A Universe of Wishes

by A Universe of Wishes (epub)

  The monster does.

  * * *

  The sun is high in the sky by the time the monster—if you can even call it that—wakes in its treehouse made of fallen branches. (Not human bones like those nitwits in the villages claim; the monster always eats those.) Its belly burbles, and it releases a throaty groan. There’s no doubt about it now: the monster’s most recent meal had been absolutely rotten.

  It groans again, this time in regret. It should’ve known: the moronic boy had smelled awful, and he tasted of sour milk and rancid meat. He was more pompous than the others, too. Hurling insults until the monster finally ate his face.

  Now, staring up into the canopy of green and listening to the music of the forest, with a bellyache from the deepest circle of hell, the monster can feel the change in the air that marks the approach of an interloper—and potential meal. Perhaps this one will be better. A stomach-settler. It’s happened before: the relatively nice boy who tried to use kind words to lure the monster into a rather obvious trap had been like a dose of milk of magnesia after the havoc wreaked on the monster’s gut by the blustering, ruddy-faced chap the monster had previously eaten. That boy had attempted a curse-filled sword attack and tasted like dog dung.

  A breeze rustles the leaves overhead, and the monster sits up. Inhales. There’s something…different. About this intruder. Different than the dumb-as-bricks boy-humans with their clubs and spears and bows and arrows—all objects now strung up around the monster’s tree as an unheeded warning. The monster had devoured those boys in a blink and with abandon, though the monster is smaller than the boys had been. And they—the boys—were always so much less filling than they looked. Instead of heart and meat, full of hot air and utterly lacking in substance.

  The scent in the air now is missing the mustiness of puffed-up ego and the pungency of presumed victory. There is…sweetness. With a smack of spice. Like a bouquet of flowers wrapped in a string of cinnamon sticks.

  The monster hasn’t smelled something so sweet in…well, it can’t remember how long. It brings to mind someone the monster used to know but hasn’t thought of in as long as it could think: a girl.

  And she was a girl. Dare had been this girl’s name, the monster recalls, and despite not fully comprehending the word princess, it arises beside the girl in the monster’s mind. And she felt settled in her body and skin, though the monster knew, somehow, that there were many who assumed this girl not fully “girl” because of the way she refused to embrace frivolous things the silly townspeople decided were part and parcel to girlhood. Dresses and dolls and tea parties and stolen glances at their—presumed—boy counterparts.

  What the monster does understand is that princess, whatever it means, didn’t seem to fit this Dare girl. Her shoulders had stooped as though she carried the weight of a relentlessly cruel world on them. And her eyes rarely lifted from the ground around her feet. And beneath this Dare girl’s sweet scent, there had been something incongruous. A tang. Something tinged with despair and broken dreams.

  But what, the monster ponders, pushing up to its feet, had happened to Dare?

  The monster is just about certain that it didn’t eat her. It couldn’t have.

  The sweetness dancing up the tree trunks and spinning on the leaves intensifies, and the atmosphere crackles as warm, honeyed air rushes over the monster. It stumbles, shaken to its core—the monster has never experienced anything so pleasant, is the word that comes to mind. (It’s a new one.) It lifts its rough hands and sucks in the monster equivalent of a gasp. The air burns going down the monster’s throat, but that’s nothing compared to the stinging fissures now snaking up, down, and all around the monster’s body, leaving jagged gaps in its tree bark–like shell—skin?

  Its gut rumbles, but there’s something more.

  An opening of the monster’s mind.

  Where had the Dare girl gone? And who is this delicious-smelling newcomer?

  Without thinking too much about it, the monster leaps down from the treehouse.

  * * *

  Dream kicks a rock out of her path.

  Most of the people back home—though she’d be lying if she said that word feels like it still fits when she thinks of the town she left behind—think Dream is no more than her name implies: cloudy-headed and moony-eyed. She has skin the color of coffee-splashed rooibos tea, and dark eyes typically turned skyward. A tendency that makes them sparkle like black sapphires in both sun and moonlight.

