When Fairy Godmother came to, the first thing she noticed was the way her dress, plain with folds of leaves and impossibly small flowers, now sparkled with... black glitter. That was certainly odd. The second thing she noticed was the ground directly beneath her; she had been moved, in her unconscious state, to sit on the ground. Though it was marginally better than sitting on an old, half-eaten Twinkie with mold on it, she couldn't help but feel mildly assaulted. And very degraded. She deserved better than this! Instantly, she struggled, and came to the shocking conclusion that her hands had been tied behind her back like she was some kind of prisoner... And then she remembered the net. And then what must have been a tainted needle.

Drugged and trapped. Like she meant nothing more than an ogre! How absurd, how utterly ridiculous! Tentatively, she gathered herself and stood up, moving cautiously and with the grace of a housecat, tangled up in the window blinds. What was wrong with her? Why was she able to conduct herself with only the poise of a careless child? Disoriented, she gave her immobilized hands an inquiring yank. The rope that bound them together was slack, and she shuffled as far as she could, which was about one human foot from where she had been, perhaps a little less. She tried looking over her shoulder at whatever was constricting her to moving beyond that measurement, only to see the wall of hair obstructing her view. She sighed in annoyance, wishing she had at least one hand free as she glanced around the room, looking for something she never thought she would require―help. But her prison seemed to be abandoned. She turned in a half-circle, until the rope binding her hands together was touching her wrist, and looked at the needle to which she was tied. A needle, of all things; as if they were mocking her sedation. It was so thin. Her new size could allow her to use it like a sword. The needle had been staked into the ground, but somehow touched the ceiling. The question remained, the ceiling of where? She was indoors, but the ground was dirt. What kind of place was this?

"I'm here to answer all your questions. But the first one is, you know...can you hear me?"

Tinkerbell waited for a response, sighing as Fairy Godmother didn't even jump. She extended the vial of black dust, which Nyx took from her. "Sorry," Tinkerbell said. "Back to the drawing board."

Nyx rolled her eyes, got to her feet, and flew off of the top of the bookcase, which nearly touched the ceiling as well. Alone with the captive, Tinkerbell sighed and turned her eyes to Fairy Godmother, who noticed the pixie dust falling from above as Nyx passed over. She glanced up, watching Nyx squeeze through a fairy-sized window obviously designed to let sunlight in only, not look out of, as it was quite high; sighing, Fairy Godmother continued to survey the high windows until her roaming eyes found Tinkerbell. Her expression of bored annoyance quickly changed to anger, and the tinker decided it was best to approach her...for some reason.

"Uh, oh, boy. How do I..." Tinkerbell muttered, and then pointed at Fairy Godmother. "You are safe here," she said, giving her two thumbs up.

"Great, I'll be on my way soon as you untie me."

Tinkerbell hesitated, then began to flit around the room. All she could find to write on was a yellowed piece of old, delicate paper folded up and smushed into one of the bookshelves. She quickly wrote down what she had said and showed it to Fairy Godmother.

"Oh, child. If this is your idea of safe, I'd like to go now before danger strikes."

What danger? Tinkerbell asked, with an instant look of mistrust.

"Oh, I don't know the dangers you might encounter. I've literally never been this little before," Fairy Godmother said, and at the look of wide-eyed fascination on her face, Fairy Godmother followed the bewildering impulse to tell her of the life she was supposed to be living. "Oh, I used to be human! Yes, I was running a factory, helping people throughout the world, performing one magical act after another," her emotions made her voice fluctuate from a frustrated inflection to a whine. "Oh, I was human-sized, too," she sighed, "People could ignore me, but there was certainly never an oversight. I was most definitely unbothered by... hawks," she added, sneering. "Not to mention everything was done through liquid potion; there was never a dusty mess, although I did have a flood once, courtesy of a belligerent ogre... Not to imply there was ever an ogre that wasn't so."

What's an ogur?

"An ogre is an ugly beast who eats slugs, lives in a bog, and avoids soap. Vile creatures."

She didn't have to be able to hear the fairy to know she was disgusted.

"They are as nasty on the inside as they are on the outside. Only interested in self-serve. I was in the process of clearing my path of these beings when I was so indecorously shrunken down to smaller than a frog! Oh, I would have treated these monsters well if only they had treated me well. Unfortunately for them all, my dear, I'm in the business of cosmic justice. And unfortunately for your friends, I have been captured, drugged unconscious, and experimented on, which is almost as unlawful as pilfering someone's happily ever after, wouldn't you agree?"

