An excerpt from 'On the Legends and Lore of Adelais':
 
The Royal Families of Ellewyn: The House of Sienna
 
...Of the three royal families that govern the land of Ellewyn today, the House of Sienna has the longest historical record. Though not the current ruling family, some of the most prominent figures of royalty have descended from this household, even from as far back as the Dark Ages following the destruction of the ancient Atlantean Empire. Originally designed to be the 'house of the people,' the House of Sienna has represented the women of Ellewyn and their well-being for generations. In more recent times, it has played a more active role in regional economics and governmental policy, but the family's duty to the people of Ellewyn has always come first.
 
Today, the Sienna family operates out of Haledon, a cozy hamlet in the central valleys of Ellewyn, about forty miles southeast of the capital city of Felwinter. Founded during the Dark Ages, Haledon was originally intended as a stronghold for the militia of Ellewyn. During that time, a great fortress was constructed into the hillsides surrounding the city, making use of mines and tunnels that had been dug decades before. This derelict monument to harder times still stands today, the granite and sandstone ramparts having survived centuries of weathering and war, but Haledon's purpose has changed. No longer a mausoleum of strife, the city is now known for its rich vineyards and its delicious wine, said to cure any illness with a mere sip.
 
The title of 'Countess' has traditionally been granted to the eldest member of the House of Sienna, although the actual ruling power behind this title is limited. As such, it is not uncommon for a younger lady of the household to take over the duties of the Countess, if allowed by the current ruler or by decree of the Royal Queen. An act by the Royal Queen resulting in a change of power has only been performed a handful of times in history, but there has been a strong opposition—and a general resentment—between the House of Sienna and the Royal Queen in the past. In more recent years, however, the bridge between these two households has greatly diminished, due to the tireless efforts of the current governess of the House of Sienna, Countess Gwendolyn.
 
 Gwen, as she resolutely insists on being called by friend, royal peer, and commoner alike, has exercised control over the House of Sienna for close to twenty years. In that time, she has become a living legend among her people, working closely with her cousin and close companion the Royal Queen, to reshape a deeply-stratified society, allowing all people great and small to share in the wealth and pride of arguably the most powerful country in Adelais.
 
Today, poverty and conflict are virtually unseen and no one feels the boot of class oppression falling upon them. Because of this, Gwen has become a saint among her people, and even the lowliest peasant would attest that this lofty lady of royalty seems more like a sister to her than a ruler.
 
As with all the ruling families of Ellewyn, it is customary (if not an unwritten but highly practiced law) for a woman of royalty to have one—and only one—daughter, whose duty it is to carry on her mother's legacy. The highest of expectations are now put upon the shoulders of Gwendolyn's only daughter, Rebecca, to do just that...
 
 
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The hills surrounding Haledon were thick, green and flowing, reminiscent of an oil painting that might hang in the grandest hall of a castle. Occasional spreading trees dotted the open grasslands and farm fields, forming oases of shade amongst the sun-swept vistas. The waves of flora broke grudgingly on the stonework of the city, covering the ancient granite walls with draperies of broad, leafy ivy and blooming wisteria. Twisted, bumpy vines wrapped around the slate roofs like the long and skinny stretch of a witch's fingers, and they seemed to hold the entire town still, both in space and time.
 
Not one of these homes rose more than a few humble stories above the winding, cobblestone roads, but their lack of stature only enhanced their charm. Haledon was the oldest standing city in the realm, but it was a creation of the renaissance which had given birth to modern Ellewyn. The city itself borrowed nothing of the ruins of the Ancients, now mostly buried at sea, which had been adorned by grand spires and columns, fit for queens and gladiators. Here was modesty, simplicity, and beauty.
 
Sturdy, inviting, brick-and-mortar abodes rested quietly on the outskirts of the town, but these gave way to more elaborate manors made of stone and decorated with flowers lining the avenues of the Hightown district. A grand chateau stood as the centerpiece for this picturesque townscape, surrounded by artificial lakes, tended lawns, and the lush, sprawling vineyards for which Haledon had been so greatly cherished throughout the centuries. It was here the family of the Countess had resided for generations. Mother to daughter, the royal heritage was passed on, along with the wealth and prestige of Ellewyn's wine-making industry.
 
Beyond the winding creek and past the rumbling lumber mill, towards the back of the vineyards, where only the locusts frequented, the young Countess Rebecca and her noble friends were knee-deep in a wooden basin of sweet, sticky, squashed grapes. They pranced around in the basin, stomping and giggling and holding up their colorful skirts and dresses, which were thoroughly stained in the red juice.
 
