don't leaf me

Once upon a time there was a prosperous kingdom led by a beloved king and queen. The internal and extetrnal beauty of the queen was spoken about far across the land, as well as the wisdom and courage of the king. For years, this royal couple ruled in harmony.
Then one day, during a meeting with the royal counsel, the couple was reminded that they had not produced an heir. The queen, who had been too busy to have children, panicked. If they did not produce an heir, who would rule their beloved kingdom? Or even worse, what if the child was a horrible ruler? The distressed royal voiced her worries to her husband, who asked his counsel what should be done to ensure wise and caring offspring. One man spoke up about an old woman who was rumored to be skilled in magic. Though wary of such a person, the king would do anything to please his wife. The queen became pregnant and was sent to the woman to see what could be done.
The queen set out to the old woman's cottage and met with her. The old crone was very kind and wanted to ensure the queen's happiness, presenting the royal with a plethora of natural remedies that would produce a healthy baby. The queen inspected each and every one, waiting for something especially extraordinary to catch her eye, something that would assure not only a healthy child but a kind-hearted, beautiful one. She grew desperate and begged at the old woman's feet for something, anything, even something a little nasty if it came to that.
The sorceress tapped her chin.
And digressed.
She proposed a potion that, if consumed, could produce a child with whatever good traits the queen wanted. She warned that the spell could backfire, though, if the intentions of either parent were corrupt in some way. It was clear that the sorceress was wary of the draught and tried her best to dissuade whatever the queen was thinking.
Alas, the queen took no heed of the medicine woman's warnings and demanded a big batch of the magical liquid be delivered to the palace at once. The old woman, shaking her head, conceded.
After nine months of a surprisingly care-free pregnancy, the queen delivered the baby. It turned out to be twins, two little girls. One the picture of beauty, whom they named Arabella, and one a grotesque manifestation of the royal couple's worst expectations, whom they named Desdemona. Arabella had golden curls, a delicate face, and round, rosy cheeks. Desdemona had plain, greasy hair, with a skinny little body and bony limbs. Arabella's personality shone like her parents', while Desdemona's was flat and rude. Though the children were so starkly different, they grew up as best friends. Arabella loved her sister and would do anything to please her, while Desdemona, though loving her, was jealous of Arabella.
As the sisters grew, their personalities flourished, though in different ways. The people of the kingdom devoted their love to Arabella, showering her with pleasantries and compliments, practically worshipping the bright girl. Meanwhile, Desdemona watched from the shadows, hurt and shame and envy gnawing at her. On the one hand, Arabella was the only one who really loved Desdemona genuinely. She was the only one who would spend every day with her, play with her, drop everything if her sister needed her. That was sweet, yes, and Desdemona loved her sister just as much, but she saw the bias her kingdom's people had over her.
And it hurt.
Desdemona's hate and jealousy grew inside her every day, twisting and scraping, devouring her from the inside out.
One day, in their eighteenth year of life, the sisters were taking lessons on the politics of the kingdom. Desdemona sulked in her chair, playing with a broken tassel, while Arabella sat, attentive, providing intelligent answers to every question asked. Desdemona's jealousy bubbled and boiled over her sister until it was all she was able to think about. Arabella's perfect complexion and her charming personality and her lovable face. The way people were attracted to Arabella like magnets, and how they recoiled and shrank at the sight of Desdemona and her pale, almost corpse-like skin. It made Desdemona's stomach churn with all sorts of dark feelings, swirling like an angry ocean inside her.
She couldn't take it any more.
Desdemona knew Arabella loved her.
She loved her so much, in fact, she would do anything for her.
Desdemona knew just what to do.
She approached Arabella, hunching her shoulders and ducking her head.
"I'm distressed, sister," she pouted.
"What? Is something wrong?" Arabella asked, concerned for her twin.
Desdemona nodded sullenly, playing into her sister's sympathy.
Arabella placed a hand on Desdemona's shoulder. "What can I do to help?"
"Well, I just feel so stupid," Desdemona said. "You always have such brilliant solutions to everything, and I... well, I'm just a worthless lump."
"It's not true!" Arabella protested.
Desdemona shrugged in response.
"I know what to do. We'll pay a visit to the sorceress, the one who helped mother when she was younger. She can help us."
The two sisters traveled to the old woman's cottage, explaining the situation. After hearing their tale, she offered them many a potion or runestone, each designed to help improve Desdemona's learning abilities and quick-thinking. The ugly young lady shook her head at each, waiting for something more powerful.
So the old crone brought forth something more powerful.
A transferral, a swap. A spell that allowed them to trade for each other.
Desdemona conceded immediately, Arabella giving a hesitant nod.
She was unsure, but she knew it would make her sister happy. And she'd do anything, anything, to make Desdemona happy.
The sorceress, just like with their mother, warned the twins on the dangers of the hex. It was permanent, and, if one or both of them possessed vile intentions, would cause disastrous side effects. Desdemona waved her off, demanding the spell be cast.
The old crone shook her head.