Tinkerbell held up a pointing finger, then flew away rather quickly, letting herself out into a dim hallway.

"I thought you might do that," Fairy Godmother muttered coyly to herself. Alone, she traced her steps back to the needle, which she could now see was bent at the bottom―well, that explained how they had fed it into the ground. Gnawing on the rope and attempting to slash through it with her nails, she struggled for a few minutes before groaning in frustration. Her voice resonated through the strange room and she clamped her lips shut, remembering that while she couldn't hear them, the issue in communication only ran the one way. Deciding instead to utilize her wings, she flew slowly, until the rope went taut before she could reach the window. All she could glimpse was the spire on a roof nearby and a couple of stars―amazing, how someone so little could see something so little and so faraway. Flying back to the ground, Fairy Godmother landed on her newly-slippered feet, clad in what appeared to be flower petals. They were so impossibly soft against her skin that she found herself taking a moment to regret her mission to return to her old life.

No! It wasn't her old life. It was her actual life. She must go back. There were so many matters of business. Securing her son's future, her son's happiness, would always take precedence over these pure, ridiculously soft...nice slippers given to them from the garden. She squared her shoulders and huffed a frustrated sigh, telling herself she could just command someone to fashion these for her once she returned to her proper, powerful place―to which it would be an unbearably long journey. Maybe the collywobbles telling her it would take most of her remaining years were right; maybe she would get through the door, and take her last breath. Gosh, that would be unfortunate. In that event, she would like to stay... But no. In that event, as everything else was falling apart, she needed her son to see that she would do anything for him.

Tinkerbell hadn't needed to keep the conversation private by shutting the door, so she had left it open and was obviously talking to someone; then she took something from a disembodied pair of hands and came walking back into what Fairy Godmother could only assume was a prison. A prison without cells, a prison without guards. A very strange prison it was... But it seemed to be doing the trick. As the kid fairy drew nearer, Fairy Godmother automatically focused on the little vial in her hands, and her eyes shot up to the tinker's apologetic blues. "Wot?! You dare experiment on me again? I've dedicated my life to helping people, and now a bunch of criminals are keeping me prisoner. Oh, believe you me... The day I escape your confinement will be your day of reckoning!"

Her words were replaced by a yelp and then a gasp as Tinkerbell threw the dust at her. Looking apologetic all the while. This dust was every color of the rainbow, and combined with the black dust that had been thrown on her while she was out. With deadly green fire in her eyes, Fairy Godmother raised her head and narrowed her eyes at the regretful tinker. Her voice was deceptively quiet, perfectly betraying the vicious things she wanted to do to her as she said, "You will pay for that, my dear."

"Can you hear me?"

Fairy Godmother froze at the unexpected sound of her kind, warm, sweet voice. "Yeah," she uttered, "Yes, I-I can hear you."

"YES!" Tinkerbell shouted, whirling around. "Yes, yes, yes! Zarina!" she shrieked, running from the room.

"Wait―no, come back! I thought you wanted... To talk," Fairy Godmother's words ended on a quiet, empty note as the door banged shut. All Fairy Godmother could hear now were muffled voices from the other side. Sighing again, she glanced over and found herself looking at a fairy's shadow; raising her head she was startled by the sight of...no one. Raising her eyes to the window, she found the ominous silhouette perched on the high windowsill. She barely had time to discern the faint silhouette of the stick-like weapon protruding from her back when the fairy jumped off the sill and flew down to approach her. Then she landed―Bird Girl. "She," Nyx said, giving a subtle nod to the door, "Has no business in talking with you. That is my job."

"I thought your job was protecting fairies. Not like you did it well when we met."

Nyx smiled, which did nothing to eradicate the dark danger in her eyes. She raised a brow. "Let the interrogation begin."

Fairy Godmother did not hesitate for long. She lunged, tackling the startled Scout to the dirt floor; Nyx groaned at the pain of landing on her weapons, but did not have time to focus on her injuries, as her attacker began fighting her. Sissy move―pulling her hair. But then, before Nyx could blink, Fairy Godmother had grabbed her long quill harpoon and was retreating with it pointed...away from Nyx.

The Scout scrambled to her feet. "You don't have to do this. I am firm, but fair."

"Wot's fair about tranquilizing me?!"

"I had to get my Scouts out without letting you out. And I am only keeping you here so we can talk."

