What had once been a simple forest within castle walls has now expanded into a complex, deconstructed structure. Open-walled and open-ceiling rooms float with bridges and branches connecting them. Each room is a workshop for different crafts with all the necessary tools and projects, some completed and some half done. Beside the workshops is another massive structure, a partial barn, and a partial greenhouse. Gone are most of the fairy-like creatures and fancies, replaced by a more grounded reality, but a reality that is only possible in Vespera’s dream. Mal enters the massive dream workshop from the ground into the bakery where Vespera—in proper baker’s clothing—awaits tapping her foot.

“You’re late!” she says.

Mal clasps his hands behind his straightened back as the dream changes his clothes to a simpler set with an apron and linen over his head to hold back his thorns. He raises an eyebrow as he comes to the counter. “Time is a little warped here. I am, in fact, on time.”

With a snap, the recipe appears in his hand and he checks how detailed his memory transferred over. “Everything seems accurate.” When he sets it down Vespera scoots to his side to read along. “With baking,” Mal instructs, “We have to follow what it says, to the exact measurement, or it all falls out of balance. We aren’t throwing everything into a pot and calling it soup.”

Vespera nods with rapt attention while she ties her hair back. “I see. Doesn’t seem too difficult to follow…” Her words drift off as she notices a strand of Mal’s thorns slips into her line of sight. It coils slightly over the recipe like a cute, bristled snake, but is soon flung over Mal’s shoulder who shows little care for it.

She considers his frank dismissal, how he knows her whole life but hardly shares his own. All the fairies were human once until too much magic made them not. Mal was human once, too, but now exists in a body he fed because he had to, lived in because there was nothing else. But Vespera has always been captivated by it, from the first time he appeared in her dreamland. It had been so easy to intimidate him, and her nonsensical curse, as silly and useless as it was, Mal has complied with seriously.

Staring at his head of thorns now, Vespera is struck by melancholy. How strange to be standing beside her teacher, the same fairy that cursed her and trapped her in this inescapable dream. Worse yet, there’s no more hate in her heart. She searches for that same despair, the same anxiety that ate at her during those first endless days, and grasps at fignents of them. Time has eroded them, like waves on rocks. Instead, there’s an unrelenting curiosity to know more about him, to reach out and touch him despite his thorns.

Her body moves in time with her thoughts and her gentle hand comes up to pull back a thin strand he missed. But she pricks her finger instead. Mal gives her a side eye and the exasperation is clear in his tone. “Are you paying attention?”

Vespera pouts. “I am. It’s only…” While she struggles to put her complex and contradicting emotions together she transfers her irritation at the recipe before them. “Since I already have this here I can bake this any time. There’s something more pressing.”

Mal raises an eyebrow. “And that would be?”

With no clear explanation yet, Vespera pulls at her hair, flustered, and lets her mouth run off. “You see, I don’t know what to do with my hair anymore. I want to try new styles, do something different.” When she sees Mal’s pressed lips open she rushes forward to say, “AND I don’t want to ‘snap it up.’ There’s no point if I can’t learn it and recreate it once I’m awake again.”

Mal, with a deadpan look, snaps a mannequin head with long, luscious locks onto the counter and starts to make his way out. “Okay, have fun.”

Vespera catches his arm and pulls him along out of that workshop and into another one. Like a spoiled princess, she gets her way and Mal finds he can’t resist her. He can complain, and he can look for the quickest way out of her dreams, but so long as she holds him there he is powerless. Because, in the depths of his nonexistent heart, he knows she’s the only reason he gets up anymore, why he desperately searches for new things to teach her. Without her, he’d be asleep too and that scares him.

So he goes along with her whims and listens to her chatter. “No, no, no,” she says. “Why settle for a doll when a real person is here.”

She leads him to another workshop and sits him down in front of a vanity. Mal grimaces at his reflection, his wiry head of thorns, and rolls his head back to look Vespear in the eye. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have hair.”