She cast the spell, watching as a look of confusion came over both of them, and then a dawning of understanding upon Desdemona's twisted features. Arabella still looked confused, and a bit dizzy. From that day forward, Arabella was silent and distracted during lessons, even a little ditzy. Desdemona, however, came up with brilliant and well-thought-out answers to every question asked.
Nobody really noticed a difference.
Desdemona felt strange, but she assumed it to be the newfound brilliance she was experiencing, and the triumph over her sister.
And for a time, all was well.
One day, in their nineteenth year of life, the two sisters were hanging out in Desdemona's room, prepping themselves for a party that was to be thrown in the palace ballroom that night. As Arabella prepared her twin's hair, Desdemona compared her plain features and flat hair to her beautiful, golden-locked sister, and instantly her jealousy bubbled to the surface after being awol for months. Anger came with it, anger at Arabella and her perfect stupid face and anger at Desdemona herself, for experiencing this feeling again.
No matter, she thought, sighing inwardly.
Desdemona knew just what to do
As soon as her hair was finished being plaited, she turned to her sister with a face full of fake distress.
"Sister, I am upset," Desdemona whined.
"What is troubling you today, love?" Arabella asked, oblivious to her sister's false sadness. The genuine care in her eyes brought a spark of warmth to Desdemona's heart. It quickly faded under the eruption of jealousy.
"Well, now, I am just so boring next to you," Desdemona sighed. "People will always be comparing me to you. I am so terribly ugly."
She hid her face in her hands.
"We'll go to the sorceress tonight!" Beauty cried, concern for her sister greater than the toll she knew it would take on herself.
So they did.
Again, as the sorceress cast the spell, she shook her head in dismay.
Desdemona's cruel, sharp features became soft and rounded, rosy with health. Her eyelashes elongated and her body developed before the old crone's eyes, curves appearing where before it'd just been skin and bones. Arabella, however, was a terrible sight to behold. Her posture began to bend, and the color leaked from her cheeks. Pounds began dropping from her usually full figure until she was practically emaciated. Her hair, once shining with a silky sheen, wilted and matted to her head.
The sisters attended the ball that night. People were gob-smacked at the beauty and grace that had miraculously come over Desdemona, and grew worried when their eyes landed upon the usually full-of-life Arabella. She was slightly hunched over, her once snug dress hanging off of her body, bony arms holding a cup of punch. Her hand was shaking with frailty.
Desdemona felt a change within her. It was an empty sort of feeling, a gnawing. Though admittedly slightly concerned about it, she shook it off and spent the rest of the night mingling and charming guests with the personality she had somehow acquired.
And for a time, all was well.
One day, in their twentieth year of life, Arabella and her sister went out for a morning picnic, laying a checkered blanket upon the dewy grass and opening the wicker basket she held at the crook of her bony elbow. The two young women sat down upon the soft fabric, snacking upon sandwiches and various fruit slices they'd had prepared. The two of them talked, Arabella's still shining smile somehow never leaving her face. She laughed merrily at a joke Desdemona had just made.
The sound triggered another rush of envy within Desdemona.
The princess was confused. She didn't even know why she was jealous at this point. Why was she jealous? She had everything her sister did, or once did, and now more. What more could she want?
Desdemona watched as Arabella smiled at a flock of birds flying past, and as she waved at a couple of kids playing tag across the great expanse of lawn.
Then it hit her.
Arabella was so happy.
Desdemona wanted that.
All she'd ever wanted was that.
Was she happy?
Desdemona felt a surge of anger. She wasn't happy. After all this, she still wasn't happy. That thought snapped her, making a whirlwind of terrible emotions shoot through her like a storm. It was a typhoon of terror, a hurricane of horror. It ached to her very core and felt like something was literally tearing her apart, piece by piece. It scratched and bit and scraped and tore and yelled and screamed and wailed and grew, around and around and around—
Until it didn't.
She felt that familiar emptiness rise to the surface.
She felt peace.
No, not peace.
Nothing.
She felt nothing.
Desdemona turned to her sister, unable to really think through the decision she was making.
"I'm unhappy," she blurted.
Arabella tilted her head. "Why? What's bothering you?"
"I'm unhappy," she repeated, brain ridden with static.
"Well, I'd like to help you, but I'm not really sure what's—"
"I'm unhappy. I'm unhappy. I'm unhappy, make me happy!"
Those last words came out in a shout. Arabella shrank.
"We'll visit the sorceress tonight," she said, voice barely a whisper.
So they did.
Desdemona approached the old woman, perfectly still. Her cold, unfeeling gaze swept across the sorceress like a cold blaze.
"I want to be happy," Desdemona explained. "I want to be happy, and she's happy, and I want it."
The sorceress narrowed her eyes. "No."
A flicker of anger ran across the princess's features. "No?"
"No. I refuse to perform the spell. Look at how it has corrupted you. Look at what you've done to your sister!" The old woman gestured to Arabella, who sat hunched over in a seat, frail body unable to handle the relatively short walk they'd just gone on to get to the cottage.
