Now if anyone walked up to me and asked "Babiole, what's wrong?" I doubt I would be able to do anything more than avoid eye contact and change the subject. I had no idea what was wrong with me. But ever since that night I knew something was different, that something had changed, that something was no longer the good old right way. Maybe the appearance of my so-called fairy godmother had twisted things up for me, but I doubted that because she barely made it into my thoughts over the next few years. What did make it into my thoughts was this gnawing eternal thought that my world was upside down.
I couldn't explain it. I just felt… different. My mind was different, my thoughts were different, and more so than ever I wanted nothing more than to run up a tree or palace pillar as fast as I could. But every time I gave into that desire I wanted to scream because it didn't do a thing to ebb away the urge. I must have been feeling something else. It was like some switch in my mind that had been there since birth switched on and I had no clue what the result was, only that there was a result.
The weirdest part was that I couldn't explain it to anyone. Not that I didn't try. Queen Flore just started into some horrible speech about changes all young women, and apparently monkeys, went through, about the hightened emotions and thoughts. I tried to listen and learn, but not all of it quite matched what I felt.
Bastien… he was useless. I could not even talk to him. To his credit, he tried to listen, but I could tell just how bored he quickly became before eventually sighing and asking if there were no one else to whom I could speak. Like his mother. He was too busy.
Indeed, the hunt for a suitable bride for Prince Bastien became more serious with each passing year. No longer was it about companions. Queen Flore would eventually be incapable of ruling and the kingdom would have to have a king and apparently a queen to match. The more trysts he had with half-way interesting servant girls the dumber the princesses and noblewomen who were trotted before him. They adored him. They were lovely and simpering and drove me nuts. In fact, the older I became, the more idiotic they became until it seemed that Bastien was passing the ideal age group of potential brides.
He needed someone intelligent. Bastien had an insurmountable number of flaws, but at least it was smart. He could carry on a half-decent conversation. He was a very good-looking human so it seemed only obvious that he marry a beautiful girl, but if quickly became bored of someone like me, it would have to be the right girl that he could be able to stand for a lifetime of marriage.
And so came the Challenges. That's what he called them. A notion from his stupid fairy tale books. In his stories, there was always a princess and the prince had to pull a ridiculous studnt to win her hand in marriage. Very romantic, very gag inducing. So Bastien's great plan was to drag all these girls on various activities to see who best enjoyed them and survived them.
I will admit, some of them were my ideas. Hunting. Spending a night in the woods (with me above throwing things). Dueling with swords. I thought they were funny, so imagine my horror when some of these girls actually met the Challenges.
And, well, Bastien sort of disappeared after that. It was always to do these Challenges. To be with people. As for me, I became bored with hiding and throwing things. Therefore, it was rare that I saw Bastien to even talk with him.
Maybe that made things worse for me.
I would be lying if I said I didn't miss him.
Every time I felt weird, that something was wrong, my thoughts turned to Bastien. And I would become absolutely furious that he had to do all these ridiculous things and ignore me. We had grown up together, as much as a small monkey could grow. When exactly was I supposed to voice my opinion on all these silly girls? When were we supposed to make fun of them? Why did days have to go by before I could jump onto his shoulder and tell him every little thing that I knew would annoy him?
Eventually, things followed these questions. I would stare into mirrors at my cute little furry face for what might have been hours at a time, not really thinking, just looking at myself.
Finally, one day I understood what was wrong, what had been driving me nuts for years. I wanted to scream when I realized it. Of all the things that could go wrong in my life it had to be this. I tried to find another explanation, but one did not exist. But one had to. Because this great and stupid epiphany was impossible, illogical, and useless. It couldn't happen.
I was a monkey. It was who I was. A talking monkey, to be sure, but a cute and charming and very small furry Capuchin monkey.
I could not be in love with Bastien.