Actually, ideally she would go to the kingdom and marry a dashing prince, and nobody would ever know she had been cursed; but that didn't seem very likely anymore.
She found a quiet and secluded place with seconds to spare, and closed her eyes against the glow of the change. When the light faded, she began to retrace her earlier steps to the supposed tree stump bed' that Garfield had shown her.
The moon was still rising, so it shone directly into the forest, providing more light than the sun; and Fiona was able to quickly navigate the trail with ease. Where the leaves grew thin overhead, it was almost as though someone had turned on a light.
Fiona spotted the tree stump and stopped where she was, suddenly feeling foolish. Did she really expect an ogre to come out of the tree, like some kind of magic trick? She shook her head and started to walk away, but caught sight of the long, wide footprints in the dirt. Their size intrigued her, and she followed them right to the tree stump where, mysteriously, they stopped.
Fiona knelt slightly and examined the stump. It was large enough to fit an ogre, even one responsible for the mammoth footprints. Feeling less foolish, she felt around the bottom of the surface until her fingers grabbed a ridge and curled to touch each other, as though she had grabbed a handle.
She lifted the top of the stump like a lid, and found herself looking at a blanket and pillow. Unable to fathom that Puss had been telling the truth, she closed the tree and walked into the shadows.
The moon had risen higher, and the path was growing darker. Had it not been for the flaming torch, Fiona would not have known that she was walking directly toward someone else. She paused and quickly ducked beside a tree. As the flame grew closer, the voices grew louder. "Do you think it's enough?"
"For one night, yes. I know it is."
The torch passed by Fiona's face. She could feel the heat and hear the heavy collective footsteps of at least two people. She looked at them, watching them go, and illuminated by the firelight she recognized the ears of an ogre.
For the first time in twenty-eight long, lonely years, Fiona found herself smiling.
She followed them, careful to stay out of the moonlight that filtered in from the thinning leaves. Hovering behind a tree she watched in fascination as the ogres came into the clearing, and greeted two other ogres.
The ogre who carried the torch looked very strapping, and Fiona could easily imagine his assistance in battling Rumpelstiltskin. He sighed, looking defeated already as he said, "What are we supposed to do?"
"I think we have been doing it," said an ogre Fiona was honestly shocked to learn was a female.
"No. There's got to be more to life than this."
"But there isn't," she insisted. "Look at us, Brogan. We're alive, and we're free. That's all that matters."
Fiona's eyes narrowed. Maybe in her little world it was all that mattered, but she probably never even knew her parents.
"She's right, man. How many of us can say that?" one of the other ogres chimed in.
More than they realized, Fiona thought, and she turned and walked silently through the forest. Someday, somehow, she would introduce herself to those ogres and start preparing for war. They all would. They could never know her secret, but they could know her side.
-x-
Fiona was aching to introduce herself to them. She wanted to turn around and go back. But she would certainly not do it in her dress. No regular, actual, all-the-time ogre would ever wear such an outfit, and she wanted to blend in.
So that night, she did something for which she would later be on Wanted signs. She entered a clothing shop that, for some reason, was still open. The man behind the desk was asleep, snoring away.
Fiona couldn't pay him anyway. She hurried to the maternity aisle and grabbed some items off the shelf. Something tan, something in plaid, some leather, a big satchel to put it in. She piled her findings into her arms.
"Stop!"
Fiona spun to face the cashier, who was suddenly silent. His eyes were almost as wide open as his mouth. Ignoring his wordless sputters of protest, Fiona turned and barged through the doors into the night.
And that was how she found herself standing in front of the doors to The Poison Apple. She remembered it. Her father had gone there a lot in her childhood, and she preferred to believe he had been stressing over knowing what he and Lillian were going to do to her.
Her father had once said that all the freaks went to The Poison Apple. So she knocked, and the door creaked open just barely, showing a dark exterior. A musty smell came from inside. Making a face, she opened the door all the way and found herself looking at another pair of doors. What? Those hadn't been there before. They were painted turquoise, and the frames had been painted red. It didn't look like a bar anymore; it looked like the playpen for the freaks' children. The left door had come off its top and middle hinges, and was hanging precariously into the bar.
Fiona stepped inside and closed the doors leading to the outside, pushing the cover over the peephole and locking the door. Why did she not feel safe yet?
She opened the right door and let herself inside, staring at the interior of The Poison Apple.
It was nothing like she remembered. It looked so old and abused. A barstool was toppled, and most of the seats were torn up. Cobwebs stretched from the ceiling to the walls, and the room was only lit by the daylight filtering in through the cracked blinds. It was definitely not fit for a king or even a royal ogre. It didn't even seem like the villagers went here anymore. It might make a nice home after all.
Her first order of business was to change her clothing. Fiona went to the counter and set her satchel onto the dusty surface, then began to hunt for scissors. When she finally found them, they were located on the other side of the counter, at the back of a disgusting shelf.
Sitting in the barstool, she picked up the plaid and began to cut.