Unperturbed Vespera picks up an ivory, bristle brush and wiggles it in front of his face. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is my dream.”

The moment the brush touches the thorns and swipes down, the thorns snapp off and the vines are broken into locks of hair. Mal is breathless at the smooth and graceful movement of the brush. His eyes are enraptured by the transformation in the mirror, his thorns raining down at their feet. He can’t bring himself to touch it out of fear of suddenly waking up. For the first time in years, he finds his humanity in his reflection, and he is suddenly not the Eighth Fairy, but Mal. Just Mal, a spinster.

“It’s how I imagined your hair would be—long and dark,” he hears Vespera say. “And when the sun shines it will shimmer a deep emerald, like Daisy’s wings.”

Mal remains silent, his expression carefully neutral as his fingers clutch onto his robe on his lap. Vespera’s voice is like a lullaby as she sets down the brush and starts weaving his hair with her slender fingers, effortlessly, and tenderly. “My mother used to fix my hair. I remember her gentle hands and her silly songs. But she became so busy, my nannies took over. I was seven the last time she brushed it and I’ve never had the confidence to ask her. She has a kingdom to rule after all.” After a pause, she asks, “How is she?”

“She’s sleeping. In the ballroom, I believe.” Her hands slow and Mal glances up at her reflection to find her gaze lowered.

“Do you visit her dreams too?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Mal reverts his eyes to his hair. “No. Only yours.”

“Oh. I see.”

A thin braid thumps against Mal’s back. They both avoid looking at one another through the mirror. Mal feels the hesitation in her fingers as she braids another section of his hair. “Could I…could I share a dream with her? Like we’re doing now?” She asks.

Mal bites his lip. Despite his opened ribcage and the emptiness his roses live in, something feels compressed. Stifled. He wants to run away but also wants to keep feeling her hands in his hair. So he swallows down his discomfort and manages to keep his voice a little playful. “I’m under your curse, am I not?”

“You are.”

She starts to bring the braids together to weave them into a thicker braid.

“I’ll ask the Third Fairy,” Mal says.

For a brief second their eyes meet before Vespera resumes her work. A soft smile forms on her lips. “Thank you.” Pause. “And…there’s one more thing.”

Mal chuckles as he fiddles with his fingers. “What’s making you shy today?”

“I’m not! There was a correct time to ask but it’s long passed. You’ve told me how my parents offended you, but never about King Phellious.”

“I’m sure you know all about Phellious.” When he rolls his head with his derisive laugh he feels a yank and keeps his head still.

“I know what I’ve been taught: that he was a good king, had a fascination with magic, and that he rid the kingdom of the shades, though he never shared how. I want to know how he offended you.”

Mal opens his mouth but then closes it along with his eyes. Vespera’s nails graze the top of his neck and she raises his hair and he remembers his mother’s hands playing or fixing his hair when she comforted him. How she’d ask him what was wrong and wait until he was ready to talk, however long it took. And he always talked because she’d listen carefully, just like Vespera is doing now.

When he opens his eyes again to see his fingers unfurled on his lap, the words pour out like a long breath he’s held for so long.

“I…used to live in the tower room. Mother and I spun thread for Phellious and his family. He and I…he was my…friend. I always knew he would be a great king because he loved his people, and I trusted his judgment. So when he came up with a plan to get rid of the shades, I followed without question.

“But things went wrong. We were trapped in a cave, surrounded by them. The only solution was for me to stay behind as a beacon for the shades while he escaped. He promised…he gave his word he’d come back for me. I waited, asleep, for a hundred years but I woke up alone…and he was dead. My mother was dead too, along with everyone I ever knew.”

He remembers following Seventh to his kingdom, how he stood, little more than thorns with legs, beneath honey-brown eyes. Phellious portrait told Mal how life went on without him. Pellious’ legacy sat on the throne, listening but unwilling to step down to greet Mal. Instead, she offered him thanks, some gold, and sent them on their way. Mal didn’t even have the chance to ask to visit the tower he once lived in. That was when his rage was born.

