I Have No Life

My Kind of Fairy Tale

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a prince by the name of Sol....
Now, before you go thinking this will be another cute tale, I'll provide a bit of forewarning, love isn't my style. I'd rather kill characters off before they go the full mile. So don't go thinking this will be cutesy and shit. But I digress, let's go back to our prince.
Sol was a handsome prince, though not too bright. It's said that his hair shone gold in all light. His silver eyes were always lit with curiosity, his smile always gleaming brightly. His voice was always liliting and light. Not a person had ever heard him speak with spite. He entranced everyone, young and old, on his words all were sold.
Now, who could lay claim to birthing this art? None other than the kingdom's own old fart. The king was just -don't get the wrong impression- but cordiality was simply not on his list of perfections. But, despite his faults, (most of) his subjects adored him. They showered him with praise and a bit of gin. Pride swelled his heart along with his pocket and this caused his brain to pop out of socket. The king watched his son and gloated his birth, "My prince is the finest around, may he add to my mirth!"
One day a peasant lady was tending her fields, when along came a parade with shields. She stretched her thin neck to see the inevitable. Greeted she was by the prince and his ensemble. The young girl let out a squee (Can you blame her? She was only thirteen). Rushing forward, she reached up her hands to the prince on his horse, the finest in the land, and begged for attention if only for a minute. The guards went to move her away.
But the prince spoke up, "Let the dear stay."
"She's just a small child, what harm can she do? It's not like she's wild. Take my hand dear, you shall ride too."
She giggled and wrapped her thin arms around his belted waist and dug her face in his back as they took off full pace. Her knotted red hair whipped in the wind. Her brown eyes clenched shut lest her stomach be spinned.
As the horse ran faster and faster the prince's laughter died. He glanced back to see his guards far behind. He whipped the reins and bolted like light. Up ahead was a forest filled with fright. His smile twisted into a manic grin, the likes of which you'd wish to never see again. His eyes dulled from silver to grey. Gold hair no longer shone from the light of day. A laugh of insanity tore from his throat as the bow legless horse jumped over a moat.
The child, now trembling in fear, looked up and regreted it as she knew what was near. In front of her eyes was a stone crypt. On its door was painted "RIP." The foul stench of rot permeated the air, and anyone could tell that death had been there. No leaves remained on the trees as they bent over the roof with a creaking breeze. Shadows moved about in a dance, but no sounds served to enhance. A scream tore free as she was grasped by large hands.
She struggled and cried as the prince dragged her down the steps of the crypt leading into the ground. Hot tears poured forth as he quietly hushed her. Panicked thoughts clouded her mind whilst they entered his layer. Through blurry eyes she could see piles of bones mixed with fresh corpses and some odd-looking stones. Sharp things glittered just beyond sight. A cracking sound added to her fright.
More screams ripped loose and pleas for help tore out of her throat as she stomped on the prince's foot, producing a yelp. She twisted and kicked, then, finally, she was free.
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But did she run? Haven't you been paying attention? Why would she run.... when I could have some more fun?
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Red hair turned to blazes and brown eyes poured mud as she spun 'round and screamed, "Banshees be blood!"
Now for those unaware, for them, this is quite the curse. Declared only through bloodlust and followed by a hearse.
Within a second flat, a large dagger was in her hand, jagged in edges and not entirely grand. She sprang with a leap and landed the prince in a heap. With a movement, the dagger stood still in the man's throat. Deep scarlet gushed out as she said, and I quote, "Love's lost on all living, banshees be blood, I may be forgiving, but you're worth sud. May this dagger pin you down, deep in this pit, in the dead's blood may you drown, as your king sees fit."
The last drop of life faded .fm the prince's being, and with this the girl left singing. A happy life she would live, for not a care would she give.
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However, if only the flame-headed child took the time to glance forward.... she'd have seen the silhouette's sword before her innards became outwards.
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And there you go: the reason behind why I don't write children's books.