Fairy Godmother's hands were bound in a way that her wrists were touching, but she grasped the harpoon in one hand; bending her hand over her wrist, she began slicing the rope with the harpoon. Before it could break, Nyx tackled her in turn, or tried to. Fairy Godmother responded quickly by spinning the weapon around and cutting her arm. As she continued cutting the rope, Nyx grabbed her harpoon back and wrestled it out of the prisoner's compromised hand. She kept her away by pointing the sharp end towards her. Her dark, striped sleeve was torn and blood trickled out of the slashed fabric. "I said," Nyx growled, "We'll talk. Play your cards right with me, and I'll free you myself. Ruin your chances...and you will spend the night here, sleeping in the dirt, cold and tortured... And you won't even get a cookie."

Fairy Godmother let out a half-laugh, half-sob. "My diet is ruined," she said, repeating words of a not too distant past. "I'd like a cookie."

"We have many things you would like. The only way to access them is by obeying me."

"Do you have beds?" Fairy Godmother asked in a hushed tone.

"We do. And hot meals, festivities, and an entire room dedicated to magic," Nyx goaded, watching her eyes light up. "But you won't experience any of that unless you...walk back to the needle."

Fairy Godmother meekly complied. She was accustomed to giving out the orders and the perks...but she really wanted a bed, at least until she resolved the stumbling block of her small stature.

Nyx flipped her harpoon over her head and slid it into the bag on her back. "State your name. And no 'Fairy Godmother' nonsense. Give me your real name."

"Fortuna. Dama Fortuna."

Nyx raised an unimpressed brow, then said, "I'll get Queen Clarion to give you a name. Moving on―"

"Queen Clarion?" Fairy Godmother asked, "You―you've never heard of Queen Lillian?"

"Can't say I have, and I ask the questions. Where you were born?"

"Far Far Away."

"If that's how you want to play it, Dama Fortuna, enjoy your life here."

"No―the land is called Far Far Away," Fairy Godmother hastily explained, halting Nyx's departure. "I'm afraid I've lost sense of which direction it's in."

"Not a problem," Nyx said coolly, and walked to the door, opening it and poking her head out into a hallway, just as dim as the room Fairy Godmother had been stuck in. "Bring me Vidia," she said pithily, and shut the door. Walking back to her prisoner, she crossed her arms and inspected her with those unnerving eyes. "You've just played your fourth card."

"You've only asked for my name and birthplace."

"And you tackled me and drew blood."

"I saved you from a hawk," Fairy Godmother offered hopefully.

Nyx thought for a moment, then amended her statement. "Then you've just played your third card."

Fairy Godmother could still only recall two questions, but decided not to press her luck.

"So you're royal."

"Well, not really."

"So it's his father?"

"No..." Fairy Godmother hedged, wishing her hands were free so she could at least pin up her hair. "It's hard to explain, mainly I suppose because I don't want to. But if that is my ticket to a soft bed..." She let her voice trail off and sighed as she adjusted her slippered feet in the dirt. "Very well. I am not royal, and his father was never real at all! Actually I'm not really his mother," she went on, noting Nyx's confusion. "Charming was...simply never meant to exist."

Like you, Nyx thought.

"But I wanted a son; after the death of my husband, I had no family left. But I did have magic. So I created him out of thin air. Now that I have lost my magic..."

"All you have left is him," Nyx concluded.

"And I must get back to him, immediately. He has no direction!"

"Then maybe you should have given him some. While you could have."

Fairy Godmother's eyes flicked up to meet hers at what certainly seemed like a threat, or at least a prelude to a life sentence. Before she could inquire, two things happened at once; Nyx kept talking, and Fairy Godmother caught the sight of a glowing trail of pixie dust in the night sky, appearing faster than she could blink, though she hadn't seen the fairy that must have been making it. Actually, why did they need pixie dust? Maybe she should be asking some questions, too.

"See, something bothers me. Something Tinkerbell said, which you haven't, like you've been...almost avoiding it," Nyx went on. "At least, when you're talking to a Scout," her voice ended on an empty note and she put one hand on a hip, frowning at the captive. "You used to be human? That raises a real issue for me."

Fairy Godmother hesitated only for a moment, causing the Scout to approach and lean in a little, looking into the captive's distraught eyes. "There it is. The reason I wanted you to hear me in the first place. It's a lot easier to lie on paper, isn't it?"

"Why do you keep assuming I'm a liar?"

