Hollow

image credit: Cylonka via Deviant Art

Hollow

It was a small thing, really, to misplace an invitation. But when the error was discovered, it was with cries and horror as the party attendees witnessed the slighted sorcerer curse the Kingdom, it’s land and all it’s inhabitants.

He held out his arms and decried:

Listen all, to all the Kingdom
listen to your fate.
Heed me now,
all that scorned me
none shall escape.

Hunger and pain,
shall be your pillow.
Pestilence, your very bed.
You will all die alone, in anguish,
living despair and dread.

The King and Queen, hearing the deathly terms of the curse, begged a private conference with the sorcerer. For the love of their Kingdom, they pleaded, offering all they own.

The sorcerer, already regretting his hastiness, agreed. But, as to the nature of the spell, the curse could not be broken – only reshaped in direction… not purpose.

And so it came to pass that the strong King and Queen, out of deep love for their subjects and kingdom, accepted the curse on their persons. As the living embodiment of the Kingdom, the curse was set upon them and they retreated to the outer limits of their land, with neither man nor beast aware that they yet live.

The sorcerer gave them this final warning:

“For as long as no living soul knows that you are the true King and Queen, the curse will reside with you. If, but the smallest whisper reaches the ears of the lowliest peasant, the curse will rebound and your Kingdom will suffer.”

The sorcerer, moved by the sacrifice of the Royal pair, did not tell the King and Queen the fate that awaited them – thinking it a small kindness.

“The curse is dire – may their end be swift,” he thought sadly.

The Queen and King wandered for weeks until their supplies grew thin. They traded their fine clothes with a passing caravan, and headed into a nearby village for work.

They were met with suspicion and scorn as the curse worked it’s way on them, causing the couple to be perceived as thieves and malcontents. Village after village drove them out. Desperate and weak with hunger, they begged in the village squares to work for scraps.

Eventually, a farmer offered them a lowly job as dung collectors. They gratefully accepted. A small boy watched suspiciously over them during the day, striking them with his staff when they slowed. At night they slept in the rotted corner of a barn, huddled together for warmth and companionship, too exhausted to speak.

The queen took ill, and the king went looking for the medicine woman to help her. A man crept into the barn and tried to take advantage of the queen, but the king arrived and they fled deep into the forest.

Fearing for his wife’s safety in the villages, the king fashioned crude traps and bows and arrows and began to hunt for their food. The queen gathered common berries, nuts and roots. At night, they slept holding each other in the hollow of a giant oak, their hands intertwined and their heads resting one upon the other.

When the queen’s belly began to swell they set out for the uncharted center of the dark forest, far from human habitation.

The king and queen built a small shelter in the branches of a large oak tree. They prepared for the baby, and the coming winter, as best they could and worked from daybreak to deep into the night.

They never mentioned the curse, but it weighed heavily on their hearts. Any heir to the Kingdom would share their fate.

Well into the pregnancy a bad fall injured the king and he was unable to hunt. The food they had diligently stored began to dwindle, and the king and queen grew thin, the queen’s rounded belly overshadowing their every thought.

At night, the king held his wife, his arms encircling her tenderly. He whispered, gently, “Can we sacrifice one love to save another?”

And so it was decided.

After the pains of labor, they welcomed their daughter into the world with tearful joy. They built a basket out of hollow oak and lined it with pine and the softest of fur. They carved intricate designs into the wood and at the very bottom they etched her name. Ella. The queen, deathly weaken by hunger and exhaustion, kissed her daughter tenderly. She whispered her daughter’s name one last time and sang:

O’ precious one
born of love
gone from mother’s arms.

Keep my faith
guide of love
safe from cursed harm.

In grief the king took the infant to nearest village, laying her on the doorstep of the wealthiest house. As the door opened the king sang softly from the shadows:

On this night
orphaned twice,
cursed never more.

Renounced by blood
cast adrift
by fate’s rough shore.

And he left, struggling through the dark forest to return to his wife’s final resting place. After many hours his will left him, and he had not the strength to reach his wife. The king laid his head upon the fallen trunk of an oak, and wept.

The sorcerer came upon the king in the forest and was ashamed. He said softly, “The curse has ended. In anguish and despair, you died alone. For love of your people, you sacrificed your flesh, your blood and your life.”

The sorcerer took a lock of hair from the King and the Queen, and spelled them into golden acorns, planting them closely together in the royal gardens. He sent out runners through the Kingdom, telling the villages far and wide of their King’s and their Queen’s selfless acts.

The oak trees grew swiftly, their great branches soon intertwining until it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. At night it seemed the towering trees leaned into each other, their clasped branches swaying gently in the wind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years later it came to pass that the Kingdoms new princess, Cinderella, found herself nestled in under the swaying branches of the intertwined trees and at last, found peace.

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