“You were right, Rebecca,” one of the girls remarked. “I never thought making wine could be this much fun.”
 
“I told you I wasn't just tricking you into doing my chores.”
 
They laughed like children and continued mashing the grapes under their bare feet. As the sun moved across the sky like a yellow thumbprint and disappeared behind perhaps the only cloud in the sky, Rebecca stopped what she was doing and turned her head towards the grapevines. A sudden rustling had caught her attention.
 
“...Wait,” she said. “I think the old bat is coming.”
 
“I didn't hear anything.”
 
“Trust me. It's her.”
 
The girls scrambled out of the basin—all except for Rebecca, whose legs remained stiff. She gave a couple more stomps with both feet and then wrinkled her toes in the colorful liquid.
 
Moments later, an elderly, white-haired woman pushed aside the last of the grapevines that was in her way and strolled into the clearing. Her eyes were clasped tightly together and squinting, like she was constantly staring into the sun, but they immediately fell upon Rebecca and seemed to burn a hole in her skin.
 
“Good afternoon, Lady Gwendolyn,” the girls behind Rebecca chimed in unison. They were using towels to clean off their feet, but they dropped them long enough to give a polite curtsy.
 
“Do not insult my intelligence by standing there and pretending to be angels,” Gwendolyn said, shaking a finger at the girls. “As any of your mothers will tell you, I am not nearly as senile as I look.”
 
“Calm down, mother,” Rebecca said. “We have done no wrong—have we, girls? We were simply making wine for the townsfolk to drink.”
 
“Since when do grapes scream and beg for mercy, daughter of mine?”
 
Rebecca looked down at her legs, trying to hide a grin, and squeezed her toes together one more time.
 
“...I know what you are doing and you know how I feel about it,” Gwendolyn said. “These men have offered to work in our vineyard in exchange for food, shelter, and protection. This is not an alliance I take lightly, and neither should you.”
 
“Thank you for your advice, mother,” Rebecca said. Her voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that it was a wonder the basin didn't begin to overflow. “But need I remind you that you are no longer in charge of the household? The last I heard, the title of 'Countess' now belongs to me.”
 
“A leader is judged by their character, not by their title. You can call yourself whatever you want, but that doesn't mean your followers have to listen.” The old woman held out her hand. “Besides... This is something the Royal Queen and I have discussed at length, and that title is a provisional one. You are not yet ready to take on this responsibility. Until I surrender this life, you will still obey me and abide by my rules.”
 
“...Good thing you've already got one foot in the grave,” Rebecca muttered, reluctantly taking her mother's hand.
 
Gwendolyn yanked her daughter out of the basin so hard and so fast that Rebecca tripped over her own legs and landed in the dirt.
 
“Auuuu auuuuu auuuuu...” Rebecca moaned. “Ooooh, I can't... Ow, stop... Ow, ow, ow, stop...”
 
Rebecca's 'friends' began to clear away one by one until they were all gone, leaving Gwendolyn alone with her whiny daughter.
 
“I hope I don't have to tell you where my other foot is going if I ever catch you doing something like this again,” Gwendolyn said. “Now, get up. I know you're not really hurt.”
 
“I can't breathe...” Rebecca began flopping around like a fish. “Auuuuu auuuuuu... Auuuuuu...”
 
“You're such a drama countess.”
 
“I can't help it! You knocked the wind out of me.”
 
Gwendolyn sighed and helped her up. Then she grabbed a towel off the ground and handed it to her daughter.
 
“I'm too old to be cleaning up your messes,” she said. “Dry off your feet and then go inside. Your daughter is looking for you.”
 
Rebecca began scrubbing the red juice from her soles.
 
“She has toys to play with,” she said.
 
“She's nineteen. She doesn't need toys. She needs you.”
 
“Whatever. When I was nineteen, I actually left my room every now and then. She doesn't do anything but sit there and read those stupid books.” She gathered up the rest of the used towels and threw them in an empty bucket. “...I'm not even sure she's my daughter.”
 
The next thing Rebecca saw was her mother's open palm slapping her upside the face.
 
“Don't speak that way about my granddaughter,” she said. “Family is everything, Rebecca. If you can't understand that, you'll never understand what it means to be a leader.”
 
Rebecca rubbed her cheek furiously, but she didn't dare talk back. Not this time. Not when her mother had that look in her eyes.
 