"The horrible, disgusting way you claim to have entered this world, for starters."

"Right. Your parents are all infants, and I'm the liar. Do you realize how―"

Nyx shushed her, taking several tentative steps to the door. From the other side, she heard Vidia's muffled voice, "I told you not to touch me!"

And then one of her own Scouts disbelievingly asked, "Did you just smack me?"

Vidia groaned and opened the door, closing it in the stunned faces of Di and Fury. "What do you want?" was the greeting she extended to the lead Scout.

"Good of you to join us, Vidia. I only asked for you―what? Half an hour ago?"

"I was working. What do you want?"

Fairy Godmother's eyebrows went up at the fairy who dared to speak in such a way to someone whose job it was to keep her safe.

"I want you to fly around in search of a land called Far Far Away. Apparently my prisoner is from there, and―" Nyx stopped, watching the new arrival nod.

"Yeah, I've seen it already. Several hundred miles north of here, on the Mainland."

"Oh. Well, I suppose then you weren't lying about that," Nyx said coolly, turning back to her prisoner.

"So...we done here?" Vidia asked. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began walking to the door, but was halted by Nyx's sudden, "No!" Turning back, she raised her eyebrows at the seemingly-flustered head Scout.

"Grab a Scout and show her this Far Far Away."

"Why?"

"Because them, I trust."

"But you don't trust me," Vidia deduced. "After everything, isn't my word enough?"

"No," Nyx said, in a no-nonsense tone. She motioned to the door, and watched as Vidia meekly let herself out. When the door closed, she turned back to face her prisoner. "Tinkerbell tells me you've 'dedicated your life to helping people,' is that right?"

"That is correct."

"And you 'helped people throughout the world.'"

"Yes. My efforts are appreciated by all of my clientele. Even the monster who didn't appreciate me at first, came to his senses later on; offering to stay in the body I gave him for his wife. For some reason she declined, which perplexes me," she mumbled contemplatively. "I do believe, however, that despite the comfort he takes in his natural, hideous form, he does have some sense of appreciation for what I do. I mean, really... Who keeps the gift of a true enemy?"

Nyx waved a hand, stammering slightly. "So, you don't think of this person as a nemesis."

"No, actually. I have no nemeses at all. He was only slower than most to realize that I had even his best interests at heart."

"What method were you employing to 'clear your path'?"

Fairy Godmother's eyebrows rose. "That Tinkerbell has a big mouth!"

"Actually, she can be very sneaky. But everybody knows better than to lie to a Scout."

"So." Fairy Godmother's lips curled up in an ironic smile. "That's what you call yourself."

"That's my official title. Do yourself a favor and remember it."

Fairy Godmother sighed, doing something she hadn't done since adolescence and shaking her hair back. "Well, the monster in question is a living, breathing ogre. He is large, green, and unattractive... And, because of a curse on his wife, she is the same way. Well, his wife happens to be a princess, and when I learned they were going to claim the crown, I couldn't stand by and just let it happen. Not when my son deserved it so much more. So, as would any one of you, I used my powers. My potions, my spells and―"

"Curses?"

Fairy Godmother felt herself smile, even though inwardly she was quaking with fear. The Scout wouldn't look away or say anything further as she waited with an annoying amount of patience for her response. "You know," Fairy Godmother said, her voice deceptively soft, "I do believe you're the first one to ever catch on."

"You're insane."

Fairy Godmother gave a light scoff. "An ogre will squish a slug and turn its innards into paste, my dear. Why? So it can brush its teeth. Even their bathing routine tells us they have no respect for living things. Am I truly insane, for not wanting such a creature to run my kingdom? A monarch is supposed to be admirable, graceful, elegant and sophisticated, human. These qualities an ogre has not. The best thing for the kingdom, the princess, and even the ogre was if he went back to his swamp and let the princess claim her birthright―to live the life she was born into; he stole that from her!"

"I see. So, if you don't intend to make enemies, then why did you put a curse on her?"

Fairy Godmother averted her eyes, shaking her head. "Okay," she sighed. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning..."

(Twenty Years Prior...)

