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The Handsome Cactus Prince
Once upon a time there lived a handsome young prince named Dan. He lived with his parents in a small village next to the forest, and ruled over the back garden where he spent his afternoons daydreaming about great deeds of valour and chivalry.
One day while imagining himself on a mystical quest, he left his garden behind and wandered deep into the forest. Tearing himself out of his fantasy world, he realized he had stumbled into an unfamiliar and dark part of the woods, crowded by ancient trees and twisting undergrowth. Deciding that perhaps he might be better off chasing his monsters elsewhere, he turned to leave. However before he had taken three steps, he was stopped by a voice.
“Finally a hero comes to free me from my endless sorrow. Stay, Daniel, and let me tell you of my woes.”
Dan found himself unable to continue away from the sound, and slowly made himself turn around, fear and excitement twisting in his chest. As pleasant as his heroic fantasies were, he’d always secretly hoped for something like this, an opportunity to prove that he was as wise and courageous when faced with real difficulties as when his challenges were merely contained within his mind.
“I am the spirit of this forest,” said the voice. “For centuries I have dwelt here, unmoving, silently observing the follies of mortals.”
Dan’s eyes widened as he made out a shape forming in the shadows, suggesting a woman’s face worn by age and bitterness.
“But I was not always so powerless. There was a time when I was free to rove within my lovely forest, hearing tales of the wide world from those who passed through and offering my counsel to any who sought it.
“This ended with the arrival of a man. He was a seller of fantastical wares, a keeper of secrets, and a seeker of power. Though I am no mortal, at this time I was young; my forest was green and new and light still filtered down through the leaves. The man wooed me with gifts and flattery, told me he had heard of my forest and had long been searching for me, drawn by rumours of my beauty and wisdom. He drew out my secrets, learned the source of my power and immortality.
“Once he had what he wanted he bound me to this grove, robbing me of my freedom and my magic and moulding them into his own cloak of eternal life. He left me here to suffer, bound to my trees but unable to tend them or prevent the spread darkness that soon overtook the forest in his wake.”
The spirit paused here, and the dead leaves coating the forest floor rustled with the sound of her regret.
“So, now you have heard my story. I have waited so long for someone so brave to stumble upon me and take up my cause. Will you help me, Daniel?”
He nodded eagerly and took a step forward, picturing himself hunting down the evil man, returning triumphantly to free the spirit from her imprisonment.
The rustling of the leaves grew, and the sound became exultant. A vine reached out to wrap around Dan’s wrist, pulling him closer.
“Thank you, Daniel. I am ready to roam my woods again.”
More vines whipped out, binding his limbs, and leaves filled his mouth to muffle his shouts. The figure in the shadows grew more defined, eyes gleaming and arms lifting to stroke his cheek.
“Poor fanciful boy. Willing or not, it is a great and chivalrous deed to give up your innocent mind and vigorous young body so that I can be free.”
Dan felt himself being drained, his mind emptying and his flesh dissolving as the vines tangled around him. Finally the branches stilled and the spirit’s presence faded as she left to revel in her renewed corporealness.
Left behind at the foot of the ancient trees, dwarfed by their years of stillness and resentment, was a cactus.
* * *
It was at the end of a particularly stressful day that Phil stumbled upon the little shop. He’d had to avert several minor crises just as he’d been about to leave work, and consequently he’d arrived panting at the bus stop just in time to watch his bus pull away and trundle off out of sight. There wouldn’t be another one for half an hour, so he resigned himself to grabbing a coffee to stave off the exhaustion and headed for the nearest cafe.
As he was heading back to the bus stop, coffee in hand, he noticed a display of little potted plants in a store window, and hesitated for only a moment before ducking inside. He was greeted by a warm earthy smell that reminded him of summer camping trips when he was a child, almost startling after spending the day on the 16th floor of a downtown office building.
He was drawn almost immediately to a display of cacti in brightly decorated pots, and didn’t stop to consider how strange it was that he knew at once that he’d be taking home the little lopsided one with the dark blue pot decorating with stars.
From then on the little cactus lived on his bedside table, and he made sure it received the best care any cactus could want. Which was fortunately not very difficult, since Phil had a regrettable habit of letting his houseplants die through inattention. He named the cactus Horatio, and told it all about his hopes and worries every day when he got home from work. About how he was afraid to express his ideas in case people thought they were too strange. How he wished he could do more to solve the world’s problems. How he was sure he’d never fall in love.
One day he was feeling especially talkative, and especially sad that there was no one around to share his feelings with.
“I wish you could talk, Horatio. I always feel so much calmer and more grounded after I tell you about my day.”
He brushed his finger carefully over the spikes, and a feeling of contentment washed over him.
“Maybe I should start a cactus therapy business. I don’t know why, but I’ve been more confident and less stressed ever since I brought you home.”
Knowing it was definitely a very strange thing to do, he closed his eyes and gently pressed his lips against the prickly surface, expecting to feel many tiny spikes piercing his skin.
Instead, there was suddenly another pair of warm lips on his own, and they instinctively began to move against each other before Phil gasped and opened his eyes.
There was a boy sitting next to him on his bed. A beautiful boy with soft brown hair and warm chocolate eyes.
“Oh,” said the boy. “I didn’t know there was a cure.”
Phil just stared at him, unable to process what was happening, let alone form a coherent sentence.
“I’m Dan,” said the definitely human, definitely non-cactus entity. “A witch turned me into cactus. But apparently you just turned me back.” He smiled a bit shyly and looked around the room, enjoying the restoration of his human senses.
“I see.” Phil wasn’t sure what the protocol was in this situation. “Um, you’re welcome, I guess? What am I supposed to do now?”
“Well. It wasn’t that bad being a cactus, but on the whole I think I prefer being human. It seems as though you kissing me is what lifted the curse, so I think you should kiss me again just to make sure I don’t suddenly change back.”
Phil was happy to oblige.