A king cried at the foot of his bed. 

The carpet from there to door was lush with rainwater; as if a shaggy mutant had dragged itself across the floor, yet was merely wet, with hooves that had never known dirt. Beside him was a dulled, tan mask, pulled into queerness and mischief, with frayed elements of skin hanging off the sides. A groan came from behind him upon the bed. The creaking voice of a girl with a grinding throat. Her coughs were oily and wet.

When she called for her mom, he buried his head further into his hands. A delicate knock came at the door:

“The wizard is here, your majesty. He says he's caught the - “

Their voice catches before their lips.

“- the, ah, the Queen. He says it is urgent that he sees the Princess.”

The bed rustled at the mention of her mother and her croaking came out louder, more hurt, followed by a hollow retching. He sprang to his feet, gazed upon her only once, and nearly fell back to the floor. The king stumbled to the door, ripped it open to the shocked, purple skinned face of a maid, and shoved her back to make space. The door clicked silently shut behind him. His shaking hand left the handle. After a deep, shivering breath, a hoarse command was given:

“Bring him to my study.”

…

The wizard arrived minutes after the King. He had to busy himself with paperwork he hadn't touched since his daughter had taken to bed; income reports, crime reports, requests, requests, requests, demands and demands and demands -

all of it, especially the latter, seemed ready to drain him of everything. It was all scattered behind him with an 'AHH!', so that the only reader was the sun. A knock came at the door.

“The Wizard, your Majesty!”

The king fixed his flummoxed hair and pulled his blouse back into order.

“Send him in.”

He fell back into his chair as a young, beautiful man, his skin ruby and hair fire, strut into the study upon the legs of flamingos. A singular garment made of a golden silk ran down the length of his body without ever touching his arms. He bowed deep at the hip;

“Oh, troubled King,” his voice crackled, “I have your woman, and have confirmed she’s consorted.”

The king sagged further into his chair. His turquoise crown shrugged onto his brow.

“Ah. Oh. Oh, dear,” he mumbled with despondence,

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“why? Has she said why?”

The wizard rose and slipped into the chair across from the king,

“These things happen, my King, when gems fall into our dreams. She may not have said why she's done it but it is clear.”

“My girl. My precious girl, why did she … ?”

The Wizard rested a hand each upon the desk and dipped his head.

“That,” he said gravely, “is a why we may only guess at: she's bitten off her tongue.”

He reeled back in his chair with enough force to fix his crown right again.

“What?!”

“Bit it clean off, sir, sent it across the room.”

“Treasureheart!”

“I kept the bleeding in check but the nature of her transformations means -“

The King pressed forward against the desk;

“Transformations?!”

“Unfortunately, yes, the inhuman cannot dwell in the human. You can see it within me: my hair, my skin, my legs. Powers like ours come with a cost of mind and limb. She, ah, suffered changes more egregious than mine!”

His trembling hands calmed themselves by dipping beneath the desk and gripping his chair. The king took in a deep, deep breath. His voice came out as a pathetic whisper:

“Damn it. Damn it all.”

A cautioning hand reached across the desk and laid it near the king, and the wizard spoke to soothe the man;

“It is not the end. She will not escape justice – but the princess, I must see her at once. The mask —“

“— that accursed mask!”

The King sprung from his chair!

“It was glued to her, and she wept, so I —“

A hush came over the room as the king slammed his fists upon the desk with frustration and the wizard dipped his head. Both were silent then, and left the office grimly, and returned to his room at once knowing the girl may yet be helped. They found the door open.

The king rushed ahead.

He stumbled to a stop at the foot of the bed and clutched both posts. A gasp slid from his lips:

“Sylvia!”

The wizard came up beside him and stared at the girl who once had no face. Her complexion had returned entirely; the skin sealed the flesh, a blush touched the skin, and spread along the pillow was a halo of hair -  brown once again. The king scrambled across the perimeter of the bed and knelt by her side. Her soft hand was clasped within his, and a relieved sob stalled in his throat.

“Sylvie, oh, she’s alright. Her mother must've lift the curse! In guilt, or fear, or - or -“

as the King babbled on the wizard took a step back, then another, then a third, and scanned the soggy trail that crept from the door. There were two of them: one that ended at the bottom of the bed and another that followed to the opposite side that the king now sat.

“- ah! She’s awake!”

Fretful ladies crept into the periphery. Some of them wept with relief; others, upon seeing her emerald eyes flash their way, laughed and clapped their hands! More rushed out of the room to fetch good food and wine. The wizard crept back to stand beside the doorway and watched with a brow thoroughly disturbed.

“… dad?”

The oily texture of her voice, the terrible cough, were replaced with a tired but lively voice. It was flush with childlike concern as her eyes darted and followed the movement within the room. The King bent over and spoke to her in a soothing voice, and explained what had happened in a way but kept the treachery of her mother from the story. Soon there was wine and beef passing her lips and she was sitting up, ladies clustered around, and the king standing by with a relieved grin that pushed his sagging eyes to a curl.

“… Your Majesty.”

The king perked up and strode over to the wizard. One of his hands was taken and shaken vigorously.

“I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. I cannot! Name a price! I will pay it!”

The wizard duly smiled, and spoke duly too;

“The mask.”

He made a dismissive gesture and a humored grunt,

“Yes, take that terrible thing far from here! It’s on the, …”

His eyes scanned the foot of the bed and brought on dying words.

“… floor. Where is it?”

As the king stepped away to question the women of the room, the wizard heard the clinking of armor and weapon coming from the hall. He swept himself out to intercept them and pull them aside, and learned from trembling lips that two guards were dead, and the queen nowhere to be found. 

The wizard's mouth hung open only an inch as he worked through this information. Behind him the king had forgotten the search, and was listening to Sylvia tell him about a dream she had had just hours ago.