If Princess Fiona had known it was going to be her last night in the tower, she would have stayed awake all night, wandering the halls long after the servants had retired, tracing every pattern, touching every surface, and immersing herself in every painting. Instead, believing she would grow up here, believing this night wasn't special at all, she had dozed off in her bed like every other night. She was dreaming of what had happened earlier that day―a slow, pleasant walk by a beautiful lily pond. Her parents had been with her and they had been...so quiet. Not talking of tournaments, or other kingdom business as usual; who should get a raise, who should be reassigned or fired, things like that. They were as peaceful as the nature around them, letting her soak it in. At the time, she believed it was a reward. Truly, what kind of reward could be given to a princess who had everything? The answer would have baffled most, but to Fiona's mind it was really quite simple; time with loved ones. Nothing else. Not even the added footsteps of their guards; all that metal blocking out the sound of nature. It had been perfect...at least, to the mind of someone who didn't realize it was all a curtain, shielding her from a princess' worst nightmare.

And the nightmare started when she awoke. Large hands shook her little body, and she could see her father's face. Little did she know, it would be the last time she would get to see the brown in his hair.

"Daddy?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Yes, I'm so sorry. You must come with us."

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes, my angel. Something's wrong." He took her by the hand but didn't pull at all as she threw off the covers and got to her feet. She stood barefoot in a long silk nightgown, which worried him. It was cold and wet outside; they would be in the covered wagon, but they would only stay dry, not warm. Rethinking, he knelt and scooped his little girl, his angel, into his arms and strode out of her bedroom. It would be quite a long journey through the castle, out the doors, around the fountain, and into the carriage, and his motives were not entirely selfless... He also could admit, if only to himself, that he didn't want her to be on her feet, slowing him down.

He just wanted it to be over. Actually, what he wanted was to be many years older. He wanted to hear word, right now, that she had been rescued, and appeared to look forward to their reunion...

Queen Lillian stood at the door. Like her husband she had taken the time to dress accordingly, and for their child she held only one thing in her hand; her favorite toy, a teddy bear. She held it up as King Harold approached, giving it to the sleepy little girl in his arms. "I plucked Felicia from the play room for you."

Fiona wasn't too concerned at the time. Her parents were taking her away from the danger. They were going to be fine. They were going to be together. So she closed her eyes and rested her head against her father's chest, feeling him pull the thick front opening of his fur over her to protect her from the chill. Then the doors opened and Fiona felt nothing but her father's protection as she listened to the violent storm that raged on around and above them.

"And you're sure this dragon knows not to eat her?"

Wow. Thick fur over the ears really compromised her hearing! Quite amused, Fiona smiled, snuggling into her father's chest as she tried to realize by herself what her mother must have said. Then he removed the protective fur and she was very briefly peltered by the harsh rain; before she could even cry out, her mother had pulled her into the carriage. Suddenly awake, Fiona rubbed herself and shivered until her father was situated beside her; then she eagerly crawled back under the protection of his cloak. As the ride progressed, she found herself unable to fall back asleep. So she held Felicia Furthing close and worried at the fear on her mother's face―evident over and over again, as she couldn't seem to stop looking at her.

The storm passed. The sun came up. And set again. Still, they traveled, stopping to stretch their legs and retrieve sustenance from the trailer. After far too many are-we-there-yets, each with a disheartening no, and where-are-we-goings, each one unanswered, they arrived, long after Fiona had given up on conversation. When the driver leaped out of the carriage, Fiona looked up at her parents with a huge, eager smile...and the mean, dark looks on their faces broke her heart. Yet, it would only get worse. Even after a very long, very cold ride with no sleep, and the horrifying experience of having to relieve herself in the nature she so adored, and now having gotten what appeared to be a hateful look from both parents, the princess tried not to whine as she climbed out of the carriage to find herself standing at the bottom of a rocky, dusty incline. It looked like the only destination around, and the candle attempt of her cheer was quickly blown out.

She looked around, eyes large and mouth agape. "Excuse me. I am a princess," she declared, folding her arms. "I look at nature, I don't live in it!"

"No, no, of course not. It's just a little climb up over this hill, and, um..." King Harold appeared to give his wife an uncertain look, then he knelt down and brushed Fiona's loose, beautiful red hair off her shoulders. "We're going to go explore a ruin! How does that sound, eh? Does that sound like fun?"

But she had stopped paying attention to him. "Mommy, what's that noise?"

The monarchs hushed, listening to the muffled popping, bubbling, and boiling coming from the other side of the ledge. Once again, they weren't answering her question. Her curiosity outweighed her fear and she suddenly left her parents' side. "Fine, ignore me. Again," she sassed, and turned to look at the gravel slope. "This doesn't mean I'm sleeping in this," she warned them, as she began to scale the dusty hill. She kept looking down as she ascended, and so she kept having to push her crown back up. Her hair blew around her shoulders in the soft wind, and the silk rippled against her body like tangible golden waves.

