Black Thorns
Once upon a time there lived a Prince, whether he was Charming or Handsome that was other people’s concern. Was he Charming? Perhaps, others had called him so and neither by his actions nor his words did he dissuade them from that opinion. As for Handsome, well, that too was entirely subjective. He had heard rumor that the last remaining Princess had been cast under a spell by a powerful evil sorceress and was trapped against her will, isolated from civilization. Many a man stronger, more charming and certainly more handsome than he had attempted rescuing her only to be turned back, defeated. So, this Prince pulled out his blackened armor, dented and scored from much battle. Across the center of the breastplate was a gash in the metal, which he, after the Japanese fashion, had filled with gold to bring beauty, honor and meaning to the damage. He strapped it on and headed out in search of adventure and, maybe, if the Fates allowed, Love. Once upon another time there was a powerful sorceress who enthralled everyone around her with her magnetic personality and incredible brilliance. She was revered and, to a certain extent, feared, by men and women alike because of the power she possessed over them. Every morning when she awoke, she’d gaze into her mirror and ask it if she were the fairest of the land. One morning the answer came back, “No.” The mirror did not lie, for mirrors cannot lie when they have no tongue. It was she who lied to the mirror, lied to herself. Each morning after that fateful day the answer came back “No” was another whip’s lash across her heart. Hurt. Enraged. She drew upon herself the dark raiment of mourning for her life. She cast around her a deep, thick wall of black nettles and brambles with scalpel-sharp thorns. Deep within the wall in a clearing where very little light shone, she had trapped the last remaining Princess. Standing guard just outside the edge of light she had conjured a giant, fearsome black dragon with piercing yet implacably forlorn eyes. So impenetrable was the barricade and so fierce was the beast that soon no man dare risk his life and limb to enter. Closed off, alone in her pain, she busied herself with sorcery, books, exquisite meals and various hobbies and entertainments to push back the loneliness and isolation. The Prince knew the stories, all of them, he knew what dangers lie ahead of him and yet he persevered in the face of odds insurmountable. As he approached the formidable black wall he saw the damage of where others had tried to hack and slash their way inside. He saw a hastily constructed scaffold in ruins where someone had tried to climb over, his bones hung in the vines, a scarecrow to ward off those who would attempt the same. Still another had dug a trench that had filled with the blackest pitch, drowning the poor soul. At once, he knew what he must do. “I’ll burn it down.” He pulled from his satchel an antique silver case and from that silver case he drew a flint. He dipped a broken bit of scaffold into the pitch, struck the flint across his breastplate and the fire growled to life. He set the fire to its work. Each pass of the makeshift torch turned the black thorns to softest silver ash what was whisked away on the wind like it had taken it for its lover. Literally, yes, literally, blazing a trail through the angry cordon of woven vines, he came upon the clearing. The flickering torch cast facets of light across the dark void. On a marble slab lay the Princess, asleep under a translucent silken shroud, casting her skin and hair with the color of burnished silver. Beyond her stood the evil sorceress, head to toe in robes of black and deep charcoal grey. Her eyes burned, rimmed in red, not from anger but from tears, perhaps. Towering over her, hovering just inside the limits of the Prince’s sight was the dragon, its black leather wings enfolding the sorceress' feet, its sad eyes glinting with torchlight like an oil slick on fire. “So, you’ve heard the rumor and in your arrogance you’ve come to slay the dragon and rescue the Princess.” “No.” “Wait. What?” “No”, he murmured. “I came to slay the Princess and be with you.” “I’m confused.” “It’s pretty clear from where I’m standing. The Princess over here is beautiful and chaste and pure. Whatever. But, you…you are smart and cunning and can summon a bloody dragon. That’s so much more attractive.” “Um…thanks.” “Plus, you can’t really love something that doesn’t really exist.” Before she could even muster the sense to form words with which to respond, he drew his tarnished sword from its scabbard so quickly the friction made the metal sing a lone achingly beautiful note that echoed in the clearing. He flipped the sword with one hand, one deft motion, and, before she could stop him, he plunged it deep into the heart of the motionless Princess and through the marble beneath her. The instant the sword was buried to the hilt, the Princess and the marble pedestal alchemized into a bright silver vapor, dissipating in an instant. “So, you’re a sorcerer.” “No. I’m just a man who knows what he’s doing.” He pulled the blade from the ground and wheeling his arm flung it end over end above the sorceress’ head. The point struck the dragon in the furrowed brow between its confused eyes. From that point, an ember burned and bloomed into a smoldering fire that snaked it’s way across every inch of scale turning them into charcoal dust. “How…?” “The Princess is your ideal, not mine. The dragon is your anger toward that ideal. You don’t need either of them. You are enough.” “But, the mirror…” “You don't need a mirror to know you're beautiful. But, if you will, I’ll be your mirror. I’ll tell you you’re beautiful and it won’t be a lie you tell yourself to make yourself feel better. It’ll be the truth.” “I don’t need you to rescue me.” “If I thought that for the splinter of an instant you needed rescue, I wouldn’t have even come.” “But, I’m evil and broken.” “You’re broken and hurt, not evil. You just need to believe that you deserve love and accept it.”
He took her hand and placed it on his breastplate. Her splayed fingers traced the raised scar in the metal. There was warmth beneath.
“Fill the cracks with gold and your heart will be that much more valuable to he who has the good fortune to receive it from you.” With that, she realized he was right. Deep inside her chest blossomed an electricity that spread up her spine, her neck, through her hair, bristling it along the way, a forest caught in a wildfire and into her face from which emanated a glow and finally burst forth into her eyes until they flashed like the flint that had burned her defenses to the ground. Every cell of her being radiated with the warmth from the furnace that burned inside of her.
She felt, perhaps for the first time in her life, true love. Not for the man standing across from her in the dark with the golden scar where his heart resided. But, for herself.
Her entire body went weak from years of being strong. She fell. He caught her. The End.