“I hated him,” Mal admitted. “I hated him so much. For moving on, getting married, having kids, for being happy without me.” He lets out a dry laugh. “And all I got was this wretched body.”

The final pin slides into his hair and Vespera’s touch is gone. At last Mal lifts his head and sees another person staring back at him, his bountiful black locks braided and wound around his head. How lovely this man is. How lovely Mal could have been.

Behind him, Vespera says, “Solemn King Phellious. That’s how people remember him. When I went into the tower I thought I’d be able to find what made him so. And I found you. He protected what remained of you even after death. Maybe he was never able to get to you.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Mal scoffs. “He’s dead.”

The pain, scorn, heartache, and acceptance in his words strike Vespera’s heart and she finally understands. She sees all that led up to this moment. Like a veil falling away she sees King Phellious’ portrait in the castle, grandiose and out of reach, the spinning wheel she never considered the existence of, and she sees Mal in front of her so small, so human.

Everyone, regardless of status, of background, is human, like her. Everything she owned, was presented to her, she never questioned, though it all came from somewhere. Her dresses, her food, the paths she walked on, the flowers she smelled, someone created them. People like her. And just like her, people have their own struggles, lives, and regrets. And when they hurt, when they feel cornered or abandoned, they lash out.

Despite having cursed her, Mal returned, again and again, to teach her about a world she had lived apart from, safe in her castle. Recalling Mal’s stunned face when she cursed him, Vespera can’t help but smile. Even the Eighth Fairy can fall to the whims of a girl. With her mind at peace, and her heart filled with empathy, she wraps her arms around Mal’s neck and kisses the side of his head.

“I’m still here,” she says. “You are my teacher, but I also consider you my friend, and I’d be overjoyed if you see me the same.” Her honey-brown eyes lock with his through the mirror. “And I’ll never give you my word; I’ll show you my actions instead.”

Mal wavers, his eyes brimming with emotion he’s too prideful to show her so he turns away first. He lets a few moments pass until he’s sure his lips won’t quiver and then he pats Vespera’s arm as a sign to release him. She does so but not before she gives him a loud smooch on his head.

Laughing, Mal wiggles out of her reach and stands up before her, smoothing out his clothing. He touches the back of his bare neck as he adjusts to the strange sensation and the concentrated weight on his head. A pity he’ll have thorns again upon waking up, like all the other times, but it feels different this time. His time here with Vespera doesn’t feel ephemeral. His fingers itch to spin, to embroider, and his mind bursts with new ideas for patterns and projects.

He realizes he’s happy. Vespera considers him a friend.

Unwilling to give in to his giddiness he clears his throat and snaps, making a short stack of papers appear in his hand which he holds out to Vespera. “These are designs I’ve been working on, but something feels off and I can’t figure it out. If you don’t mind putting baking off for a while longer, maybe you could help me finalize them.”

Vespera takes the pages and sifts through them. With each page she skims faster, her furrowed brow gaining more wrinkles as she takes in the complexity and mastery of the work. “Is this…some final test?”

“No. Personal projects I’d like your input on.”

Excitement flares in her eyes and she grips the papers tight to her chest. “What are the designs for? Clothing? Tapestries?”

“Many things. But the best one will be for a dress for a certain sleeping princess, a gown of silver to shine like an evening star.”

“For me?” Vespera hops from foot to foot, unable to contain herself. “Mal, you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had. When I wake up, I know I’ll be ready to enter the world again. And…” Kindness softens her face, tenderness showing in her smile and her words. “I forgive you for your curse, and I free you from mine. But I hope you continue being my teacher, forever and ever!”

“So long as my patience doesn’t run dry.”

“How could it when I’m the best student ever!”

The two share a laugh. The years ahead of them suddenly seem short.

END SCENE