Finally, she heaved herself onto the flat ledge―and her eyes went wide as she found herself looking at a moat of lava. "Oh, my, no," she panted breathlessly, her eyes fixated on the lake of death. "Not this."

Then she made the mistake of looking up. The only access across the lava was a flimsy ladder, constructed with rope and wood. Rope and wood! Her martial arts instructor was teaching her to break wooden planks like this; wrestlers had collapsed on top of rope like this. Were her parents insane? Did they truly hate her?

"Fiona," her mother's voice called. "What do you see?"

Ohh... Her parents hadn't provided the answers because they didn't have the answers! Rather relieved to know they were going to be blindsided too, Fiona turned her head slightly to the side and shouted back, "Death!"

"What?"

"Let me see, let me see," the king grumbled, as he pulled himself up beside her. He instantly went quiet, his body locking up as he stared in horror at the lava-locked tower.

Fiona looked at his grim horror and pointed at the castle, letting her arm thump onto the gravel. "You want to cross that for a history lesson?"

"I-I-I didn't realize it―I," he blathered.

"We're going to become a piece of history, too; lesson being, don't jump into a pool of lava!" she exclaimed, and began to descend. Jumping back onto the flat ground, she slipped her hand into her mother's. "Though people should know that on their own," she grumbled.

"There's lava down there?" Queen Lillian asked, baffled.

"And a flimsy, pathetic bridge!" Fiona informed her.

"Oh, okay, no," the queen told her husband, as he came down. "Whatever you're doing, Harold―don't."

"I... It-it's not that simple."

"What're you doing?" Fiona asked.

He looked from one pair of frightened blue eyes to the other. Just beyond his wife's shoulder, well-hidden in the tree, he saw what appeared to be a pointed hat. Suddenly, wordlessly, he had flung the child over his shoulder and was bearing down on the path with long strides.

"Harold!" Lillian cried, and grabbed two hearty handfuls of dust. She scrambled up the hill, watching Harold go lunging carelessly over the bridge. Strewn across his shoulder, Fiona glanced up and immediately found her mother's eyes. She outstretched a hand, sobbing and screaming, even as Lillian stopped at the edge of the bridge. She hesitated, staring in panic at the lava before she sucked in a deep breath and began to run across, shrieking wordlessly as she followed her beloved husband, who appeared to have lost his mind. Feeling the weight shift below, Harold stopped on the bridge and turned back around.

"Lillian!" he shouted in his daughter's ear, over the rather loud roar of lava. "Stay back!"

"Mommy!" Fiona cried again.

"You...you madman! You fool, you give her to me!" Lillian screamed. But she was going at a turtle's pace. Her hands clutched the rope and her legs were more unsteady than the bridge itself.

Harold, on the other hand, was willing to risk it all because it was the only way to save it all. If he didn't follow through, he would guarantee his own failure. He would lose his daughter, his wife, maybe even his castle. Whereas Lillian had had no preparation for this, he had been readying himself since before she met him. He felt...numb. Not because he didn't love them at all. Because he loved them so much. Comply or die―that was the deal. And he couldn't give the lives of his true love and his only child away. So he turned and darted across the remainder of the bridge.

"I hate you. I hate you," was all Fiona could say, over and over again. He ignored it, holding her parhaps a little too tight as he carried her through the dark ruins. "Let me go. Let me go! I hate you! I..." But her complaints stopped when she heard it―the disembodied growl of a beast so large, even its quiet warning rumbled in her chest. She believed with all her heart that she heard the walls begin to crumble. She believed her father heard and felt this as well, for his steps briefly faltered; then he began carrying her up a spiraling stairwell.

Fiona was as quiet as the dead until one hand left her back. She heard him open a door, which was when her tears began anew. She cried quietly as he entered the lonely chamber and placed her on her feet. She shrank away from the kiss he gave her forehead. "Don't touch me!"

She may have been his child, but he quietly obeyed, backing slowly away. His hands deftly caught the teddy bear she threw at him.

"I hate you," she seethed. "And I'm never going to love you again!"

He spared a look at the teddy bear, carrying it with him as he turned around and moved like a mummy to the door.

"Wait," she blurted, "Where are you going? Surely you're not going to just leave me here!"

"I must."