“Now...” Gwendolyn said, kneeling over the basin of grape juice. “Just how many men did you put in here?”
 
A slow smile crept up Rebecca's face.
 
“...All of them.”
 
 
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Meanwhile, at the far corner of the long and winding vineyard rows, down the stream feeding the thirsty plants, in a clearing alongside a crumbling, old flood wall... Someone else was busy being a royal bitch.
 
“Pardon me, ladies, but I have to ask you to move your picnic somewhere else. We have much work to do.”
 
A stubby, spiky-haired man stood atop a four-foot-high trellis crawling in grapevines. He was well below eye-level of the two teenage girls he addressed, but he spoke to them boldly, in an assertive voice that very few women were accustomed to hearing from a creature generally perceived to be nothing short of spineless.
 
“Pardon yourself,” the first girl said, only partially out of shock. “Do you know who we are?” She stood with her hands on the hips of her extravagantly layered and flocked gown, scrunching her nose at the miniature figure in a mixture of annoyance and disgust. The girl next to her watched the exchange indifferently, folding her arms across the front of her golden-strapped sundress and chewing on the corner of her lip.
 
Both girls were without sleeves and had their long hair pulled back to keep their shoulders exposed to the bright, summer sun. The one who had spoken had an elaborately coiffed cascade of curly, honey-brown tresses falling from high in the back of her head, while the other wore her dark mane with a pair of simple braids just off the fringe of her neck. The tips of these braided locks were looped back up and secured with bows in the shape of butterfly knots.
 
“I know precisely who you both are, m'ladies, but I am the foreman of this vineyard. I answer directly to the countess. So, unless you want to be the one to tell her why today’s shipment of grapes is short, I would suggest you pack up your things and move along.”
 
“Why today's shipment of grapes is short...” The girl in the fancy gown pondered aloud. She casually stepped closer to the trellis and towered over the foreman with the sun at her back, casting a menacing silhouette across the sky. “Is it because you lazy men found yourselves in the shadow of greatness and just couldn’t bring yourselves to continue?”
 
The foreman maintained his firm stance. As he stood there, the girl in yellow circled the trellis, hands behind her back, whisking the tail of her dress, until she was opposite her friend.
 
“I dunno, Isabella.” she said, leaning against the trellis. Her fingertips brushed the leaves around her shoulders. “He sounds serious. The countess might be upset if we were to disturb her hardworking men.”
 
Isabella clicked her tongue.
 
“Everybody around here is so serious,” she said. “This is a picnic. We should be having fun. You men can’t work all the time. You must like fun.” She slid her hands over her knees and bent down, peering into the depths of the vine. Without much searching, she spied a worker busily wrestling with a grape more than half his own size.
 
“You there!” she said, startling him. “You look like you could use a break. Why don’t you join me out here in the sun?”
 
Before he could tell her to buzz off, the dark-haired girl gave the trellis a swift bump from her hip, causing the rickety wooden structure to wobble uncontrollably. The grape finally popped free of the vine and plummeted through the brambles with the man still attached. When it hit the ground, it bounced out from under the greenery and rolled onto the vast red-and-white checkered blanket the girls had spread out for their picnic.
 
“You will?” the princess exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh, wonderful! What fun shall we have together?”
 
Still stunned from the fall, the worker clambered onto his knees and peered around quizzically. He knew he was back on the ground, but where was the soil? As he came shakily to his feet, he found himself staring up at a wall of teal fabrics undulating only a few inches over his head. Behind this wall of cloth was a pair of tall laced boots with pointed toes aimed directly at his small, shaking body.
 
“Why, I’d love to dance,” came a thunderous voice from above. “What a marvelous idea. And here I thought you people had cobwebs for brains.”
 
Suddenly, the worker was lost in the swirl of skirts as the girl began to pirouette around the blanket, heedless of the scrambling creature at her feet. There was no music playing, but it really didn't matter, as the girl didn't appear to know how to dance anyway.
 
The foreman was dumbstruck as he watched the worker disappear beneath the ever-expanding circle of the dress. As shock turned to rage, the piece of straw he had stuck between his teeth fell to the ground and he began to shout.
 
“La la la, wheee!” the princess sang, blocking out whatever cries were coming from the trellis. She emitted a squeal of girlish delight as she spun faster and faster. In the silken maelstrom below, the blind and dizzy worker was frantically dodging for his life as feet pounded down from the sky and great waves of gown washed over him like an upside-down sea.
 
