The Princess's Party

  The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the wind carried just enough of a breeze to keep the guests cool, leaving Queen Irene more than pleased. It was as though nature had taken favor on the day set to celebrate her daughter. She smiled to herself to think of the many affirmations she would receive from her guests about the fortunate weather, and how it promised a blessed future for the child. Everything appeared to be falling perfectly into place. To think that fortune had favored her so, first with an ideal marriage to a wealthy, powerful, and loving king, followed by an uncomplicated pregnancy and the birth of an heir, and now the child’s name day playing out perfectly, bringing no omens of suspicion to haunt the minds of the people as to the prosperity the new royal would bring the kingdom.

            The child, to be christened Ella, appeared significantly less happy than her mother. Perhaps due to the suffocating nature of the yards of billowing silks that swaddled the dear baby girl, she would not stop crying. So it was, needless to say, much of a relief to young Ella’s nurse when one of the guests arrived early.  The guest, Aribella, greatly displeased with the perpetual cries of the child, entered her chambers, wand in hand.

            “I would like to give the child her name day gift early” Aribella said, and without waiting for a response, she walked over to Ella’s cradle. The fairy quietly thanked the heavens that there was both the heavy shadow of the canopy to shade the baby’s face and other fairies who would be able to bestow another gift on the girl, for it was one of the most hideously faced babies Aribella had ever seen. However the noise was too much for her headaches, which none of the herbs she had taken that morning seemed capable of curing. So, flicking her wrist, she gifted the child with grace and loveliness of voice and demeanor. She hoped the latter element of her gift would give the child the sense to stop crying, lest she continue to do so, however beautifully it may now be. Satisfied, she left the room—and the nurse—much more content than she had found them. Returning to the newly blossoming party, the fairy began to make her rounds to boast of her brilliant and successful gift, as is typical and expected of the fairy kind.

            On this lovely day, the Queen, the Nurse, and Aribella were not the only ones in high spirits. Past the forest that surrounded one side of the castle and high atop a hill far enough away to remain unseen by any of the castle’s inhabitants, sat another satisfied woman. This particular woman’s contentment might have perhaps seemed perplexing upon first glance. As she sat looking at her letters, the woman found herself glad with the lack of an invitation to a royal baby’s celebration. This situation presented her with an opportunity.

There was, in the kingdom, an unspoken tradition of competition of sorts, as to who gives the best gift to a child at their name day celebration. The woman atop that hill was no exception to this spirit of challenge. She thought to herself how much more grand her gift would seem, considering she was not even expected to attend. Staring at her attractive face in the mirror, the woman’s red lips curled ever so slightly at the edges, for as she ran her fingers over the rich, black, silk of her dress, a plan was forming. In true fairy fashion, the woman thought of the splendor this gift would bring her, a place in history even seemed likely; true bragging rights for years to come. It was almost a sense of duty that compelled the fairy to stand up, gather her things, and prepare to carry out her little piece of brilliance.

Back at the castle, the event was underway. Colorful gifts of every shape and size filled the grand hall from floor to ceiling. Airbella’s had been effective, for although the loud shouts of many guests reverberated around the sandy-stone walls of the hall, the baby princess Ella lay quietly in her cradle, stationed comfortably between her parent’s thrones. Just as Aribella had hoped, her sister, Elise, had gifted the girl with beauty. Their cousin, Giselle, had given the child wits and smarts. That particular family of fairies were feeling particularly good about themselves at that moment, as they knew their magic could be matched by no physical gift of silks or gold that the other guests had brought.

The light chime of silver on glass quieted the room, as the King stood to toast his new daughter and heir. Standing next to his throne, the large man would have looked extraordinarily powerful, almost menacing, were it not for the large, encompassing smile that seemed to reach every corner of his face. Clearing his throat, he began,

“Friends, we are gathered here today—”, his speech was interrupted by an explosion of light on the far end of the hall near the doors. Smokes of blue, purple and grey bruised the air, swelling in the great hall before retracting immediately to reveal a tall, lean woman dressed in dark silk. She walked slowly, the rhythmic click of her confident pace sharp yet echo-less, until she reached the platform on which the thrones—and the young princess—were stationed.

“My invitation seems to have been lost” she said in a heavy yet clear accent. She cocked a vibrant red half-smile and looked around the room. “Well. At least allow me to present my princess with a gift, as is tradition,” there was a heavy emphasis on the last word. The King and Queen, though they did not recognize the woman, were still, as though compelled static, and could do no more than simply watch the stranger walk towards their daughter. The woman approached the cradle, and pointing a long, delicate finger at the child. With an animated face and exaggerated motion, she looked down at the child, saying, “I give this child a wonderful little gift. I give the princess death.”