"Her majesty told me to put it on you."
"I don't want it!"
"It's her majesty's order, your highness."
Gwendolyn slapped the bottle of de-frecklizer away. "I don't want to listen to her."
Tara blushed a deep crimson. "Your highness," she said placidly. "Her majesty wishes you to stop going out of doors, and put this on to make your freckles fade."
"I am hopelessly freckled, and brown," Gwendolyn snapped. "And she can't take my life away from me."
"It's just the outdoors, your highness."
"Nature means everything to me!" Gwendolyn shoved the bottle away, watching it roll across the counter and fall down onto the floor.
Tara curtsied and hurried out. A moment later, however, she returned with the queen.
"Mother," Gwendolyn said stiffly. "You can't do this."
"Why ever not?"
"You're changing who I am!" Gwendolyn cried.
"Just your appearance," her mother said, opening a cabinet, pulling out bottles of lotions and oils, and putting them on the counter.
"What is wrong with my appearance?" Gwendolyn responded hotly.
"It is too wild, that is all," her mother said tranquilly, putting down a few bottles of hairspray on the counter as well.
Gwendolyn picked one up and looked at it disgustedly. " 'Soft hair in minutes'?"
"They're very good, I use them myself," the queen said, patting her hair, which was coiled into an elegant bun at the back of her head.
Gwendolyn considered this new development. Perhaps she would try. After all, hadn't she been sobbing about her ugliness the other night?
"I shall try it," she snapped. "But allow me to go outside."
"The de-frecklizer will not work if you go outside. You have to wait at least a week! It says so on here." Queen Loryasia picked up the bottle of de-frecklizer and tapped the back of it, where there was tiny print.
How would she bear it? What about Mr. Nittle? What about her new waterfall?
But it was something she would have to do…if she wanted to be beautiful.
"We won't change the color of your hair," her mother was saying, "But it is in need of highlights. We shall have to use a new hair washing product, wouldn't we?"
Gwendolyn couldn't speak, only nodded. How could she go through with this?
"And a manicure, your nails are bitten down to nubs. First you need a bath…with this hair-washer." Her mother slapped a bottle of hair-washer into the girl's hand, who brought it to her face to examine it.
"And then we shall call my manicurists, then the beauty guru…"
The queen went on and on, Gwendolyn only half listening as she tried imagining what she would look like after. A princess? Perish the thought.
"… and of course, bone softeners."
Gwendolyn jerked out of her reverie. "What?" she asked loudly.
"Bone softeners," her mother repeated airily. "You have a strong build."
"What are bone softeners?"
"Exactly what they're called," her mother said, calling Tara to get a bath ready.
"How will that work?"
"They smooth you down. You put it in a bath. Tara, put this is in it when the bath is ready. And make the water hot, not lukewarm. And use this hair-washer. Hurry up, girl!"
Tara took the large bottle of "Bone softeners" and the hair-washer and hurried out of the room. In a moment, Gwendolyn could hear running water.
"Ye gods," she said. "I'm to be a princess."
"Which you are," her mother said, tapping her nose.
"But I mean…my mind will never change."
Her mother shrugged. "Perhaps beauty will change it."
Gwendolyn seriously doubted this.
"Your bath is ready, your highness," Tara said, entering the room. She curtsied, then left.
"Very well, Gwendolyn. Go and take your bath. As soon as you're dressed again, come to me. I'll be in here."
Gwendolyn took her bath, and the bone softener was certainly…softening. After she felt as if someone had rubbed off a few layers of skin, and when she looked in the mirror after, she still looked big-boned but not as much as before. And her hair was only slightly lighter.
But Gwendolyn was surprised at her reaction; she was not happy at all, as her mother thought she would be; on the contrary, she was quite displeased.
"She's changing who I am," she said. "Not in my mind, but visually."
But she had been crying last night, hadn't she? So she must try it. If she didn't like what was happening to her, she could stop…couldn't she?
"I'm ready," Gwendolyn said upon entering her bathroom again.
"Very well. I shall ring my manicurists, and the beauty guru to rub the lotions and cream on you to make you fairer…and the de-frecklizer, and the—"
"Mother, can't I do those things myself?"
"You are a princess, it is against your kind," her mother replied firmly, and Gwendolyn backed down immediately.
Queen Loryasia pulled the two bells, one labeled "Beauty Guru" the other "Manicurists." They came in almost immediately, gasping for breath as though they had run.
Queen Loryasia explained everything to them, and then they all went to the west tower, where there was a swivel chair that could turn into something like a bed.
"Sit down," the beauty guru said crisply. "And please remove your garments." The beauty guru handed Gwendolyn towels to wrap around herself.
"Put your right hand on the table beside it, and your left on the table beside it," one of the manicurists said, sitting down in a chair and pulling it up to her right hand, which was now resting on the table. The other manicurist pulled up a chair beside her left hand, and they brought out everything they needed, then set to work. They filed, they snipped, they washed, they painted. And the beauty guru had made the chair stretch out into a bed, then began to rub in oils on her face, her shoulders, her arms, her neck, her legs…then creams and lotions were applied, then more ridiculous things. And then the beauty guru did her hair, spraying hairspray in it, rubbing creams in…
In the end, Gwendolyn found her nails a pearl color, shaped perfectly, and underneath they were clean. And her body felt softer, not rough like it usually had. And she smelled magnificent; there was the heavy scent of roses hanging in the air.
