Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, she sat in the confines of the tower chamber, watching in her mirror as the colours of the setting sun gave back to her hair the illusion of body and colour. The moment always passed too soon: as the last golden strand faded and disappeared, she reached up a thickened fingernail to scratch at her scalp. The young man’s face on the far side of the tower registered a look of disgust. She was past disgust. The gentle flakes hovered in the air: she liked to see them dance.

             

‘If you marry me, you will gain riches beyond your wildest dreams.’

             

His chin tilted as he rejected the offer with silence, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

             

‘If you marry me, your power will stretch to the mountains and beyond.’

            

 Again, silence.

Her voice she disliked, the weakness, the wavering lack of cadence. At first, she had tried to exercise, to sing the phrases taught to her by the court musicians, but still her vocal chords had twisted and hardened like the roots of a petrified forest. 

The line of the boy’s jaw was visible in the encroaching dusk, taut, smooth, the beautiful line sweeping down from his perfectly formed ear before curving upwards towards the dimple in his princely chin. Was there, perhaps, the hint of a tremble in his rigid mouth?

             

‘You dream of conquest, of mighty deeds of valour. Look beyond what you think you know, and it shall all be yours.’

             

The tiniest shake of the head gave his response.

No matter. She herself would age no more. She could sit and watch as his hair, too, became thin and leached of colour, his joints thick and his eyes misty. In the end, he would agree. And in the meantime, the evening glow would continue to bring its moment of illusory youth, whilst the early rays of the morning sun would daily strike the mirror and reveal, for the briefest moment, the shadow of the beautiful girl within, awaiting her release.