“Is this true?” the younger sister demanded. “Is this really, truly true?”
“Yes, Your Highness. If you have been insulted and wish us to leave, we will—“ But the squire didn’t get any further because the princess had rushed forward and hugged him, squeezing him so tightly she almost cracked his ribs.
“Yes! Yes! Yes, thank you, God! Quick, squire, tell me, what is sign language for ‘I love you desperately and want you to be mine forever?’”
“Um…fold in your index and ring finger, extend all other fingers and hold your hand, palm outwards, towards someone, Your Highness. But why do you as—“
“Sorry! Gotta go! Bye!”
Not long after, the two princesses were married to the two handsome young princes, and they joined their kingdoms together, and there was great rejoicing (particularly when the older sister held a speech for the occasion). They moved all together into one magnificent palace decorated with more gold and jewels than any other palace in the world and lived a very, very, very quiet life, happily ever after.
And the moral of the story is: always drink plenty of water, it’s good for you!
Or: be as nasty to old people as you possibly can.
Or maybe: Hold your right hand at right angles above the other, also stretched out. Then move your right hand to the right and down abruptly.[4]
Wicked Weddings
Once upon a time, there lived a wicked woman. You could tell she was wicked from her crooked nose with a big wart on top. However, she had absolutely no talent for witchcraft, which somewhat impaired her wickedness. She could lure handsome princes into dark forests—but no matter how much she waved her self-made wand about, they stubbornly refused to be turned into frogs. She could catch children, kill, cook, and eat them—but, for some reason, the magic paste she made from their bones never gave her the ability to fly, as she discovered to her great disappointment when she jumped off the great cliff at Pirate Cove.
“Death and damnation!” Pulling seaweed from her hair, the wicked woman marched back onto land at the nearest beach, her boots squelching. “I did it exactly as it said on the witch’s recipe! I’m suing that witch for fraud!”
Thus, the wicked woman remained a very unhappy wicked woman, far from reaching self-actualization as the villain she dreamed of being. However, things did not get really bad until she met the Prince.
We’re not talking about any of the princes she tried to turn into frogs. Oh no. Those were just mediocre princelings. This is the Prince, with a capital ‘P.’ The kind that goes around sneaking into sleeping princesses’ rooms and forcing shoes on the feet of innocent, unsuspecting girls.
The Prince was just newly arrived in town and had called all the women of the town together to have a good look at their left feet when the wicked woman saw him for the first time. It was a magical moment. She was standing with a lot of other women in the middle of the town square when, suddenly, the royal carriage rolled up, and there exited the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life, followed by a pack of lackeys and bootlickers.
“Up with your skirts!” the Prince commanded. “All of you!”
How incredibly romantic!
Well, not really, but he was the Prince, after all.
The women raised their skirts, proudly displaying their feet. The wicked woman followed suit, quickly slipping off her black crackows. She watched avidly as the Prince went from woman to woman, trying to squeeze the shoe he had brought on the foot of every single female. The wicked woman knew that it wouldn’t fit any of the others. She knew because, in her heart, she knew that the Prince belonged to her. It was destiny! He would slip the shoe onto her foot, smile at her, gather her up in his arms, and carry her off to the royal bedchamber, where he would make passionate, wicked…
Here, the thoughts of the wicked woman digressed somewhat from the main plot of our tale. Suffice it to say that it was love at first sight, and a lot more besides that had better not been mentioned just in case children are reading this and their parents are watching.
Finally, the long awaited moment had arrived. The crowd around the wicked woman parted, and the Prince stepped forward, kneeling in front of her with fluid grace.
“My lady? If you would allow?”
He gently took hold of her foot and gazed up at her. His eyes widened. The wicked woman smiled. It was a magical moment.
“Good God! That one is ugly!” he gave a snort. “If the shoe fits, I’m demanding a refund from the shoemaker!”
Well, magical for her, anyway. Her smile waned somewhat. But no matter! He’d soon see that they were destined for one another when the shoe—
“Thank God!” The Prince breathed a sigh of relief. “It doesn’t fit!”
“What?” The wicked woman stared down at him. “Try again!”
“Good God, no! Do you take me for an idiot?”
The wicked woman had to admit, this wasn’t quite the magical marriage proposal she had been expecting. Other women shoved her aside to take their turn with her shoe, and she was forced to retreat.
This was intolerable! She would be damned if she would allow those despicable good little girls and virgins to steal her man from her! Well, she was damned already any way, since she had sold her soul to the devil, but so what? The Prince belonged to her!
“He loves me!” she grumbled, marching away from the square. “He loves me with all his heart, and he is going to get that into his thick head or suffer the consequences!”
The wicked woman lacked witching abilities, but one thing she did not lack was resolve. She knew that a little magic was necessary to make the stupid Prince find out how very much he was hopelessly in love with her. Since she couldn’t accomplish the task herself, she decided to seek help. And there was really only one evil witch powerful enough to suit her purposes: the Wicked Witch of the South-South-East. (Formerly known as the Wicked Witch of the North-West, she had recently relocated because too many little girls were showing up at her door trying to dump water on her.)