  But those eyes are keener than anyone realized. They pick up on things overlooked by those too consumed with chasing the future to enjoy the present.

  They are eyes that alight on the faint trail along the forest floor masked by an increase of broken twigs and divots in the earth that could only come from heavy boots.

  It’s true that even without these signs, Dream would’ve found her way through the woods just fine. Even now, with the sky beginning to darken as the sun makes its descent toward a horizon Dream can’t see for the trees, Dream knows where she is going.

  By Mother’s orders, Dream stopped her daily jaunts into these woods when the town baker’s right hand—as distinguished by a crescent moon–shaped burn scar along his palm—was found atop a pile of dead leaves three days after he took to the woods in search of his missing (Pursuer) son.

  Prior to the monster’s arrival, however, Dream had spent most of her time in these woods. As a young(er) girl, Dream loved nothing more than to spend her days slaying pine dragons with her stick sword while riding on the back of her stump steed. In a beautiful gown, no less.

  Though the light is low now, Dream moves with certainty. A random gust of warm air caresses her face, and Dream knows she has almost reached the spot where she last saw Princess Dare with her own eyes.

  On that afternoon, Dream remembers dreamily, Dare was wearing leather trousers tucked into boots that tied up to the knee. Her unruly black curls were pushed back from her face with a headband, and her skin, a deep bronze that glimmered in the sunlight, was exposed from neck to breastbone by her half-unbuttoned white shirt and glistened with sweat and confidence. Princess Dare’s sleeves were shoved up above her elbows, and as she climbed a massive oak, her forearms flexed and pulsed.

  It had warmed Dream in places that brought a flush to her cheeks.

  Dream would never admit it to a soul, but she’d followed Princess Dare into the woods that day. In fact, Dream had been following Princess Dare for months, and though Dream was sure the princess would’ve welcomed the company—Princess Dare seemed so lonely back then—Dream could never work up the courage to step out from behind the bushes.

  Dream had watched Princess Dare change as both girls got older. The same boys who tugged at Dream’s skirts and whispered sugar-coated deceptions to her in passing would shout obscenities at Princess Dare and touch the princess without permission. Being a royal daughter meant nothing: Princess Dare’s lack of interest in boys and refusal to wear the admittedly absurd fluffy froufrou dresses (the ones Dream couldn’t get enough of) were treated as an abdication.

  During their primary school days, Princess Dare appeared unfazed by the sidelong glances thrown in her direction as she blew by in her signature trousers, wild hair billowing like a lion’s mane. But as they pushed into those years when a girl begins to blossom with the parts people claim make her a woman, the glances at Princess Dare turned to glares turned to whispers turned to outright disdain. By the time Dream and Dare hit thirteen, the princess walked with her head down and shoulders hunched.

  Princess Dare was rarely seen in public at all.

  But she would sneak off to these woods.

  On the day Dream last saw Princess Dare, Dream herself had been in these woods. Dream was up in her own favorite tree, daydreaming about what it would be like for the sky to be the ground. Dream’s reverie was halted by the snap of twigs on the forest floor just beneath her perch
.

  Dream looked down just as Princess Dare stopped to spread her arms and inhale, and in that moment, with Dream’s cheeks heating at the sight of Princess Dare’s shiny curls, Dream knew she would follow the other girl wherever she went.

  (At a safe distance, of course.)

  Off Princess Dare went, deeper into the woods, and when Princess Dare had gotten far enough away, Dream shinnied down her tree, gathered the lace hem of her dress—which was already ripped in four places—and followed the trail Princess Dare had left in the underbrush with her heavy boots.

  When Dream reached the edge of the small clearing where Princess Dare had stopped, Dream dropped down behind a thicket and just…watched.

  She watched as Princess Dare scaled the gnarled shaft of a large oak tree and took a seat on a bough some thirty feet up. And there the princess stayed, gazing into the glowing canopy of leaves, her back against the heavy trunk, with one leg bent at the knee, and the other swinging free as the breeze.

