A Fairytale About You

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Once upon a time in a land not to far away, there was you. And you went chasing trouble ...

Submitted: August 30, 2017

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Submitted: August 30, 2017





They say when you first lay eyes on Him, your soul will freeze and your heart will be soft and supple as pudding.

How random, you think.

“What an odd way to describe someone,” you murmur to yourself as you walk the long winding path to the fabled location to his gabled home.

But you heard from rumors, the ones that only the wind itself is bold enough to repeat, that there's something worth dying for, and you always fancied the idea of a dramatic, heroic death. What you forget to ask the wind is: Is there something worth killing over? Because you're on the way there to kill, whether you know it or not.

You pause about three yards from his impressive front door. It's a gaudy door with elaborate embellishments made of black marble, and a finish so glossy that you can see your entire life reflected back at you, up until the moment you stood before it with wide eyes filled with wonder and a mouth drooped open, sagging with greed. Your hand rises to knock involuntarily, and you find yourself pounding an invisible wall.

“WHAT!?” yells a voice, terrifying and riveting as thunder itself, but smoother than silk, lovelier than the prettiest orchid and hollower than the deepest black hole. It's sound alone sucks you in, twisting. You're wishing you had closed you're greedy mouth for fear your entrails might come out. The gaudy doors swing open. Now you're alone, in an impressively over decorated ten by ten abode. You land there with a slightly painful snap like a rubber band stretched too far, the released.

But you can feel those ruby red eyes on you. You can feel them so well it's as if you feel them with your skin: eyes made of actual ruby with obsidian for pupils and pearl for light. Greed weighs your chin again, now you've gone and let the monster in, he hops right of your gaped mouth and twists it into a blissful grin. Now there's two in this room, and one of them looks just like you, but it's not you. It doesn't move when you tell it to. It doesn't scream, it doesn't cry, it doesn't get frustrated.

He blinks, waving his deliciously long eyelashes.

Something in your heart stirs.

What happened to you courage?

“What brings you here?” he asks in a voice like an earthquake made of suede.

You regain use of your body and promptly draw your weapon: a pistol? A boy and arrow? A spear? A knife? You can't even remember what your wielding but you know you've got it pointed at him and your stomach is churning so hard you feel like you're boiling from the inside.

“I came here because the wind told me you have something worth dying for!” you shout, not meaning to sound so foolish. The truth is often more silly when spoken than it is when it's hiding in your heart, you think, remembering something an old drunk once told you after an argument about saltines.

He smiles a crooked smile, flashing an excellent array of 72 jagged, honey wood teeth. His face. That's when you notice how beautiful his face is, and his skin is a splendid array of vibrant jewels. The green flame of the torch he carries reflects off of those lovely gems, and dances among the purples, blues, and oranges in perfect harmony.

“So you've come here to die,” he says.

“ I've come here to rob you,” you lie.

He chuckles and your heart nearly jumps right out of your body.

“ Never have I met a petty thief who wants to die like a hero,” he says as if he read your very soul, “ What manner of being are you?”

You don't understand the question.

“I'll make you a deal,” he continues, now pacing the embellished, box of a room, “ Leave here alive and take everything you see. You'll be richer than a king and more powerful than an emperor. Die here, and you'll live with me, alone, for the rest of eternity, or until I'm killed by a more powerful being.”

How hard could it be to escape a ten by ten room?

You agree.

He laughs a laugh like an avalanche made of honey, and the entire room quakes in time with it. The hardwood floors fall beneath you and form a spiral stairwell that looks deep enough to descend into hell itself. He now stands, upside down on the ceiling, his terrible, tantalizing eyes level with yours. You swallow.

He hands you a tiny, tan, pouch that's unimpressive in every way.

“Everything you see and want will appear in his bag, so you can carry it all easily, no matter the size or weight.”

The paintings on the wall almost instantly disappear, shrinking into your bag, revealing the dusty, cobweb laden windows. Out of them, you see that the hill you climbed to get here has become a steep mountain, it's base is hidden by clouds.

The items in the room disappear rather quickly, and you tie the small pouch around your neck.

He whispers, “ I'll give you a head start,” and you run down the staircase before he tells you how much time you have to live.

The items along the walls disappear as you run down the staircase, exposing horrors you weren't prepared to see. A human skull hides behind that lamp. There's a window behind that painting, but when you look outside the window …

Don't look outside the window.

You descend first one step at a time, then two, then three. Now you're leaping from on side of the spiral staircase to another.

Anything to gt away from the mess you've made. Anything to keep your treasures. Anything to risk your life.

You keep glancing at the gold plated light fixtures, so they keep disappearing. Now you're running in the dark, and you cant afford to make those leaps blindly.

The stairwell is a labyrinth and you're lost. You find yourself running into walls and having to go back up, just to go right back down again.