The journey was a perilous and terrible one. On the first day, the wicked woman had to cross the dragon lands, wherein housed all the worst monsters of Fairyland and which nobody can enter without getting devoured. Or, at least, nobody who doesn’t take proper precautions. The wicked woman had packed carefully before leaving and had half a dozen tasty children tucked away in her magical travelling bag. While dragons generally prefer maidens of a marriageable age, they are not at all averse to children when they can get them, particularly not if the only alternative is an exceedingly chewy-looking woman with a wart on her nose.
Having passed the dragonlands, the wicked woman had to brave the sea of storms, where there usually were a really great big lot of storms. She achieved this, too, by grabbing a sea nymph and slamming her head into a rock until she agreed to quiet the sea.
After heroically passing through those dark and deadly regions and surviving the most horrible dangers, however, the greatest challenge still lay before her: she had to cross the forest of fairies, where everyone is happy. All the time. And everyone dances. And sings—usually about how happy they are.
What are dragons compared to such primeval terrors?
By the time the wicked woman reached the other side of the fairy forest, she was hardly able to stand and was covered from head to toe in fairy dust. Yet, in front of her, she saw a comfortingly familiar sight, a sight that gave her hope: an old, crooked gingerbread house with black smoke curling out of the chimney and a pile of children’s bones outside in the yard. With her last bit of strength, she dragged herself to the front door and raised the skull-shaped knocker.
Thud! Thud!
She knocked at the door. The reply wasn’t long in coming.
“No, I’m not happy, and I don’t want to bloody dance! And I don’t want any fairydust, either! Why can’t you just leave an old woman to commit infanticide in peace?”
“I’m not a fairy,” called out the wicked woman.
“Oh?” The voi
ce from inside sounded suspicious. “You’re not a girl with a bucket of water, are you?”
“No!”
“A child?” This time, she sounded hopeful. “Nice and crisp?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then be off with you!”
“But I’m wicked!”
There was a moment of silence.
“How wicked?” demanded the voice.
“Last year, I cooked my own niece and served her up to my sister as a birthday dinner.”
“Hm. And did your sister get any gifts from you?”
“Yes. I put the little brat’s bones in the packages.”
“Well, if that’s the case…” Slow footsteps sounded from inside. A moment later, the door creaked open with a sound that could frighten the dead. Fortunately, the wicked woman was still very much alive. “Come in, dear.”
“Thank you.”
“Nice wart you have there.”
“Oh, thanks so much! Yours is very ugly, too. And the green face, and that stench coming from your armpits…simply horrific!”
“Thanks so much! Take a seat, dear. What do you think of my home?”
“I have to say, it’s simply an absolutely disgusting hovel!”
“Why, that’s so kind of you!”
The wicked woman had never met with such a wonderfully wicked welcome. Soon, the two of them were chatting amicably and sipping blood out of teacups.
“A bit of bone marrow with your blood, dear?”
“Just a pinch, thank you. I have to watch my weight.”
“Now, tell me…what is it that brought you here?”
Quickly, the wicked women outlined the barebones of the story, emphasizing how very much she truly loved the Prince and what an excellent bed slave he would make once she had subdued him to her will.
“Only, he’s being obstinate,” she finished with a sigh. “He obviously doesn’t know true love when it spits him in the face.”
“Have you tried?”
“Tried what?”
“Spitting him in the face. It can work wonders for a relationship.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Of course, you have to have magical spit, otherwise it could backfire.”
The wicked woman slumped in her seat, discouraged. “Then I’m lost. I’m afraid I don’t have any magical spit, or magical anything.”
The witch’s one eyebrow rose abruptly. “What? You don’t have a drop of magic in your blood?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.” She sniffed, fighting the tears that were threatening at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t even turn princes into frogs! Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“Tut-tut. That is a problem. But not to worry!” The Wicked Witch of the South-South-East got up, her bones creaking in a menacing way, spraying dandruff all around her. “What are friends for? I can give you a little something that will soon set your Prince right! Don’t you worry.”
She limped over to a breathtakingly designed child-bone coffee table and sorted through a collection of vile-looking vials.
“Here it is!” Picking up a small vial with violet content that bubbled and spit out black steam for no apparent reason, she handed it over to the wicked woman, who took it reverently. “Put three drops in his wine, and he’ll love you forever. Three drops exactly, mind you. One will make him hate you, two will make him get an inexplicable urge to eat his own feet, and four will make him turn into a cabbage and explode—none of which, I’m sure, is the ending you’re hoping for.”
“Well, the cabbage thing might be interesting to see, but I think I’ll stick with my original plan.” The wicked woman grasped the warty hand of the Wicked Witch of the South-South-East and shook it warmly. “Thank you so much! You have changed my life forever. If you ever need anything—a helping hand, a leg, a severed head—you have only to ask. I’m there for you.”
“Thank you, dear! That warms the heart of an old woman like me.”
