“Mirror,” she whispered slowly, “how do I look today?”
Even when Uriah wasn’t actively in his mirror, the magick held true. And just as before, the woman staring back at her was a befouled, disease riddled thing. Now, not only was the flesh aged, but also decaying in spots. The skin around her nose was turning gray. But that wasn’t the worst; the worst was around her mouth, where the flesh had rotted so badly she could see through her cheek to the teeth inside.
Trembling, and inhaling rapidly, she shook her head but could no longer deny the truth.
Like a cancer, the black magick was twisting her, changing her.
Fable hadn’t known the effects of such terrible magick until it was far too late. Galeta the bitch hadn’t ever bothered to share it. That little fae had hightailed it away from Fable after the incident.
At first, she’d thought that perhaps it was just the reflection that was twisted, but a deep-seated root of worry had gnawed at her belly for days, she’d not wanted to speak to Mirror of it because she didn’t think a mirror would care nearly as much as she did. Also, it had felt far too private to admit that she was scared. Which she was. She was petrified.
So one night, two weeks ago she’d consulted with the dark elf of the forest. A being far more twisted and deranged than Fable was. Where Fable only looked vile in her reflection, the dark elf appeared as that.
The elf had required payment first—the heart of an unborn babe.
Wicked, Fable might be, but even she had balked at the notion of stealing the heart of an unborn child. So she’d slaughtered a pregnant swine and had butchered the unborn piglet still in its womb. Pig hearts and human hearts looked remarkably similar.
And with a sprinkling of magick she’d stripped the essence of swine off of it, replacing it with that of a human child. Fable’s magick was powerful; she’d known the elf wouldn’t note the difference, and she’d been right.
The gray-skinned being hidden deep within a cloak of shadow, cackled as she brought the bloodied heart to her lips and suckled on it, moaning in sheer, perverted ecstasy.
“One answer and one answer only will I’ll give to thee,” the elf had said in a voice that sounded of rusted chains.
Fable tried to make out the elf’s face; rumors abounded surrounding it. A being of such perverted looks that it appeared as though one of the walking dead, with an eyeball in its palm used for second sight and divination.
Truthfully, Fable wasn’t sure, and she rather thought that not getting to see the dark elf might yet be a blessing in disguise. Swallowing the ball of disgust and fear, she’d clipped a nod.
“I only need one.”
“Then asssk, dark one,” the elf’s voice sounded like the fluttering cadence of a snake’s tongue flicking in and out of its mouth.
Grabbing hold of her stomach, Fable glanced around at the hauntingly quiet enchanted forest. With its thick-trunked, and towering trees covered in green moss, and rolls of fog curling up from the ground, fireflies dancing like drunken fairies in flight...it had all looked like a dream. A strange, surreal dream that she’d desperately wished to wake from but couldn’t seem to.
Gathering what little strength she had left to her, she’d asked.
“Black magick has twisted my reflection into something hideous.”
A low, curling kind of laughter began to echo through the trees. The sound came from the elf.
Stuttering, as her pulse skyrocketed in her chest, she pressed on, “it...it has turned me hideous. What...what will happen to—”
Fable couldn’t keep speaking as the low sound soon turned high-pitched and terrible, like the wail of demon cries.
The elf, who’d been shorter than Fable—or so she’d thought—unfurled like a beanstalk shooting up into the sky.
Backing up, because the elf now towered over her, Fable stared in wide-eyed horror as the cloak was tossed to the side revealing the emaciated, deformed frame of the dark elf to her view.
The creature stood nearly as high as the tree behind her and had a wasted, withered frame full of bone and knots covered only in a thick layer of gray flesh. Her chest cavity was concaved and heaving like a bellows as she cackled with laughter.
Blond, matted hair covered in brambles, weeds, and spider webs whipped back and forth like skeletal branches in a stiff breeze. She was completely naked, but it was almost hard to tell.
Her breasts which were pointed and tipped with black nubs that she could only assume to be nipples dangled nearly down to her belly button, but the skin was so mottled and ruined that it appeared more like elephant skin than that of a humanoid.
Long, razor tipped blackened nails curled menacingly toward the ground like twisted twigs, and eyes as red as magma gleamed back at her malevolently.
“Will ye look like this, then? Is that what ye mean to ask, oh dark queen?” She said the words cruelly and dripping with scorn.
Stepping closer, she cocked her head to the side and grinned, revealing rows of stubbed and blackened teeth.
“Did ye think, ye little witch, that ye could dabble in black magick and not be affected by it? That it wouldn’t demand it’s due? That it wouldn’t sink its claws into you and make you vile to one and all, forevermore?”
Her words were a breathy, lilt of madness that seemed to choke the life out of Fable. She gasped, clutching at her neck, desperate to take in a breath that didn’t hurt, didn’t ache.
But the madness in the elf’s eyes only continued to burn brighter. Lighting up the night and casting long, malevolent shadows everywhere it touched.
“Once, I was a beauty too—”
“No,” Fable shook her head. “No, this can’t be.”
The elf tossed her head back, and the wind howled, bowling through the leaves in the trees and scattering them in every direction. The stench of rot tickled Fable’s nose as the dark elf continued to move in closer and closer.
