"
"Oh, no, oh no!" Gwendolyn gave a forced smile to her best friend. "I was just…shocked! Wonderfully so. Congratulations! Who is the lucky man?"
The girl blushed and hit her playfully on the arm. "He's a blacksmith. Would you like to meet him?"
Gwendolyn shook her head. "I—I must be going. My mother expects me." She lied, and turned and ran.
How could she be engaged? When all they talked about was being friends forever and never leaving each other. Gwendolyn ran until she reached her tree, or the tree she had always sat under whenever she was sad. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring out into the distance without really seeing it. She took several deep breaths, and wondered how she could have reacted so. She would have to go back, and—
No, no, she couldn't. Gwendolyn shook her head to herself.
"You can't," she whispered to herself.
She just couldn't face Athena anymore. Not after this!
"You're being silly," she scolded herself. "She's just going to be engaged, for heaven's sake! She's not condemned, and neither are you! You will still be able to see her!"
But there was something inexplicably depressing about the whole thing. Gwendolyn felt that Athena would always be too busy for her.
Mr. Nittle suddenly climbed down the tree and hopped onto her shoulder. Petting the squirrel as gently as possible, she looked at Mr. Nittle.
"Athena is marrying," she said remorsefully. He made a clicking noise, and Gwendolyn nodded.
"Yes, that's what I think as well. She will always be too busy for me from now on. And I'm afraid I shall have to move on. What do you think?"
Mr. Nittle made moaning sounds.
"Oh, Mr. Nittle! Why?" Gwendolyn's face crumpled up, as if she was about to cry. "I so dearly need a friend."
Mr. Nittle bit her ear gently, and Gwendolyn jumped, clapping a hand over her ear.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Nittle, you are enough of a friend," Gwendolyn said, but her mind did not agree with the words that came out of her mouth.
Mr. Nittle bounced off of her shoulder and scampered away. Gwendolyn immediately began to cry, the tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red very soon after she had started. Burying her face in her hands, she let the tears flow.
"Oh, it's perfectly awful of me. Perhaps I'm just jealous," she said, uncovering her face to gaze into the small lake before her. Lying on her stomach, she stared into the water, not seeing her own face, but Athena's, merry and excited at the prospect of marriage.
It struck her as curious that Athena would be excited just then. Normally, she would groan and moan about marriage, complaining to Gwendolyn that she would not like to get married, and that if her mother tried to make her marry anyone, she would run away.
Her finger raced over the water, creating ripples all over. Sighing, Gwendolyn slapped it with her hand and got up, then began to roam around the forest, every now and then stopping to stare at certain parts of it, parts where she and Athena had once talked, or played.
"I remember you," she said softly when she reached a large mound of dirt. They had sat on it in the dead of the night, gazing at the stars and talking of life and many other things. She read the script dug in and smiled slightly; "This mound is owned by the Star Sisters!" was written months ago. They called themselves the Star Sisters, something they had made up as children. She allowed herself a laugh before moving on to the tree they always climbed up on to spy on the baker, who had strange but rather intriguing habits. They had stopped, of course, years ago, when they decided to be what they called "mature".
"So many memories," Gwendolyn murmured, running a finger over an orange leaf that had fallen from the tree.
She continued on, stopping every now and then to pick up a flower and tuck it in her hair, remembering when she and Athena had pretended to be Greek goddesses, tucking flowers in their hair and lounging on bushes, pretending to be waiting for their lovers.
"You have the name of a Greek goddess," Gwendolyn had informed Athena one day.
Gwendolyn glided through the forest, touching things, picking things up, just reliving the old days. At one point she stopped at the edge of a long creek, stretching across as far as the eye could see. There was a strange half smile on her face as she gazed into the creek, remembering when she and Athena had gone swimming in it in the dead of the night, only a few months ago, and they had been caught by some gypsies, who stole their clothing. They had had to run through the forest, looking for the Forno trees, which had large enough leaves to cover themselves. They were even flexible enough, so they wouldn't tear if you wrapped it around yourself.
Gwendolyn pulled up her elegant silk dress, pulled off her shoes, and let her legs drop into the creek. The water would reach only up to her thighs, wouldn't it? She let the dress drop down into the frigid water and she began to wade in, nearly tripping over a rock at the bottom.
She went deeper in, until it reached—yes, her thighs. She kneeled on the rocks at the floor of the creek, allowing her hair to get wet. She began to swim downstream, beaming all the way.
After swimming for a few minutes, she realized that she hadn't been down this way. Was it perfectly safe? But she shoved that thought aside; it was all right, it would end somewhere.
And it did end—somewhere. She had been letting the current take her for quite a while, when she saw a drop—
A waterfall!
Oh, this would be so much fun, Gwendolyn thought eagerly. She did hope, however, that she wouldn't be hurt—
But it was too late to think of anything. The waterfall drew nearer and nearer. And suddenly, she was falling fast, her mouth open, a joyful scream pouring out, a scream she had been holding in for a long time. She felt as if she was flying!
