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There was once a Princess much admired for her beauty, so admired that she became in love with herself, and needed only to see that love reflected in those around her. Her father was a wealthy king, and she could have any thing she wanted, for the king felt proud to have such a jewel in his court, and saw a prosperous marriage as the only possible result of her undertakings.
But the Princess Fiorimonde would not be satisfied with what her wealth could give her.
One day, the Princess called to her maids. “Did not I say to bring me cosmetics and lotions? What is this swill? And the jar is full of rough dirt! Should not a king’s daughter have the best powders in the world? Take them away and bring me what I asked.”
This she did for three mornings, and the maids, having no recourse, began to fear her continued displeasure.
On the morning of the third day, a brown bird perched on her window spread its wings and flew. It passed swiftly over the kingswood, until reaching a lonely mountain, where it found a hut. It called, a high, sorrowful whistle.
“Come in,” cried an aged voice, and the door opened without a touch. The bird flew inside, onto the extended wrist of a witch. There it whistled once, twice more.
“So you have found me a supplicant,” mused the witch. “A tricky one; princesses do not tend to go out of their way, when they can send someone else. And I do not know the character of the one she might send. Still, we will see.”
The witch produced a sheet of parchment—made from a pegasus, such as no longer exists in this world—and a quill and inkwell. When she had finished writing, and dried the ink, and put some peas inside, and rolled it closed, the bird took the scroll in its black claws.
She bade the bird return at once.
Obeying, as it must, it rose and made haste to the window of Fiorimonde. There it entered and dropped the letter upon a table strewed with cosmetics before the mirror of the Princess.
“Now what is this?” the Princess asked herself, once she returned for her evening’s rest. She sent her maids away, jealous of a new potential secret, wondering whether it might be from an admirer. If it was, she must keep it hidden; for Fiorimonde was quite pleased with her life as it was, and had no guarantee a husband would provide as well as her father. Better not to give him ideas.
The peas fell out of the scroll when Fiorimonde opened it, but she paid them no mind. As she read the letter, her eyes gleamed with fever, a fever that blushed her cheeks from within.
“Well, bird, will you not have your dinner? I will have my flight.” So saying, she bent to take the peas, and offered them to the bird who waited on her roof.
The bird ate, and grew large, and on it she climbed, flying straightaway to the lonely mountain hut.
The Princess dismounted, and called at the door.
“Witch! I have come, for I seek your aid, and you have offered it.”
The door opened in silence, and Fiorimonde stepped inside.
A single moonbeam made its way into the dark. The witch stepped upon its road.
“So you are brave, for a princess.”
“I am here, and I do not intend to depart without the gift you have offered me!” cried Fiorimonde. “You would do well not to bait or taunt me, for my father the king is a great man, and will not be pleased to know you are here, or that you have wanted me.”
“That is a foolish thing to say,” said the witch, “when your father is not here, nor are his soldiers.” But she was not as angry as she sounded; rather, it pleased her to see her guest determined, and not too wary.
“Do not sulk, witch. Do business instead. I will not tell your secrets.”
“You will need to come when called, as you have done to-night. First there must be a rite. Leave the hut, but do not go far.”
The Princess was not altogether pleased, but desire overcame her anger, and she returned outside, waiting for the witch to prepare her magic.
The witch called to her fairies. In came a snake; her scales shone as burnished brass. In, too, came a cat, and her black fur bristled into being from a shadow pooled at the witch’s door.
“We must speak,” said the witch, “for what we have sought may now come to pass.”
The fairies drew near, creeping quick as darkness.
“Long have I lived on the side of the mountain, and learned many things, and proffered charms to the daring, if they were clever, and paid the price. Now there is one who could pay many times over.”
“Is this one hungry?” said the snake, rising from her coils.
“Can this one be sated?” said the cat, tail curled around her paws.
“She hungers,” said the witch, “and cannot be fulfilled; beauty and youth fade each day, and all the more, if she would be immortal.” The witch smiled, for she knew this quite well. Her wicked wisdom had taken a thousand years to earn.
Fairy eyes shone in the shadows of her cabin.
“Let her make the pact,” said the snake, and the cat said, “but will she be a witch, too? If she is clever, and full of ambition.”
“Perhaps,” said the witch.
“She will not need us once she has learned.” The cat tilted her head.
“Eternity is long, longer than the earth and moon and stars. Are we longer still? The girl is daring, but single-minded. Her will is strong. She wants only beauty, and will not mind paying anything, anything in the world, to have it for-ever. A king’s daughter can afford such an arrangement.”
“A king’s daughter can have you cast out,” said the snake now. “You would not pursue such a long contract, otherwise. We know your ways.”
The witch did not falter. “Yes, I will not lie to you. That is the price of Princess Fiorimonde. She would make a fine witch, if her mind were not so fixed upon her looks. Yet this could work to our advantage. She will be the Queen Fiorimonde, and pay us homage always.”
She spoke truth. Only a possible truth, but a truth all the same. The fairies had guile, but could not lie, nor could they ever accept one.
“The kings and queens of Fairy will ride each night,” said the snake.
“The goblin markets will teem with mortal life,” said the cat.
“The gates need not be closed when the queen herself has fairy ways. I will give her beauty, and she will shelter us until we may all find our homes rich and full, for a time.”
“For as long as she lasts,” spoke the cat again. “For as long as she might be used,” spoke the snake. “We will welcome her.”
“She must have a witch’s welcome,” and here the witch took to her drum. She brought it to her door, and as she beat it, the air was rattled first by its sound, and soon, by forms; some were strange to human eyes, so that one’s gaze seemed unable to fall upon them, but others were goblins that had once roamed the kingswood, and little elves, and witches, witches rejoicing as their wild hair streamed in the night’s wind.
All this Fiorimonde saw, and marveled at. 'She must be capable of anything. Soon I will have what I need.’
Now the witch called, a croak louder than the drum and the creatures laughing under the sky. “Come, Fiorimonde, let us be merry. A Princess is a guest of honor.”
So Fiorimonde entered the hut, and partook of rituals no human should see, and did not come out until the twilit morning. She glowed in its soft light, almost a fairy herself, and, upon seeing herself in a lake as the bird flew, smiled a secret smile all the way home.
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A brown bird sat atop a town-hall roof. It arrived at midday and remained for hours, unnoticed. The sun had begun to set before it moved, and flew to where a necklace hung before the hall, upon which hung a single golden bead. The bird took the string in its claws, and left, sweeping away to a distant mountain.
The witch waited outside her hut. “You are quite lucky to still be my bird, or you could not have done this thing. You would be a pretty bead next to this one,” she cackled.
She took the bead between her fingers. The string running through it fell in two pieces, as if she had torn it in half. Now she held the hand of Fiorimonde.
“You are the Princess no longer, and that is because you did not heed me.”
Fiorimonde was very angry. She wished to tear her father apart with the blackest magic, to summon goblins to feast on Gervaise and Yolande. But the witch spoke further.
“Now, girl, you’ve had a hundred years to wait, as have I. You are torn up with desire, yet empty of the power to fulfill it. Once you said you would have mercy, and keep my secrets, if I helped you. I did much for you, more than you offered in return. Still, I will show you my mercy, and my secrets! You might find a way back into that castle, and have a throne, and people to call you beautiful. But you must follow me.”
So Fiorimonde stayed with the witch, and became a proper witch herself, and still you might see her if you look up to the sky in those parts, but be sure not to stay and look too long.