Then, just as the girl seemed to be easing into a rhythm, there came a soft, wet, sickening pop, and her dance was brought to a halt with one last twist of her toes.
 
“Uh, oh…” She turned her gaze to the ground with one hand over her mouth. “Clumsy you. I guess you don’t know this dance as well as me.”
 
She lifted the front of her skirt and took a step back to reveal the grisly red remains of an innocent grape, lost in its prime to a mad teenager’s whimsical ballet performance. She giggled impishly as she noticed the working clinging to her heel, staring in horror at the fate that could have been his.
 
“Are you crazy, woman!?” the foreman barked from atop the trellis. “He could have been killed! That was totally reckless.” In his ire, his plump face turned a color not unlike the very grapes upon which he made his living. “I demand you take your shenanigans elsewhere. I don’t care where you go—just go, right now!”
 
Although she had been quiet during the performance, the girl in yellow finally spoke up.
 
“You hear that?” she said. “He demands it. I guess we’d better do what he says.” She flashed a foreboding smile and gestured with her eyes towards a clearing near a low stone wall, where a cluster of strange, tiny structures sat upon a green knoll.
 
“Oh, dear me, May—wherever shall we go?” Isabella asked, in what had become her usual voice of mocking innocence.
 
“He did say he doesn't care, right? I guess that means we can go wherever we want.”
 
Well, that made sense, so, on that note, the girls began gathering up the many plates and bowls that had been laid out along the side of the blanket. In their haste, the unfortunate victim of the princess’ earlier amusement was shaken loose from her boot and scooped up into the picnic basket along with everything else. She rolled up the blanket and stuffed it under her arm while her friend carried the provisions.
 
They relocated all of five feet to the knoll, where there was a quaint Lilliputian village waiting for them. No doubt this village belonged to the men who worked in this field. Dozens of wattle-and-daub homes and shops sat in a well-tended cloister formed by a perimeter of larger structures, some of which nearly reached the ankles of the approaching women, even in their arching heels.
 
“I suppose this will do,” May said. She extended her long arm over the corner of the village nearest her and dropped the basket. The largest structures were instantly smashed to splinters beneath the weight of the girls’ lunch vessel.
 
There was a rush of commotion in the village below. The ear-shattering sound had drawn the attention of men, who spilled out of the other buildings like ants in a frenzy. When they found themselves staring at an enormous wicker-hamper, ironically sitting in the very spot their dining hall used to be, they were dazed and speechless.
 
A few of them were even in tears. How would they get drunk now?
 
They had but a moment to take in the change of scenery before the hazy, blue afternoon sky was suddenly eclipsed with red-and-white tiles as the princess languidly unfurled the blanket over their heads. It floated like a gentle snowfall over the entire village, settling on rooftops and draping down into the pathways, leaving the bewildered men peering up through caverns of cotton-threaded twilight. Through it, they could scarcely make out the towering outlines of two sprightly-dressed women who had appeared in the heavens along with the mysterious falling sky.
 
Muffled sounds of confusion were quickly replaced with screams of horror and crackling tinder as the picnickers stepped lightly onto the blanket. They descended upon their newly-chosen spot with no heed for the previous occupants and plopped down with the full force of their weight, followed by a grand production of shifting and squirming to get comfortable. Every careless move elicited more terrible sounds through the blanket.
 
Isabella crossed her legs in front of her and smoothed out her voluminous dress in a wide circle. As she did, she neatly and gingerly patted down every snapping, pleading bump, until nary a ripple remained. Still, she remained unsatisfied to hear one last desperate voice calling out from the depths of her skirts. With a decisive, “Hmph!” and a final, fidgety shift of her hips, the plaint was squelched beneath her. She sighed contentedly.
 
No bugs would be ruining her picnic today.
 
May, always the less classy of the two, opted for a more efficient approach. She laid down and stretched out with her arms behind her head, casually steamrolling back and forth across her half of the blanket, using every inch of her body to reshape the doomed civilization into something more to her liking—such as a comfortable spot for a tan. A few lazy, snow-angel sweeps rewarded her with more crushing waves of devastation beneath her arms and legs, and soon the conquest was finished. Nothing stood to challenge her indomitable resting form.
                                                                                 
With the girls finally settled in, the only sounds remaining were those typical of a dreamy summer afternoon. Oh, and the foreman screaming himself hoarse atop the trellis. After a moment, the food was brought back out of the basket and spread around the girls, and the peaceful picnic resumed without a care or a mention of the ruins beneath the blanket.
 