Her heart twisted with a sick violence because she’d never tasted darkness so powerfully perverted before.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” The elf practically screamed.
And then, like magic, the wind ceased. The world grew calm, and where once stood a twisted, deformed, and monstrous perversion now stood a being of such stunning and ethereal beauty that it brought tears to Fable’s eyes.
The dark elf’s skin was still gray, but now it glowed like moonstone. The blond hair that had once been twisted up with twigs and weeds hung long and lush down to the backs of her knees.
Her eyes, which had earlier glowed like hellfire, were now a stunning, clear blue that even in the darkness sparkled like a gem. On her crown rested a gold dipped laurel wreath, and poking out of her hair on either side of her head were two large elf-shaped ears.
Her smile was radiant, and when she spoke, it sounded as clear as bells.
“Once, I looked like you. Beautiful. And all things lovely.”
The cadence of her voice caused goose bumps to rise on Fable’s forearms, and she had a difficult time comprehending that this lovely creature and the hideous monster could truly be one and the same.
“But my heart was twisted and blinded by love, a terrible kind of love. The love of power. I let it consume me, I should have fought harder, but I always thought just a little bit moreee.”
Her voice trembled, deepened, and filled with the dark resonance once again. The pretty façade began to waver, and Fable thought she might be sick.
“What you see in the reflection, Fable of Seren will become who you are in truth if you do not fight the blackness.”
And like a switch had been flipped, the night raged once again. The beauty of before had vanished, and in her place stood the twisted evil. The dark elf leered at Fable and in her eyes, she read the truth. That if she didn’t stop soon, if she didn’t stop what she was doing, this too would be her future.
Grabbing hold of her chest, the frantic beating of her heart thumped wildly against her fist.
“It can’t be. This can’t be.”
“Oh, but it can and it will, darkness! It will!”
The sky erupted with bolts of lightning that tore through the heavens, the ground shook, stones—caught up in the gale force winds—ripped into Fable’s cheeks bloodying her.
And then...it was all gone.
The dark elf.
The storm.
All of it.
Fable had stood in that forest alone, and knowing deep in her soul that this could never be her fate. That she’d fight it, tooth and nail. That she’d do whatever she had to do to make it end, to reverse the damage she’d already done.
Studying her reflection, she promised herself that this night would be the last night she used such evil magick.
“Just once more,” she said, and then frowned.
Wondering if that strange demonic echo she’d just heard could have really come from her. Clamping down on her lips, she ignored the incessant beating in her skull that she should not use anymore black magick.
“If they think me a witch, then a witch I shall be.”
And muttering the incantation beneath her breath, she turned her beautiful self into the image of the woman in the mirror.
Holding out her hands, she studied the grotesque flesh of her hands for only a moment.
But the moment she felt the quiver of powerful magick roll through the air, she turned her mind to what she must do next. Mirror had finally enacted the curse she’d whispered over the castle some years ago.
A sleeping curse. A deep, and unwaking sleeping curse. One only she could break. If Snow White cared so much for the people of this land, then she would know she could not kill Fable, because without her to recant the curse, the people would never rise again.
Uriah’s face filled the mirror a second later. He took only a moment to study her, before nodding. “It is done, my queen.”
She grinned, which, with this face looked more like a hideous pull of lips and gums.
“Good. Now I have only one task left to complete.”
“You will see, Snow,” he said without even asking. Mirror knew her well by now.
She nodded. “Yes. I will go to Snow White, and I will end this once and for all.”
Turning back to her table, Fable picked up the uneaten red apple she’d placed out for her dinner earlier. Walking slowly, since this new withered frame demanded it, she moved toward the cauldron of liquid curse she always kept handy.
Holding the apple firmly by the stem she slowly dipped it in.
“Now any bite shall be your last,” she murmured.
The apple gleamed prettily back at her, looking more perfect than any apple had a right to look. Smirking, she hugged the deadly weapon to her chest with one hand, while with the other she lifted the hood over her bald head.
“I will see you soon, my mirror,” she looked at him, having the queerest sensation of a sudden.
Like she wouldn’t see him soon at all. Like after tonight, everything was going to change, and not necessarily for the better.
Frowning deeply, she blinked and shook her head. Because just as oppressively powerful as the mood had come over her, it now scattered.
“My queen?” he asked, clearly noting her temporary distress.
Holding up her hand, she shook her head. “It is nothing, Mirror. Be well.”
He clipped his head.
Fable turned and whispered, “Time to find the little brat.”
Chapter 8
Fable
She stepped into the camp invisible to all. The stench of troll and dwarves was a nasty scent on the back of her tongue and made her stomach heave.
How Snow could walk and live amongst them, Fable would never know.
Moving as quick as this stupid, old body could, she walked through the camp, peeking through the tent flaps and moving on when all she found was one farting or snoring dwarf or troll after another.
But finally, finally, and just at the center of the camp, did she find Snow White. And for a moment, the old love came flooding in.
She recalled the little girl’s hugs. Her songs. The paintings she’d gift to her. Paintings that even to this day Fable still held onto, kept tucked in a safe place in the castle where no one could ever find and destroy them.