Thus, the wicked woman returned victorious from her dangerous quest for true love. She arrived just in time. The Prince had announced his forthcoming marriage to a little vixen who had somehow managed to squeeze her foot into the shoe. When the wicked woman saw a picture of the future princess, she gave a derisive snort. The ‘princess’ was nothing but a little slip of a girl - a kitchen maid, of all things, who probably hadn’t even had time to clean the dirt from under her fingernails yet! She would have no idea how to satisfy the cravings of a ravishing man like the Prince, who probably had the stamina of a…
At this point, the thoughts of the wicked woman somewhat digressed once more. However, collecting herself, she remembered that she had better hurry. If the Prince married before she got to him, she would have to kill off the bride. Not that she was generally averse to bride-killing, but her larder was already full to the brim with smoked and salted children and she wouldn’t know what to do with the girl.
No, it was best to hurry and save the Prince from the horrible fate that awaited him. Thus, the wicked woman embarked on her second quest, determined to save her one true love. This time, it wasn’t a particularly long quest. The Royal Palace was just around the corner. Guests for the ball that was to go before the wedding were already flocking to the gate from all directions, and the wicked woman had to punch, stab, and poison several noblemen before she finally reached the doors to the Prince’s home.
“Good evening, madam,” said the liveried man at the gate.
“Good evening.” The wicked woman made a graceful curtsy. “May I gain entrance to the Royal Palace, please?”
“Of course, madam. Only show me your invitation, and I will admit you at once.”
“Oh…” The wicked woman gave him a regretful smile. “I am afraid I don’t have an invitation. But I’m a very close personal friend of the Prince, and I simply must get in.”
“I am afraid that I cannot allow you to enter without an invitation, madam.”
“In that case,” the wicked woman sighed, “eat steel, dogface!”
And she rammed a dagger into his heart
“Argh!” said the guard.
“You’re welcome,” said the wicked woman.
“Grgl,” said the guard and collapsed.
“You’re lucky I don’t have time for a snack,” the wicked woman informed the crumpled body as she stepped over him. “I’m in a hurry today!”
She entered the Royal Palace and, following the stench of money, power, and envy, soon reached the feast hall where the best and brightest of the kingdom were assembled. The bride and groom were sitting at the head of the royal table, laughing, eating, and, most importantly, drinking. It was the work of a moment for the wicked woman to clobber a serving girl over the head, pull her behind a column, and divest her of her clothes. In that disguise, she approached the Prince and put three drops of the magic potion into the goblet that rested on the table in front of him.
“Your Royal Highness?” she whispered.
“Hmm?” The prince murmured. He didn’t look up. He was too busy gazing adoringly at that little wench of a kitchen maid who had the gall to be sitting beside him, wearing a crown!
“A toast,” the girl proposed with a silly little smile. “To our happiness!”
The Prince nodded and raised his goblet. “To our happiness!”
And he threw back his drink.
The wicked woman cleared her throat. “Your Highness?”
“Yes, what is it?” the prince growled irritably.
“Look here!”
The Prince looked up, met her gaze, and—
Well, you can probably imagine the rest.
Everything worked like a charm—in the literal sense of the word. The Prince fell instantly in love with the wicked woman. Suddenly, he didn’t seem to take umbrage at the giant wart on her nose anymore and instantly declared that he would marry none but her. Since his former bride was luckily still a virgin, he had her shipped off to the dragonlands for immediate disposal and married the wicked woman later that day. W
hen the time-honored words “You may kiss the bride” rang out through the royal chapel, the warty-nosed bride grabbed the groom by the ears and kissed him senseless. Several people in the audience were moved to tears, especially the king, queen, and wedding planner, who couldn’t seem to stop sobbing.
After the guests had departed, the Prince lifted up his bride in his arms.
“Come, my love.” His brilliant eyes burned into hers. “It is time!”
And he carried her up to their bedchamber in the highest tower of his castle, where all her wildest dreams came true—in spite of the fact that she didn’t sleep a single minute that night.
And they lived happily ever after?
Well, not quite, unfortunately. They lived happily for a few weeks. It was the usual marriage problems that got in their way. Children were one thing they argued about constantly. The Prince wanted a son to follow in his footsteps, and two little girls to be the pride and joy of the kingdom. The wicked woman wanted a son as main course and two little girls as dessert. Then there was the money. The prince wanted to raise taxes. The wicked woman couldn’t see the point of taking some of the people’s money away when you could just take it all, kill them, and be done with it. Although she agreed that some would have to be left alive to be terrorized and eaten. And then, of course, there was work.
“But do you really have to, darling?” the Prince pleaded.
“Yes!” the wicked woman said firmly.
“But it’s not appropriate for a princess such as yourself!”
“Aha! I knew it all along! You bloody chauvinist! You think that, just because I am a woman, I shouldn’t have the right to follow my dreams, is that it?”
“No! I just don’t think that head torturer is a very appropriate job for a royal princess!”
“None of us can help the way we’re made. We each must follow our dreams!”
“Yes, darling, but—“
And so it went on and on. Of course, the Prince still loved the wicked woman desperately. He would have done anything to please her and would have been happy to stay married to her for the rest of his days. So, theoretically, they should have had a happily ever after, right?