"No, you must not! You are supposed to have loyalty, Father! Bravery, and integrity!" Was her voice getting shrill? So not important right now.

Harold sighed, putting a hand on the thick doorknob. "I'm sorry, Fiona. This is for your own good."

And he shut the door between them. Scoffing, Fiona rushed to the door, halting when she heard it lock from the outside. Feeling like she was trapped in a nightmare, she pulled and pushed uselessly on the doorknob before pounding on the wood. "No, come back! Dad! Daddy!" she shouted, and when all was quiet, she slapped the door one last time, suffocating in her insurmountable rage. Knowing she wasn't strong enough, to break out and go back to the people she hadn't been good enough for, she went to the window. She was so high up, it took awhile for her eyes to find the danger. Then, when she did, she stopped breathing. Her mother was laying haphazardly on the bridge.

She didn't retreat until her father came running over the bridge to aid his wife. She came to and immediately began hitting him, but eventually they embraced. Then they turned and crossed the bridge to go home. Together.

The night passed, slowly, quietly, and uneventfully. She paced the room, cried, and wondered what her father's parting words had meant.

"It's for your own good."

What kind of lesson was he teaching her? Why didn't he have a choice?

She knew that if she ever slept again, his words would haunt her dreams.

Fiona had broken down to tears for a time uncounted, though her weary body and pounding head told her she was crying way too much, when a knock on her door made her jump, almost falling off the edge of the bed. Well, more like a prison cot, really. It was so hard and uncomfortable! Even the pillow hurt. Did she really have to sleep there tonight?

"Princess! I have your breakfast. Please open the door, your Highness," the voice insisted, when Fiona didn't respond.

"I can't! I'm a prisoner!"

There was a brief delay before the door unlocked and opened. Fiona's brow crinkled, and her hands trembled as she placed the crown atop her head. "Okay, I'm ready to wake up now," she said, hoping to convince herself to stop dreaming. Or nightmaring, as the case may be. The witch who came in had pale green flesh, a pointy hat, and wore all black. She held the plate in one hand, and seemed to have knocked with the tip of the broom she held in the other.

The witch looked around for a table, then knelt and put the bowl of stew on the stone floor. "I will be here twice a day to bring you whatever you desire," the witch informed her. She didn't sound very witchy; she sounded rather pleasant, with a polite voice and soft accent.

"I desire to go home and yell at my father some more!"

"I'm sorry, pumpkin. Whatever you desire except that," the witch said, in her annoyingly pleasant voice.

"What― They're really forcing me to sleep here tonight?"

"Tonight? Goodness me, they haven't prepared you at all! Oh, very well," the witch sighed, observing the princess with her rather pretty, light blue eyes. "I suppose I will be the bearer of bad news."

"There's more?"

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart. You are not merely spending the night in this tower. You live here now."

"What!"

"Yes, they have decided to keep you under lock and key here until someone else rescues you. Oh, it's hard to explain, child, but it's what's best!" she assured the disbelieving young girl. "You will see it one day, I promise you that. Now, I'd best be going, but I will see you tonight, pumpkin."

"Don't call me pumpkin," Fiona said, and swung a foot into the bowl. Her meal splattered all over the witch's classy, heeled boots and halfway up her lovely dress. "I am the Princess Fiona! Respect me!"

"Child," Dama Fortuna said in a grave voice, "You don't know who you're talking to!"

Fiona responded by stomping on the curved basin of the dish. It flew up and she grabbed it and started hitting the flabbergasted witch with it. "You don't know who you're talking to," she shouted. "I am Princess Fiona! Princess! Not pumpkin! I'm going to be a queen!"

Dama Fortuna tried grabbing the child to hold her still and talk sense into her, but the kid was too feisty. Suddenly she had bitten her hand, and before she knew what was happening, Dama Fortuna had shoved her. The princess landed on the stone floor; her crown rolled away, clattering into the wall. "See, now," Dama Fortuna said, in a deceptively soft voice, reaching into her pocket, "You've gone and made me angry. Oh," she scoffed, as she watched the child climb to her feet, "I really wish you hadn't done that."

Glowering at the woman with eyes full of hate, Fiona was contemplating whether she should run at her or just take a swing, with a martial arts-toughened hand, when the witch uncapped a petite bottle Fiona was just now seeing. Then the witch threw it at her. Cripes, it stank! Like nothing she had ever smelled before, like skunk, and onions, and smoke, and used chamber pots―all in one bottle of the worst perfume ever designed. She found herself immersed in a billowy green cloud, gagging on the stench, her eyes finding these strange flickering, floating things. Sparkles, perhaps...maybe embers? Then the cloud evaporated with a bizarre whooshing sound.