The girl was still heart-achingly beautiful.
Skin pale as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony. The legends had always gotten her right. In description at least. What the stories had failed to mention time and again was Snow’s capacity to hold a grudge, or the brat’s willingness to hold fast to the memory of an evil, cruel, and violent father and lay all the blame of his death at Fable’s feet alone.
Snow was hardly the puritan the legends had made her out to be. Two months ago, Snow White had been solely responsible for the death of one Fable’s most cherished and prized possessions.
A unicorn she’d found years ago. She’d found the poor, starving little creature whimpering pitifully beside its dead mother’s carcass. Fable had been moved to tears at its plight and had spared the creature its own inevitable death.
If there’d been anything in the above she’d still shown any kind of kindness too, it had been Sterling. He’d been a good friend back to her. Unicorns were shy, ghostlike creatures. So rare that to spot one in one’s life rarely, if ever, happened.
All within the realm had known of Fable’s beloved pet. But she’d kept Sterling hidden from prying eyes. Wanting to protect him from those who’d wish to hurt her through him.
Fable had never discovered how Snow had learned of him, nor how she’d gotten into her heavily warded stables, but she had.
Sterling, used to his master’s loving touch had come trustingly up to Snow. Who’d stabbed a sword through his heart. Her poor beast had dropped to his knees, foaming white at the mouth. Not even dead, before Snow White had pulled a grotesquely large sword from a sheath at her side and in one smooth motion, severed the horn from his head.
Sterling might have recovered if Fable had found him in time, but not without his horn, the very seed of his light magic and his soul, rested within it.
Fable had only seen it happen in her mirror after the fact, and what little love she’d still harbored for Snow had turned to ash after.
Snapping her fingers, she murmured a sleeping spell, and immediately the roll of powerful magick snapped through the air.
Snow White, who Fable had made certain would not be affected by the spell, jumped to her feet, looking into the darkness and spotting Fable immediately as she’d walked out of the shadows and into a small circle of moonlight.
Long, tense seconds passed between them as they studied one another. Finally, it was Snow who spoke first.
“What have you done to my Army?” she asked low, but her words shook with steel. Even in crone form, the girl had recognized her.
If Fable hadn’t hated her, she might have been proud at the woman Snow White had become.
She shrugged. “They merely sleep, little one. As will you soon.”
Snow White scoffed. “If you’d really wanted me asleep, you’d have done it at the same time as you did them. Why are you here?”
Fable grinned, and couldn’t help but grin wider still when Snow shuddered. She knew just how hideous her grin was, it was good for a change that someone else got to enjoy it for a bit.
“To talk,” she said as she slowly moved toward the girl. “To discover why it is you planned to attack my castle tonight?”
“Your castle!” Her face curled into a mask of hate. “It was never your castle; you killed my father. I am the rightful ruler of that—”
Fable rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself those lies, Snow White. Keep imagining that your father was some sort of hero. He wasn’t. He was a cruel, terrible man who murdered his own mother so that that witch, Brunhilda could pose as her.”
“Shut up!” Snow screamed, clapping hands over her ears.
But Fable was done keeping quiet.
“Did you know it was also he who ordered the exe
cution of your mother? Did you know that, little Snow?”
“Stop it!”
“And you wish to know why?” She pressed on, undeterred by Snow’s hate and violence. Fable was tired of shutting up; it was time this little bitch knew the kind of man she was so keen on defending.
“Because she didn’t give him an heir. A male. A boy, Snow White. You were never going to be queen. Ever! Why do you think he locked you away in your own keep? Why do you think he raped me each and every night? So that I would produce his male. He didn’t want me. And he didn’t want you!”
With a deafening roar, Snow came at her.
Fable had expected it. Fighter she wasn’t, what Fable was, however, was crafty and smart. To get Snow to eat the apple she had to be close and to be close meant forcing the stupid girl to come at her first.
Snow White jumped her, taking her down to the ground and getting atop of her. Her face was a contorted mask of rage and spittle flew from her lips when she said, “I’ll kill you and take back what rightfully belongs to me!”
Fable reached into her pocket just as Snow White reached into her own. She’d had it all planned out. She’d known she’d take a beating tonight, probably gain a few bumps and bruises, and it was just fine by her.
What she’d not expected, however, was for Snow White to be reaching into her pocket to pull out Sterling’s severed horn.
Eyes wide, fear beating a terrible rhythm in her skull, it all suddenly clicked into place as she finally realized why it was that Snow had killed her friend.
Unicorn’s were comprised of nothing but white light. White light was a natural enemy to black.
“Snow White, don’t!” she screamed.
But it was too late; Snow’s arm came down with the type of force that could only be built up through years of hate. Fable had barely enough time to roll to her side, just far enough to escape the killing chest blow. Instead, the horn pierced her side, and immediately she felt the roll of its magic wash through her.
The pain was exquisite and terrible. Her entire body lit up like flame, making her feel as though she was being burned alive. Snow White reared back once more, and in her eyes, Fable knew that this time, the girl would not miss.
The Dark Queen (The Dark Queens Book 5) Page 9