You've forgotten how long you've been running. You've forgotten what you're running from, and where you're running to. You're lost. You've stopped running. You're just wandering around.

You don't know that ten days have already passed.

A voice like an erupting volcano wrapped in slick satin cloth invades you.

Now you remember; HIM.

“I found you,” he sings, and your heart nearly shatters.

You try to run again but he's faster than you. Before you can pivot, he's pressed his pretty palms against the peak of your pelvis. Now he's swung you around by your hip, and wrapped five, long, fingers around your throat.

“Let's marry,” he says, squeezing. His voice shakes your very bones.

His plump lips are curved into a pristine smile.

You die.





You forget how many years it's been and how many centuries. He allows you a short recess from time to time, and you use that time to wander the earth. You tell him you're sight seeing. The only sight you'd like to see is your champion. You don't know what your champion will look like, all these many decades. Sometimes you imagine a man. Sometimes a woman. Sometimes a monster. But when you laid eyes on her, you knew. You knew for sure.

She is rough, like the edge of a cliff that's been chiseled away by the wind over time. She is wilder than a beast with rabies, with the same glossy look in her eyes, the same mad look. She's a hyena with a bitter, splitting laugh that reminds you of the sound a tree makes when it's been snapped in two by the elements. She's ruthless as a hurricane, dangerous as lava and mean and unforgiving as the desert itself. If anyone could kill him, it would be her.

You pace her bedroom each night, wondering how to ask her, how to approach her. Will you offer her the riches? Will you offer her honor? Will you offer her yourself?

Her eyes snap open, revealing two, splendid molasses toned eyes, like black diamonds glaring into your very mind.

She sees you.

She parts her round lips to speak but before the sound escapes her, you jump into those beautiful eyes of hers and enter the black space between mind, body and soul.

This is where you'll hide from him.

He will come, though. He always comes.

Another year passes and your recess is up. You are nothing but a weird dream to her. Even inside her body, you can feel him stirring; you can feel his malicious intentions so strong that you taste it: a mixture of ash and mercury.

But she doesn't know.

She doesn't know what's coming for you; what's coming for the both of you.

The day he decides to leave his overdecorated, overstuffed box of a home, she's decided to go to the market to buy a couple bags of noodles and a kiwi or two. She's in a good mood this day. She's laughing her hyena laugh and smiling her mud-fish smile. She buys the kiwi and eats it without bothering to peal off the skin. She has kiwi fuzz between her teeth when he comes to her.

He comes in a three piece suit that you've never seen before. You're just a tad bit jealous. He's never put that much effort into you.

You watch her watch him. His entire suit is cream alligator skin with matching ostrich shoes, but he wears it all as if it's light, as if it's made of clouds and not dead body. Without seeing her, you can sense the gleam in her eye as she gazes on his his beautiful skin, made of every type of beautiful gem in the world. You can sense the greed welling within her.

She speaks first.

“What are you? What are you doing here?”

Before he can answer she says, “You need to leave.”

He makes a face a face you've never seen him make before. His eyebrows pinch, his head cocks to the side. His entire body reels back just a bit. Was he just shocked?

Was he just angry?

He regains his composure and flashes those jagged honey wood teeth in a sly grin.

“You have something inside you that belongs to me. I don't want trouble. I just want it back.”

She stands up.

“If it's inside my body it's mine, and if you want it, you have to come take it from me.”

You can feel the heat in her blood, you can feel her joints loosen and her muscles open up. Her thoughts are ugly. She wonders if his his suit is more valuable than his skin, and if she took his skin, could she have a dress made out of it.

The pearl gleam returns to his obsidian eyes. He speaks in a voice like a plane crashing into a garden of crystal flowers.

“Wait!” he begs, and you wonder how you could ever make a deal with someone so insidious, “Please! I don't want trouble, something I love is trapped inside you!”

She pauses for a moment, raising a skeptical brow, and asks in her bottom voice, “How?”

“We were playing a game of hide and seek! But it wandered a bit too far. It thought it would be fun to hide inside of you but your body is too strong! It got stuck!”

The entire time he spoke, tears made of crystal and lapis lazuli welled in his eyes, until he blinked them out in his dramatic finale. Deep blue lapis lazuli rolled down his face, and disappeared beyond his chin without a trace.

The greed in her stirred. You felt her soul shiver. You felt her body quiver. Her thoughts grew stiff like limber.

“What do you expect me to do?” she asks with a stern look in her dark eyes, but her mouth curves into a smile that's just as wicked, just as sly.

“Let me find it, my wife, an I'll give you everything! Even my life!”

She pictures herself in a dress made of his skin for a second time before she declines.

“I don't want your life,” she lies, “ I want that and everything you have, plus more.”

He nods like a grieving man, rubbing his ruby red eyes to hide the ugly twist in the corner of his mouth.