Fiona stood in the room alone... She turned in a complete circle, but could only confirm that the green-skinned woman had vanished. Into thin air, like magic.

She saw the mirror and began to approach, stopping when her foot kicked into something small. It clattered for a moment; looking down she found the petite bottle, and retrieved it from the stone floor. She turned it over in her hands to find a strange little poem, which she had to squint to decipher even when she held the bottle close to her eyes. "'By night one way, by day another; this shall be the norm, until you find true love's first kiss―and then, take love's true form,'" she read, her voice soft and trembling. She hesitated, then went to the window, placing the bottle on the only surface in the room; the sill. "How am I supposed to find true love up here?" she asked the empty air. "Stupid poem!"

Luckily that's all it was, just a worthless poem that had no effect on her life. How could it? They were just words. Fiona was quite positive of that...until the sun set on that same fateful night. She didn't have another change of clothes, or her hairbrush, nothing she was supposed to have. She thought she would use her fingers to comb her hair―and as long as she was alone, she might as well give her reflection a pep talk. But when she saw this beast staring back at her, all rational thought left her mind. All she could do was gawk at herself and make the same realization over and over again: So that's why I was glowing. I'm...cursed.

It didn't take Fiona long to realize that the vile bottle with the poem on its label only smelled worse in her natural form. After every sunset, when she turned green, it smelled...wonderful.

That was something she would eternally keep to herself.

She kept the bottle for almost a year, smelling it on her loneliest nights. It was her only comfort. Then it began to stink no matter what form she was in, so she threw it out the window. Not too many nights afterward, she fed the mirror through her window as well. In the years to follow, she paced the room, cried, and tried coming to terms, or at least a sense of understanding, of the last thing she might ever hear a parent tell her; waiting and waiting, waiting for an eternity, for her true love, and true love's first kiss.

But she wasn't going to wait forever. She vowed that she would wait until she no longer could―and then, she would save herself...

(Present Day...)

"Seems like an overreaction to getting bitten."

"Do you think so?"

"She marked up your hand a little... You ruined her life."

"I respectfully disagree, Madam Scout. Were it not for me, she never would have found her true love. So you see, my dear, I am the author of her entire tale! Happily ever after and all."

Nyx continued to glower at Fairy Godmother, but finally stood up straight.

"And the ogre who nearly stole my son's happily ever after? I appear to have given him one as well. So you see, even when people harm me, I do right by them. Gosh, I should put that in my ad."

Nyx was quiet, suddenly reaching behind her and pulling the porcupine quill harpoon out of her sheath. Fairy Godmother's body stiffened and her eyes focused on a spot on the wall, of their own accord, as Nyx walked closer. Standing much too close, Nyx hesitated for a moment before lowering the nasty end of the weapon towards her stomach, and Fairy Godmother's eyes welled up as she instantly feared for her life. But then, she felt the rope being cut. Her tears ran free. Leaving Fairy Godmother's hands bound together, Nyx stepped back, resolutely meeting her eyes. "Maybe you should," she said pithily.

Fairy Godmother still didn't want to press her luck, so she silently, pleadingly lifted her hands.

"I'm not sure yet. But I think it's about time for introductions, don't you?"

Nyx grabbed her by the rope and pulled her towards the door, and together they left the prison. And bumbled into a line of shocked, curious fairies. "Scout business. One side," Nyx barked, and like contra dancers, the crowd parted to let them through. Except for Vidia, who stood at the very end, still blocking their path. Nyx dragged Fairy Godmother along like a pet, approaching the stubborn fast-flying fairy. "One side!" she commanded again.

Vidia didn't respond. She didn't move.

"Do it now. I gave you an order."

"Actually you gave me two."

Tinkerbell looked anxiously on, finally muttering with urgency, "Vidia!"

Vidia hesitated for another second, then rolled her eyes and stepped off. The crowd silently watched Nyx and her prisoner leave.

"You're not a baking talent," Iridessa finally said. "Don't stir the pot."

"Are you really that clueless?" Vidia asked, and seeing her confusion, Vidia rolled her eyes and flew after the Scout.

She may not like or trust anybody, but she wasn't going to stand by and let someone be harmed. Not again...