"I. Am. Unhappy," Desdemona repeated, body seeming to swell with the anger that had suddenly appeared back within her, after hours of experiencing no emotion. "Do you hear me? I am unhappy!" She spit in the old woman's face. "Fix it!"
"I refuse."
"Then I order you to do so!"
"Or what?"
"I'll have you executed for treason!"
"You wouldn't dare," the crone hissed, fury coursing through her, mixed with a hint of fear. "I have been loyal to your family for decades, you wouldn't—"
Desdemona, quick as you can blink, turned to the table in the middle of a room and snatched up a rather long knife the old crone had been using to slice herbs. She pinned the old woman to the wall, blade at her throat.
"Cast it," she spat.
"I—"
"Cast it!"
The blade cut into the old woman's neck just enough to draw a stream of blood.
The sorceress sighed, shaking her head ever so slightly.
Then she cast it.
Desdemona was propelled backwards from the old woman, a sense of joy entering her body. It was beautiful and bright and shining and it filled her entire world, consuming her senses, giving her a smile as bright as day.
Arabella sat slumped in the corner.
Her skin was gray.
There was no emotion on her face, no life in her eyes.
Desdemona could take no notice of this, reveling in her newfound happiness.
The old woman looked on as Desdemona practically dragged Arabella out of the cottage, skipping. She sighed, blowing a kiss out the door after them, watching through the window as they disappeared around the bend in the trees.
"Goodbye, princess," she said softly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Desdemona went to bed happier than she'd ever been.
She woke up to a gray morning.
She went out into the banquet hall to get breakfast, but it was surprisingly mostly empty. The few people that were there were sobbing, holding each other in a corner.
Everywhere Desdemona walked, people were crying and mourning and sobbing and wailing, and she didn't know what in heaven's name was going on.
Confused, she began asking around the palace as to why the mood was so somber.
Nobody could stop crying long enough to answer her.
No matter, she thought. I'll find Arabella, she's always happy to see me.
So she began to search for her sister.
She searched.
And she searched.
And searched and searched and searched.
Arabella was nowhere to be found.
Desdemona, after exploring basically the entire castle, burst into Arabella's room, surveying the scene. Her sister's pastel pink sheets were pushed back and a bit wrinkled, which was strange, considering Arabella always made her bed. The room, other than that, was perfectly clean and orderly, just like always.
But the windows were open.
The curtains swayed in the wind gently.
Desdemona walked out to the balcony, looking all around.
Nothing.

She didn't find out what happened until the next day, which turned out to be even cloudier and rainier than the day before.
Someone finally gave her the story.
After the two princesses had returned to the palace from the old woman's cottage, Desdemona had gone to bed, and Arabella was seen wandering the palace like a lost puppy, confused and anguished. She wailed loudly, and though people asked after her, she gave no answer, simply running away from them. She locked herself in her room after a few hours, disappearing behind the heavy wooden door. No sounds were heard from there again.
The next morning, her maid had come in to collect her dirty laundry.
She found an empty bed and open windows.
And a body on the lawn.
Arabella had thrown herself from the balcony.
Nobody knew why.
This news sent Desdemona spiraling.
Her sanity, or what was left of it, snapped.
Nobody knew why Arabella did it. Except for Desdemona herself.
The guilt literally destroyed her.
Her heart shattered into pieces to numerous to count.
That day a funeral was held for the princess.
The whole kingdom attended but Desdemona, the dead princess's very own sister. People were shocked and confused when the twin didn't show up, the girls' parents included. They held the ceremony without her, though, planting a tree in the yard right underneath Arabella's balcony and window, where she had fallen.
Once everyone left the small sapling and went to their respective homes to mourn in their own time, Desdemona approached the tree.
She fell at its tiny trunk.
On her knees before it, she began to weep.
It was silent.
Eerie.
She mumbled to herself, or to Arabella, who knows.
Her eyes were wide with pain and suffering and, most of all, insanity.
Through the night, the empty feeling within Desdemona finally climaxed and boiled over, stripping away the things that had come with it.
The brilliant mind of her sister.
The beauty of Arabella, both inside and out.
And that wonderful joyous feeling she'd known for no more than a day.
Desdemona cried and cried, her tears nourishing the beautiful sapling and making it grow before her very eyes. It grew and grew, becoming tall enough to shelter her with its branches. Its beautiful, yellow-toned blooms that were scattered among its leaves were the exact honey color of Arabella's eyes.
Desdemona could take no notice of it.
Her body wasted away within a matter of hours.
Soon, there was no evidence that Desdemona had ever been there, or that the tree had only been planted that same day. People returned to the area to mourn the next day only to find the tiny sapling they'd been expecting to have grown into a marvelous tree. Nobody really took notice of the fact the Desdemona was gone, just like they'd barely noticed the fact that she existed in the first place.
The tree was seen as a miracle, a blessing, a sign.
Its flowers blew in the wind, petals spreading across the kingdom, a reminder of Arabella's influence.
The kingdom prospered for many years afterwards.