“I'll do anything for my wife,” he lies in a voice like steel wool scraping against gold. He extends a gloved hand, butterscotch gloves to hide his nasty claws, and says “Come to my house. If you go there my wife will come out freely, and literally everything you see will be yours. All my possessions will be yours. You'll be richer than the patriarch of the oldest, wealthiest family, and more powerful than God himself.”

She clicks her teeth.

He chuckles nervously, like thunder that had been frightened by a mouse.

“You'll be richer than a nation, and more powerful than any man in the world,” he says.

“You just lied to me. How do I know you're not lying now?”

“I'll put my soul on the line. All you have to do is-”

“I don't want your soul,” she says, her patience wearing thin. You can sense the anger boiling from within.

“A soul is worth more than a life. You don't have to keep it. I just want you to know how serious I am.”

She relaxes a bit. You can tell because her body had become a sauna. You were dripping with sweat just from being so near it. If her mind wasn't colder than ice you might have melted into a puddle and evaporated inside her.

She flashes one final look, one final, sly look and says, “When do we go?”






For her, he makes his house look even more splendid. Those double doors that had impressed you so easily were now completely made of black marble, with ornate solid gold embellishments and solid gold lions on each side. It gleamed so much you were tempted to avert your eyes, but you squint at them instead and marvel at the beauty from within her; in the space between her mind, body, and soul.

For her, the house was embellished with a beautiful garden. Ponds with large, lazy, fish swam in tiny circles. You wonder her how they can do this without getting dizzy. The pond formed little streams that flowed down the steep hill, giving life to the plants you had never seen.

He invites her in by guiding her by her hand, and you are stretched, pulled, and snapped like someone popping the air with a rubberband, and you find yourself with the two of them, standing in the middle of his crowded, ten by ten home. It's more lavish, more overcrowded than ever before.

“Is that your wife?” She asks, scanning my body with cold, molasses eyes.

You collapse on a nearby statue of a lynx. You haven't used your legs in a long time. He rushes to greet you, and his touch sends hot shivers down your spine. He caresses your face with a warming, bloodcurdling touch, and cries sweet nothings in a voice like heaven and hell entwined.

She clears her throat.

“So, all of this is mine right?”

Before he can reply she says, “How do I move it?”

He apologizes profusely and claims he'd just missed you so much, then offers her the same unimpressive bag he gave you …. with YOUR stuff still in it.

“Everything you see here that you want to take will appear in this bag. If you make it out of here alive, it'll all be yours. If not, you'll live with us for all of eternity, or until I'm killed by a higher being.”

Her molasses eyes turn stony.

She cracks her own neck.

“That wasn't the deal,” she says in her bottom voice.

“It was. You were just too impatient to listen to the whole thing.”

You see evil dart across her face and stand yourself up, despite your wobbly knees. You've known him for quite some time now. You know that nothing but a pickax can break his skin made of jewels, and only a certain pickax. You are about to enter the labyrinth to find it, but before you faze through the floor, you hear her voice say:


And the floor boards begin to fall away.




Amidst the sound of clashing metal, the occasional thud, and sound of exploding valuables, is a gentle hum, gentler than a humming birds wings. Irritating as the sound the light makes when it's almost time to change the bulb. You chase the sound into the labyrinth, and use your death to cheat.

Those walls mean nothing for now.

You hear her cry out in pain. She's on the defensive now. He's probably attacking with his mace. The weight of it's would be too much for her, no matter how tough she is. Even if she blocks it, the vibration would rattle her spine.

You run even faster, faster than you've run you're entire life, faster than you ever did while alive, until you find it in the closed fingers of a skeleton. It's entire rib cage is smashed to pieces, probably by the same mace that will soon smash her if you aren't faster. You pry the underwhelming item from the dead mans hands and swallow it. You become her sheath and fly to her, though you never knew you could fly before.

You catch a glimpse of her tumbling down the spiral staircase from a connecting path.

He's using his ability to defy gravity against her, crawling along the side of the walls on all fours, staying just out of reach, but close enough for her to be tempted to attack.

You take an ornate mirror off the wall and reflect the green flame of one of his torches into his eyes, stalling him enough for her to strike his jaw. You grab her by the wrist and pull her down the path.

She's bruised but not broken, as you suspected she'd be by now. He likes to take his time.

“Little mouse!” he sings in his awful baritone, “Where is my little mouse hiding?”

You put your fingers down your throat and puke up the pickax.

“This is the only thing that can break his skin!” you tell her around a mouth full of bile.

“That's great and all but I have to be able to hit him first!” she says panting.

You run away together.

After several minutes or hours of running, you realize that none of the items in the stairwell are disappearing.

“These items don't tempt you?” you ask, baffled.

