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Twisted Princess Tales: Pocahontas
This written record bears testament to the facts concerning my dearest friend, who has long been maligned in the tales that the settlers tell. The daughter of our tribal chief was a brave and strong woman, who bore the name of Pocahontas, which told of her mischievous side as well.
She was one of the first of us to embrace the cause of the strange pale people who came to our land from beyond the oceans. My dearest friend even held great affection for the one called 'John Smith'. Short was their love, if he even held such emotions for her as she did for him. His goal was to gain trust among my people so that his could, like the worm, bore into the middle of our land and turning us to rot, from inside to out, as the worm ridden apple's fate. These people brought terrible curses upon us, causing sickness and death the likes of which have never been seen in the whole history of our tribe. Even the poor animals of the forest suffered these curses. One day, the trickster raccoon Meeko no longer came to play among our feet and steal away kernels of maize from our baskets. Instead, he sulked among the shadows, a wild look in his eyes and whiteness falling from his mouth like snow. He even swiped at my dearest friend's arm! The wound was not deep, but it was from then that I saw a change in her. She would go deep into the forest for days, and when she returned she would speak of 'Grandmother Willow'. The ancient tree spoke to her, she said, of the Candarians, a long gone people who still roamed the woods in spirit form, who would give her the power to destroy the settlers if she would only do as they asked: Join us.
In the days before the massacre, John Smith went missing, and my dearest friend was seen wearing his metal clothing upon her arm, covering the scars left by Meeko's claws. The settlers turned against my people, who, already weakened by strange illnesses, either fell to the trespassers' weapons, or fled away to the hills and mountains. I ran only as far as the forest, for as I reached the edge I saw the figure of my dearest friend emerge from the shadowy foliage. She did not act or look as my dearest friend any longer...instead of peaceful talk she wielded knife and tomahawk, their edges cutting through pale skin, their blood upon her face like war paint, their skulls hanging from her belt as spoils from a hunt. She killed nearly all of them in the span of one moon, those still alive fled from the land back to the waters. I approached my dearest friend as the sun began to rise above the horizon, which allowed me to see her face, one that no longer held love or patience, and her voice spoke in a pitch so strange that I was scared to my very spirit, her only words to me being "Join us".
I am now in my eightieth season. Throughout these long years I have often heard stories from the pale skin invaders who returned to our land in greater and greater numbers, until they were the only ones who lived where I and my dearest friend used to play as innocent children. They seek me out now, believing I hold some kind of power. They come to my cabin in the woods, despite their fear, but only in the daylight. I do not care enough to tell them this makes no difference. They speak of a copper skinned woman who, in the moonlight of her hunts, glistens with metal and blood, an awful clawed creature perched on her shoulder. It is when they see her that people from their villages, from their families, disappear mysteriously, and screams are heard coming from deep within the woods. There is no comfort nor advice nor even 'magic' that I can offer them. The last thing I tell them, while they can still hear, are the facts concerning my dearest friend, who has long been maligned in the tales that the settlers tell...