But all too soon, the fun ended, and she hit the water at the bottom. Fortunately, it was a little deeper, going slightly above her waist. Her body was a little sore from the force of the slap, but she had enjoyed herself anyway.
"It's beautiful!" Gwendolyn gasped when she looked around.
The current pushed her farther into the creek, but it ended in a rounded curve, so she had no choice but to get out, dripping, to meet the even colder air. She shivered and decided that it would be best to take her dress off; after all, she would only take longer to dry and she would catch cold. She peeled it off and draped it over a rock, where the sun was shining brightly.
She took off her undergarments as well, then laid them down right next to her dress, and began looking around for means of escape. Was there some way to climb up the cliff? There seemed to be smoother spots…but she was not the best climber. Frowning slightly, she approached the cliffs surrounding her. Were there other means of escape? She looked around.
"Oh, dear," she said fretfully, but her demeanor suddenly changed when she saw a sliver of space between the cliffs, but large enough for anyone to go through. What lay beyond the space? She took a few steps up to the space, then peered into the gloom, unable to see farther than ten feet. Dare she try?
She ran back to the rock and pulled on the dress, leaving the undergarments on the rock. The dress was not dry at all, but she did not want to venture into unknown land without anything on.
She glanced back once, staring longingly at the waterfall.
"I'll visit you again, I promise," she whispered, and blew it a kiss. Then, feeling awfully silly, she turned back around and ran into the space between the two cliffs.
The mist was dreadful, and she often heard strange howling sounds. But she was not afraid—she was only interested in what lay beyond the space. Would it perhaps go up and then she would be able to return home? She hoped so; she did not want to worry her mother, or her father for that matter, even though it took a while to get him worried.
"I shall just explore a little bit, then return home," she told herself. She smiled a little and began to trudge up the slant, until she realized that it was slanting. So it must lead back, she thought.
As she went farther up, the mist became heavier. She could barely see five feet ahead of her. And there were eerie sounds surrounding her, though they did not bother her in the least; the only thing that bothered her at that moment was the fact that it was taking an awfully long time to get up to the cliffs again.
At one point, there was the crack of a twig behind her, as if someone had stepped on one. She turned back to look, curious, but the mist fell quickly behind her, and she could not see anything. Shrugging, she turned back and walked on, whistling as she did so.
This is growing tiresome, she thought impatiently. When does it end?
She paused to stretch, her body still sore from falling into the creek with such a force. Then she moved on, pacing herself, for she knew she would become out of breath easily as she went farther up.
She stopped whistling and began to hum a tune she had heard of somewhere, perhaps from one of the maids back at home.
She heard another crack behind her. She turned around once again, but, just like last time, there was nothing to be seen through the heavy mist. What was all this mist, anyhow?
But it obviously did not really matter to her; she turned on her heel again and was facing only straight ahead, humming loudly (the deathly silence was annoying her).
She tripped and nearly fell, but then caught herself in time, her hand stretching out to grab a hold of anything. She dug her fingernails into the dirt of the cliff wall, then steadied herself. Wrenching out her hand again, she went on, until—
"Ohhh."
She had reached the top. And the view was beautiful! She took a few steps forward, beaming with pleasure. My, what an adventure she had had!
"It's beautiful," she moaned. There were mountains all spread out before her, separating the different worlds. She must be at the border! Oh, how she would love to visit the other world, Brailan, just beyond those mountains—she could see the glittering castle from where she was standing. It stood tall, proud, erect.
------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o
"Oh, mother, I simply must go!"
Her mother crossed her arms over her bosom. "No," she said sternly. "I shall not having you go to Brailan without invitation! The king himself has to invite another royal family from another world before we can come on our own!"
Gwendolyn scowled. "I do not have to announce to Brailan who I really am, I can go as—as a maid! I could be their maid!"
"A princess posing as a maid?" her mother cried in scandalized tones.
"Oh, mother, please! I wish to have adventure! I wish to go across those mountains myself, walking with everything I can carry—"
"Walking? Walking among the mountains where there are most certainly heathens!"
"Don't call them heathens, mother. They're perfectly charming," Gwendolyn protested.
"Charming?" her mother shrieked. "Charming!"
Gwendolyn lowered her head, her anger bubbling.
"My dear girl, when we are to go, that is for the masquerade ball, in a year from now, the one he invites us to every year! You will be the proper age by then, and you will be able to go! And we will go by magic carpet, my dear, not on foot."
"I want to go now!" Gwendolyn cried. "It looks so beautiful! I love nature! I want to really be on those mountains!"
"Perhaps we can make a few stops," her mother sniffed.
"But it is not the same," Gwendolyn said, nearly in tears now.
"Yes, it is. Subject dismissed."
