Random Short Stories

Hagsmire's Bride [🦋]

(This is a kits' tale recited by the Peacebringers and Mythkeepers of the Northern Kingdoms.)
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Princess Avoria of the Skyborn Kingdom was a whirlwind of entitlement wrapped in silk and jewels.

Her world was a gilded cage, where every sunrise was a testament to her beauty, and every whisper of praise confirmed her divine perfection.

Raised on a diet of flattery and extravagant displays all given to her at the mere flick of her claws, she believed, with unyielding conviction, that she was the pinnacle of creation.

In her mind, no mortal was worthy of her hand. Only a god, with their celestial power and eternal grace, could be a suitable partner.

She envisioned a grand courtship, a celestial symphony orchestrated for her sole enjoyment. The heavens would tremble like leaves at her demands, gods would vie for her favour, and the universe would bow to her whims.

She was the heir to the Skyborn Isles, a kingdom rich in history and magic, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that only a being of divine stature could be worthy of her hand. She would not settle for mere mortal royalty.

She craved the celestial, the ethereal, the divine.

"I shall marry a god," she declared one morning, her voice ringing with an air of conviction that sent shivers down the spines of her courtiers.

Her father, King Arion, a muscular tom with eyes that held the wisdom of centuries, sighed. He knew his daughter's arrogance was a dangerous flame, but he was a loving father, and his heart ached for her.

"My dear Avoria," he began, his voice gentle, "Perhaps you should consider the virtues of more earthly suitors." The beautiful she-cat merely scoffed. "Earthly suitors? They are mere mortals, Father. I am a goddess in my own right."

The first god she approached was Achird, God of Souls. He was a celestial being of fire, his coat glistening with a sheen of a thousand glittering embers and his eyes brighter than twin suns.

He was reclining on his throne, surrounded by clouds of swirling energy and reading through ancient scrolls of long-ago fables, when one of his most loyal messengers announced the arrival of Princess Avoria.

Achird, known for his boisterous demeanor and interest in quite some mortal affairs, expected a beautiful she-cat to approach him, but the princess who entered was not beautiful in the slightest to him at all.

To him, she was too overwhelming, draped in such a heavy gold, her face painted with a mask of arrogance. It seemed artificial and more forced than anything else, something he sneered at. For what could be greater than genuine effort?

"I have come," declared Avoria, her voice a practiced melody, "to offer myself as your bride." She puffed up her chest at this, making herself appear what she hoped to be more regal and delicate than she truly was.

The God of Souls glanced at her, his expression unnervingly unreadable. His divine gaze, usually so powerful, seemed to shrink at her sheer delusion and utter audacity as he tapped a claw against his scroll hesitantly.

"My dear princess," he finally responded, his voice a rumbling echo, "I am already wed to the Goddess of Mercy, Eridanus. And even if I weren't, I doubt I would be interested in an... interesting mortal she such as yourself."

Avoria's eyes narrowed in confusion and annoyance. A god dared to refuse her? This couldn't be. "You dare refuse me? I am the most perfect being in existence. My mere presence should be a privilege for you."