  Dream gawped, mouth open and everything. She felt like Princess Dare had shrugged off the cloak of contempt the townspeople daily draped over her shoulders, and left the wretched thing crumpled at the base of the tree. Seeing Princess Dare so open, so light, Dream had wanted to destroy that cloak somehow. To raze the kingdom, rid the whole world of anything that would return the stoop to the princess’s beautiful, unbowed shoulders.

  Dream wanted to step out of hiding in that moment. To climb that tree and perch beside the princess. Dream wanted to extend her own calloused hand in greeting—the rough palm Mother couldn’t bear to look at because it reminded her of her daughter’s “unpleasant” hobbies—as well as her heart.

  But Dream hadn’t had the courage.

  Soon thereafter, a group of numbskull boys discovered Princess Dare’s woodland sanctuary. Her tree. Dream hadn’t been there, but she’d heard about the venom-slicked jeers and throwing of stones. The attempts to lure and then to knock Princess Dare down from her happy place.

  That night, Dream dreamt that one of the boys had seized a filthy cloak from the muddy ground and climbed the tree to toss it over Dare’s bent head and shuddering shoulders before shoving her down to where his cohorts waited with sticks, poised to strike the minute she hit the ground.

  Two mornings later, Princess Dare hadn’t been at breakfast. The servant sent to investigate found the princess’s chambers empty.

  When news of Princess Dare’s disappearance reached Dream, Dream had run to the woods to check the tree.

  Princess Dare hadn’t been there.

  And Princess Dare isn’t there now as Dream steps into the small clearing and looks up at Princess Dare’s favorite bough.

  But there is a treehouse built from what look like fallen branches.

  Dream takes a steadying breath and squares her shoulders.

  Then she climbs.

  * * *

  The monster hears and smells the person up in its treehouse before it sees them. But even without the sound or scent, the gathering of fireflies—a rare occurrence—makes it clear that there’s an intruder. The last time the luminescent creatures appeared en masse, the monster discovered a small girl—she was no more than six—attempting to take a beautifully carved mahogany bow from the monster’s collection of boneheaded-boy weapons.

  The little girl had been lost. She smelled of honeysuckle and spun sugar. Of unbridled optimism and wanton naivete. So sweet, the monster lost its appetite. Instead of eating her, it led the girl back to the trail she’d wandered from so she could find her way home.

  She’d even said Thank you.

  This girl—for the monster is now sure there is a girl up in its treehouse, though an older girl than the one before—smells like fullness. Like dense, crusty bread and whipped, salted butter. Glazed, fatty meats. Like depth and breadth and wholeness.

  It’s been a long day. The monster failed to find Princess Dare herself, but it did find remnants of her in the bushes all around the tree. A bootlace here. A headband there. A strip of tattered fabric.

  As the monster makes its way toward the tree, pulled as if by string to this new girl’s delectable essence, a blast like the breath of a dragon (but less acrid) shoots down from the branches. The monster feels more of its armor-like skin crack and fall away.

  But it doesn’t care.

  The monster is exceedingly hungry.

  And this is a meal it will not miss.

  * * *

  Dream can hear and feel the monster approaching from behind.

  It’s starving. She can tell by the change in the air and the wet rattle of the monster’s breath.

  And Dream is afraid. Afraid she’s wrong about the monster. Afraid the monster actually doesn’t need her. Afraid Princess Dare truly is gone, and Dream herself is about to be devoured.

  Dream wonders how much it will hurt.

  She feels the monster stop. Feels that ravenous breath shudder through the air around her. Feels its hunger…for her.

  Dream turns. Takes in the monster’s face and looks into its fathomless eyes.

  And Dream exhales.

  Which appears to give the monster pause.

  Dream wants to close her eyes but forces herself not to. This is the moment she’s awaited for years.

  “Princess?” Dream says.

