Fractured Infinities

Dissonance

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

Yet another queen, asking the same bloody question as always.  I stifle a groan.  Now more than ever I wish that I could avoid the summons, but that's unfortunately not possible.  At least this particular interaction should be quick; the queen calling me is a very traditional queen as royalty goes.  Nothing like the aqua-skinned empress or the huntsman, which is boring, but at least it means that I won't have to spend much time with her.

She, like most of my current wielders, is purely human, but she's got more than a touch of magic in her veins.  Unlike the huntsman's queen – or, I should say, Ben's queen – she's a powerful sorceress.

She looks the part, too; her gown is draped with black lace and her bodice is made from wine-dark deerskin.  Though she tends towards the puffy side, her yards of corset lacing do a good job of concealing it.  She maintains her beauty with a regimen of spells and potions, but underneath the glamour her time is coming to an end – crow's feet mar her eyes and wrinkles surround her mouth.

I bring my mask into focus in her mirror and make it bob respectfully.  The huntsman is sleeping right now and none of my other wielders are doing anything particularly interesting, so I bring the bulk of my attention to bear on her world.  "You a..." I start to say.  Then I pause. 

Something has shifted in her kingdom in the past few hours; there are whispers of the princess's beauty floating around the marketplaces.  The  murmurs are hushed and furtive as the peasants cast wary glances over their shoulders, but there's no doubt that the commoners are enthralled by the princess.  She's only thirteen, so I wasn't expecting this yet, but I suppose she's developing early.  Her dusky skin is flawless and her body has already started to show curves, so she's well on her way to being a stunning beauty by the standards of this kingdom.

The queen, on the other hand, is rapidly losing the battle against time.  Her subjects regard her with a mix of superstition, awe, and fear; it's no wonder that they don't speak much of her beauty.  They adore the princess, though – she's the epitome of sweetness and light.  To my mind, she's a bit too sickly sweet, but there's no accounting for mortal taste.

I sigh.  "Your stepdaughter is the fairest of them all, your majesty," I tell the queen, smoothing away any expression from my mask.  "Her beauty has outstripped even yours."  Now that I know the truth of the situation, my geas won't let me say otherwise, but sometimes such flattery can ease the blow.

Not this time, though.  The queen's face hardens into icy lines and her lips press together firmly.  "Very well."  She spins on her heel, dress flaring around her, and barks at the guard standing at the door, "Fetch the huntsman."

So far, everything is proceeding normally.  Her lack of visible anger is a bit disturbing, but she's never been one to rage and throw things; she bottles them up and lets them sit like a fine wine.  Only when they're aged to perfection does she let them show at a time and place of her choosing.

In that, she's the opposite of Ben's queen.

The huntsman, however, reminds me strongly of Ben – or at least he did the last time I saw him.  Today, though, he wears an expressionless mask as he kneels before the queen.  "Yes, your majesty?"

I tune out the next few minutes of dialog; I have no interest in their banal chatter.  Like I said, I've seen this sort of thing happen a thousand times and more; there's almost no point in watching it unfold anymore.

I suppose I feel some sort of responsibility to my wielders, though, for I don't abandon the scene entirely.  It's probably pointless – there's no hint that any of the players on this stage will abandon the well-worn road that they tread.  But I watch anyway.  On the miniscule chance that something shifts, I want to see them carve a new path.