She pauses for a moment, then laughs and says, “I've been too focused on trying to stay alive!”

The labyrinth quakes and the sound of stone scraping stone fills you.

“The maze is changing,” you inform her, “That means he's stopped to rest. You should rest too.”

She doesn't. Instead, she practices swinging the pickax, and you faze through the walls to find the new path. You find something else too, and return with a proposition.

“We can go straight down and get closer to the exit. If we keep moving he won't be able to catch up before he needs another break. Or, we can go to a spring that's a bit out of the way. The spring will heal your wounds, but you're probably going to have to fight him.”

She looks at her swollen body, then at the pickax as if the two are going to grant her unknown wisdom. After some time she says:

“Take me to the spring.”

You know she hates running away from a fight. You know her choice has nothing to do with you, but you're grateful to her for choosing to fight your battle.

You're kidding yourself. This battle was hers the moment she decided she wanted to wear his skin like a dress.

She swings that pickax and pulls out a small chunk of the wall, then you guide her to the place you found before.



The bones of a man lay next to the spring, but where it's fingers touch the water, there's flesh, skin, and even a little hair. She puts its hands on it's chest, and lay its immortal phalanges to rest, then submerge herself in the water.

You turn to check on the whereabouts of your spouse, but she calls you.

“Does he have any weaknesses?” she asks, sounding more calm than you've ever heard her sound before.

“Besides that pickax, there's only one.”

He can't stand pain. His hard skin has made his nerves soft. Even a sudden increase in light will have him reeling. But he's clever. That trick with the mirror will never work again. Infact, you haven't seen a mirror on the wall since then.

She sucks her teeth.

“How can I hurt someone I can't touch?”

You have a haunch.

Once her body is healed you find the way back to the old path and walk.







He's coming soon.

You know he's coming soon.

“Try to remember to want things,” you remind her, when you notice that valuables along the path are still not disappearing. She nods but you know she only wants one thing.

You hear him before you see him.

He blows the torches out in one sweep before he comes and drags his mace on the ground for dramatic effect.

He was always that type, flamboyant all the way to the end. He's changed into an emerald dress shirt, cream slacks, with alligator shoes. Her greed strips him naked almost instantly, even down to his diamond studs.

He laughs a chaotic laugh and says, “My wife and my mouse are getting along so well already!”

Your still heart twists when he says in a voice that would give Satan chills, “I'm excited!”

You sense a wild aura, wilder than a mad dog, and she erupts in hideous laughter.

“A mouse?” she asks, still laughing bitterly.

He pounces, swinging his mighty mace with the weight of his entire body, and for a moment, that evil you'd seen flash across her face returns like a wayward child returning to it's mother.

His left eye disappears.

The shock of the pain makes him lose control of his swing and she waists no time digging her pickax into him. She digs out a ruby and it disappears, shrinking into her bag.

He howls, no, shrieks in pain without even trying to defend himself, and she watches him with a mud-fish smile, giggling with her mouth just slightly parted.

His other eye disappears and he drops the mace to cover the wounds with both hands. She gladly digs her pickax into his back, and pulls out a fistful of fine gems and jewels.

If he had eyes, you'd see the fear in them. It was plastered all over his face as her curved away from the shape of her weapon. He tries to run but his knees go next, and she digs up a piece of his skin again. And again. And again.

She says: “When I first saw you, I thought your skin would make the most beautiful dress. But then I realized, that's a waste! I can make so much more money from your skin in pieces, then have one special made to look just like you!”

That's the gentle version. She actually said this piece by piece, his howls of pain interrupting each pause as she mined his body for riches.

When his back was stripped bare, she flipped him and mined the front of his body. Then she cut him open and mined his guts. She even took all 72 of his honey wood teeth. By the time she was done, he couldn't make sound anymore, all he could do was shake.

“Do you hate me for what I just did to your husband?” she asks, forcing her cool molasses eyes to meet yours.

You realize that you've had you hands over your mouth the entire time, and your body is quaking in time with his.

You shake your head wordlessly.

She glances at the mace he dropped, then back at you.

“All I want is the stuff I got off his body, clothes too.”

You nod your head wordlessly, and grab the handle of his mace. It's even heavier than you thought it would be. You drag the weapon across the stone floor until it's perpendicular to his skinless, toothless, eyeless head.

You lift the spiked ball with great difficulty, and drop it on his skull, killing him, saving him.

Freeing you.

The labyrinth melts into a garden and you find yourselves standing outside those black marble double doors.

The two of you sort through the pouch right there and you claim his soul, (she said she didn't want it) and steel his immortality.

She walks down the path in a cream alligator vest and ostrich shoes. You never see her again but the image of her walking away in a vest several times times too big is etched into your brain.

You are wealthy now, and as you wander the earth, squandering your riches, you find yourself telling anyone who would listen of her.

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