  * * *

  Dare blinks. She’s cold.

  She’s naked.

  She’s standing in what appears to be a treehouse built from fallen branches.

  And there before her is a beautiful girl lifting the tattered hem of a dress—one that certainly has no place in these woods—to reveal a pair of leather trousers that the girl swiftly removes.

  The girl kneels at Dare’s feet and holds the pants out so that Dare can step into them. Then the girl stands and removes a rumpled tunic and a pair of thin, flat shoes from a satchel tucked and cloaked between the layers of her skirts.

  “Sorry they’re not your boots,” the girl—a beautiful girl, indeed—is saying as she helps Dare slide the simple slippers onto her feet. “I had a hunch I’d find you here. One of the two boys who made it back has said literally nothing since his return but ‘Those eyes…her eyes…’ in a deeply disturbing voice, and it took me longer than it should’ve to figure it out, but once I realized—”

  The girl stops talking. And swallows, it seems.

  “At any rate,” she continues (so, so beautiful), “I tried to pack as light as possible in case you weren’t actually you, and I needed to make a run for it.” The girl looks up at Dare and smiles. The warmth from those earlier breezes is nothing compared to the fire that has ignited within Dare’s bones, marrow and all.

  Which is…familiar.

  “I brought you some food,” the girl goes on, still down on one knee, removing more items from her hidden satchel. “Crusty bread and chèvre. They’re your favorites, right? At least they used to be. I think….”

  At the girl’s sudden shyness, Dare can’t take any more. “You’re the Dream girl,” Dare says—well, croaks, really—finally finding her tongue and remembering how to use it. It occurs to Dare how disheveled she must appear. How…raggedy.

  She hates it.

  This is when Dare notices the chunks of bark-like armor littering the uneven treehouse floor at her feet.

  The girl’s—Dream, Dare believes her name is—eyes widen. Dare notices that they sparkle in the moonlight. Like black sapphires.

  “What did you say?” Dream asked.

  “That’s your name, isn’t it? Dream?”

  The Dream girl rises to her feet but doesn’t respond.

  “I remember you,” Dare continues. “You used to follow me into these woods when we were younger.”

  Now Dream’s eyes really widen. “You knew?”

  It’s Dare’s turn to smile. She wonders if her smil
e affects Dream like Dream’s smile affects her—

  Dare doesn’t think she’s ever hoped for anything the way she hopes for this.

  “Yes, I knew,” Dare says. “And I enjoyed every moment that I knew you were around somewhere. You followed me all the time.”

  Now Dream’s chin drops. Is she…embarrassed?

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Dream says.

  “You saw me up there,” Dare says, pointing to her favorite bough. It’s still a good ten feet above the pair of girls, and Dare only does it because she wants Dream to look up. To lift her gaze from the ground. Set it skyward where Dare remembers it always being.

  But Dream’s eyes never make it beyond Dare’s face. “I’ve always seen you, Princess.” Dream takes a tenuous step closer to Dare.

  It makes Dare’s heart race, but she further closes the gap between them. Dare remembers the day she deliberately stopped beneath the tree Dream was perched in, hoping Dream would follow her deeper into the woods so Dream wouldn’t feel so alone.

  And Dream had. Dream did.

  Though Dream had kept herself hidden (Dare could totally see her, but she’ll keep that part to herself), Dream saw Dare.

  Dream is seeing Dare now.

  And Dare is seeing Dream.

  They are (finally!) seeing each other.

  Dream takes another step. The girls are about the same height, but Dream’s figure, Dare notices, has dips and bumps where Dare is slim and straight lined.

  Dare would like to run her newly barkless hands down into the valley of Dream’s waist and over the hills of her hips. So she closes what space remains between them. “No one’s ever called me that before,” Dare breathes against Dream’s lips.

  Dream, who closes her eyes. Dreaming, it seems. “Called you what?” she says back.

  “Princess,” Dare says, barely above a whisper.

  Then neither girl is speaking at all.