------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o
Gwendolyn pushed around her food with her fork, staring at it glumly. Her other sisters were chatting animatedly about the latest fashion. Mother was discussing the latest gossip. Only father was quiet, contemplating his daughter.
"Gwen," he said finally. "What is the matter? You look as if you've been sentenced to death, my dear girl."
Gwendolyn looked up, and she never saw her father in a kinder eye; his large, fluffy white beard, his curled mustache, and his small blue eyes looked friendlier than ever. But she could not tell him everything, no matter how desperately she wanted to.
"Apart from the fact that Athena is going to marry, I want to go to Brailan and mother won't let me? I'm perfectly fine."
"Athena is to marry? How perfectly wonderful!" her mother beamed. She had only approved of Athena because she thought that Athena "had a good influence" on Gwendolyn, in thinking that Athena would tame the wild Gwendolyn, when instead Gwendolyn made Athena wild.
"What is this about Brailan?" her father asked, looking inquiringly at the queen.
The woman raised her eyebrows slightly and pretended to be interested in her wine, taking a long sip of wine and ordering more.
"What is this about Brailan?" her father asked again, this time directing it toward Gwendolyn.
"I—had a sudden interest in it. I saw it earlier today from far away, and the mountains along the way looked beautiful. I so love nature, as you said so yourself many times, father. And I wanted dearly to go there, though mother doesn't want me to on foot."
Gwendolyn hadn't told anyone of her adventure that day, not even the waterfall. It was her secret.
"What is wrong with that?" her father asked, glancing at her mother. "If the girl wants to go, let her. You know how the fairies blessed her."
"I know, but on foot! Think of the gossip!" her mother said fretfully.
"Why should you mind? Gwendolyn would be setting a good example for women all around."
Gwendolyn smiled modestly. "Thank you, father," she said quietly.
"But posing as a maid?" her mother asked.
Her father turned to Gwendolyn abruptly. "What is this?"
"I would like to pose as a maid, not as myself. Mother said that the king has to invite royals from other worlds, and that we cannot just go there ourselves. I could work as a scullery maid! Or—"
"I shall not have my daughter posing as a maid!" her father said, his voice rising a little. "I would let you go as yourself on foot, but not as a maid!"
Her mother gave Gwendolyn a look that plainly said, "See?"
"Oh, please, father," Gwendolyn pleaded. "You know I don't fit in with royalty. I would only be a shame to you."
"You would be a shame to me if you posed as a maid!" the king roared.
The sisters, Andrea, Beatrice, and Catherine stopped talking and started to listen in on the argument.
Gwendolyn got up, shoved her chair in, threw a glare at everyone in the room, and then walked out of the dining room, slamming the large double doors behind her.
She climbed up the stairs until she reached her tower, where she locked herself in to stare out at the lights of Brailan.
But she could not get the line her father had said; "You would be a shame to me if you posed as a maid!" out of her head.
He had only said "me".
A tear rolled down her cheek. This on top of everything else—being a shame to her father? Most likely because of her lack of beauty.
For the first time in years, she got up to really look at herself in the floor length mirror. Her hair was horribly wavy and a dull brown, with only a slight hint of blond. And her eyes were the dullest hazel. Actually, they looked more brown, come to think of it. And her freckles were no longer sprinkled over her face, they were covering her face. It was a storm of freckles. And she had big bones, she realized, pulling up her sleeve, nearly ripping it. These princess garments were too delicate for her.
She touched her nose, which looked like someone slapped it haphazardly on her face, instead of perfectly positioning and shaping it, like her sisters' dainty noses. She lacked the elegant cheekbones, the lightness of foot.
And her ears! Oh, dear. She had never really noticed them before. But they stuck out, brown and horrible looking. And she was brown all over! From the sun, she realized. Her sisters definitely did not go outside, hence their fair skin.
"I would be better as a lad," she said tearfully. Her strong build certainly was meant for a lad. She fell onto her bed and cried into her pillow.
"I need to be beautiful," she sobbed.
------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o
Meanwhile, her mother and father were talking.
"At least let her go on foot. I will not allow her to pose as a maid, but on foot is all right," her father said, pacing the floor of the room.
"No," her mother said stoutly. "I won't have it. She is a princess, and she will go with us next year by magic carpet."
"But, dear…"
"No, Gorlond. She is a princess and I am determined to make her one."
"She won't ever change. It was part of the blessing."
"If I can't change how she thinks, I'll change how she looks."
"What is wrong with how she looks?"
"Gorlond! She's…ugly."
"She doesn't seem ugly to me."
"Because you think of her as a man, Gorlond. But you need to think of her as a woman—what's more, a princess. And I'm going to make one of her yet!"
"At least let her go, Loryasia," the king begged. "I only want to see her happy."
"She'll be happy when she sees how beautiful she becomes with my work!" the queen cried, throwing her chest out proudly.
"Please, let her go…"
"She is not going. And that is that."