"Thank you very much, ladies," her mother said, smiling in appreciation and satisfaction at the work they had done.
Gwendolyn went to a mirror and circled, staring at herself. She did not like it at all. Well, perhaps on another person…but on her!
She was indeed fairer, and her freckles were paler, and somehow the manicurists had minimized the damage she had done to her fingernails.
"You look beautiful," the queen sighed.
Gwendolyn shook her now straight hair, nearly crying. "I hate it!" she cried, and began to run to the bath.
"Oh, no you don't," the queen said, catching her round the waist. "You will let all this cream and de-frecklizer sink in. And you are not getting rid of your nail paint!"
Gwendolyn immediately chomped down on a nail, relishing the look of horror on her mother's face.
"You—!"
Gwendolyn smiled pleasantly, and then walked out, her mother shouting nonsense behind her.
------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o
"You look exquisite, my dear," the king said during lunch, admiring his daughter from his end of the table.
"I hate it," Gwendolyn seethed. "And you will never change me!" she shot at her mother, who was cutting her meat up serenely.
"I believe I just have," her mother said, looking up to meet Gwendolyn's eye. "Look at you! You're beautiful."
"You think I'm always ugly—and ordinary. But that doesn't matter. Because I'm not meant to be a princess!"
Her mother just shrugged. "What ever you say, sweetheart."
Gwendolyn got up, this time not slamming anything or throwing down her utensils. She ran all the way up the stairs to go to her tower, where she collapsed on the bed, gasping for breath, her heart thumping wildly against her chest, as if asking to be let out.
"Yes, yes, let me out!" she cried, and, without ringing up a maid, she prepared a bath for herself. She washed all the creams, lotions, and even the nail paint off, scrubbing herself until she looking regular. And when her hair dried, it was wavy again, and the same brown color. It looked as though she had stepped out of a shell as a completely different person from the one she looked before.
The girl pulled off the dress and tossed it on her bed. Then she put on the plainest dress she could find (which was still rather fancy) and pulled out a plain black traveling cloak, something she had borrowed from Athena a few months ago and had forgotten to return.
"This will do," she said, putting it on. She kicked off her heels and stockings, and then sat down at her desk.
Pulling a piece of paper toward her, she picked up a quill and began to write:
Dear mother and father,
I have gone away. Do not be alarmed; I will be quite alright on my own. I cannot tell you where I will be going, but be assured that I will be quite fine. Do not try and search for me, it will be no use.
And I refuse to be beautiful, mother. That is mostly the reason I am leaving. I want to be myself.
Love,
GwendolynGwendolyn left it on her desk, then ran to her balcony and climbed down the ivy, carefully avoiding the windows. When she reached the ground, she darted away, into the forest.
When she arrived at the creek, she began to follow it, then ended up in a run, hoping her parents hadn't found the letter yet and still thought she was in her tower. She stopped at the edge of the cliff and skirted around it, looking down and remembering. Her undergarments were quite gone, or at least it looked like it from way up here.
Suddenly there was a chattering noise, and a squirrel came scurrying over to her. He stopped at her feet and stared up at her, clutching a nut between its paws.
"Oh, Mr. Nittle," Gwendolyn bent down and picked up the squirrel, placing it on her shoulder. "I am running away from home. Would you like to come with me?"
Mr. Nittle bit her gently in a "Yes".
"Very well. Let's go!"
She began to race around the edges of the cliff, until she reached the point where she had really seen Brailan.
"That is our destination," she said, pointing. "Brailan."
She got down on her belly and peered down the cliff, feeling dizzy from looking down.
"It must be miles down," she said softly. "Too bad there isn't a waterfall to carry us."
Mr. Nittle began to make shrieking noises.
"Oh, I suppose you are right. That would be your death sentence." She laughed a little.
She looked around. Should she climb down?
It seemed the only possible way—but it was very flat! There was nothing to help her climb down.
"What are to do?" she asked fretfully.
Mr. Nittle made a moaning sound.
"I don't think there is another way. I should've just used a magic carpet," Gwendolyn sighed.
Mr. Nittle suddenly started hopping madly on Gwendolyn's shoulder, chattering crazily. The nut dropped from his grip.
"Gracious!" Gwendolyn crept closer and realized that there was indeed a magic carpet—that looked the exact color of the ground beneath her feet. It sat up, then levitated in the air, waiting for her to get on.
"Shall I?"
Mr. Nittle chattered excitedly, and so Gwendolyn approached it cautiously, and sat down gingerly, but before she could get a comfortable position, the magic carpet zoomed down, speeding as it neared the ground. Gwendolyn flattened herself on the carpet, screaming, Mr. Nittle's fur flattened by the speed. And quite suddenly, the carpet bucked her off and flew away, replacing itself on the top of the cliff.
Gwendolyn rubbed her face, which was smacked on the ground when the carpet bucked her off.
"Well, I suppose it was there for a reason," she said, smiling slightly. Mr. Nittle hid behind her hair, still frightened from the ride.
"It's all right," she giggled, petting the squirrel on the head. He whimpered.
She looked up at the sky, smiled, and then began her journey to Brailan.