Almost forgotten, the errant worker from before now found himself staring up at his former dance partner from within a deep, custard-filled bowl. He wiped the gelatinous goop from his face and began waving his arms frantically, hollering at the girls for any kind of assistance. His senses had obviously been shielded from the earlier cataclysm—that, or he was just stupid—as he struggled simply to keep his head above the surface. He sputtered and he cried, but to no avail. Was this the end? Would he really drown in the most delicious quicksand ever known?
 
No, Lady Luck seemed to be with him today, as one of the girls finally took a fancy to the bowl of custard on the side of the blanket.
 
Too bad Lady Luck wasn't a man or he might have stood a chance at surviving.
 
The worker could hear his boss shouting in the distance, but he was too far away to make out any words. He only knew the man was burning mad. But then, that was nothing new. His boss was always going on about something. That’s what bosses do.
 
At any rate, he was sure he could count on the foreman to save him from this sticky mess and shoo away these colossal brats who had made the work day even tougher than usual.
 
“Foreman Red!” he cried. “I’m here. I need help! Hello!”
 
May sat up and cocked an eyebrow at the suddenly very vocal confection.
 
“Hello to you as well,” she said. “Now, shut up. Food doesn‘t have anything to say worth hearing.” She reached over and covered the worker’s bowl with an unused plate, sealing him in a chilly darkness.
 
Isabella looked looked up from her half-eaten slice of watermelon.
 
“Honestly, May,” she said, “I don’t know how you can stand to eat those things. They’re squirmy and whiny and the flavor is dreadful. It's like a mouthful of bitter desperation and hard-boiled stupidity with a pinch of perversion.”
 
“It’s an acquired taste.” May grinned as she glanced over at the trellis, where she spotted the foreman shimmying down the grapevines, as if the old fool had delusions of being a hero. “And speaking of acquiring tastes...”
 
Stuffing the last bite of a sandwich in her mouth, she rose to her feet, sprinted over to the vine, and snatched up the foreman just as he reached the ground.
 
“This is unforgivable!” he shouted as she carried him back to the picnic blanket. “You will let me go immediately! When the countess hears of this—”
 
“I highly doubt she’ll be able to hear anything from you in there.”
 
“What? In wh—”
 
In a flash, the would-be tattler was tossed up in the air like a ball and snatched through her smiling lips. She swallowed him without hesitation or remorse, ending his sentence almost before it began.
 
Isabella placed a hand behind her ear and leaned forward, listening intently as May laid back down and rested her hands over her flat stomach.
 
“Why, you're right,” the princess said. “I can't hear him at all.” Then she lowered her hand. “Still, May. Yuck. There are better ways to shut a man up.”
 
“Maybe, but I've found this to be the most effective way.” She rapped her fingertips against her belly and flashed a wicked smile. “Besides, maybe you can’t hear him anymore...but I can.”
 
Isabella stuck out her tongue in disgust.
 
“…Here. If the taste is the only thing holding you back, I have just the fix.” She uncovered the custard-dipped man and handed his bowl over. “He’s well-flavored. You won’t taste him, but he’ll still get his just desserts—if you catch my drift.”
 
Isabella gasped. “…My custard!” She glared down at the squirming man warily, and he stared up at the squirming princess meekly. Neither one seemed to enjoy their current situation very much.
 
But as the man looked deeply into the princess' eyes, he saw something he didn't expect to see. Was it pity? Was it compassion? Was it...love?
 
“This is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life,” she said. “I want it dead. Dead, dead, dead!”
 
“It will be dead,” May assured her. “Isabella, you can't let men get the better of you. If you do, they'll walk over you for the rest of your life.”
 
As these words passed over the man's head, hope reared its ugly head and he realized he was a fool to draw attention to himself like this. He was mired hopelessly in a sea of gooey sweetness, resting in the hands a bratty princess who was known far and wide for three things: a reckless disregard for all living things, a hopeless sense of entitlement, and an insatiable appetite for all things sugary.
 
“Well...” Isabella started. Not willing to let anyone get the better of her, she considered the prisoner in her bowl. As the worker's floundering became ever more pathetic in her eyes, her disgust tentatively gave way to a sly smirk. “I suppose you are in need of punishment for ruining my custard. And, as the one and only royal princess of Ellewyn, it is my duty to pass sentence on lowly subjects such as yourself. So be it—you are hereby ordered to provide me with a replacement for my lost dessert!”
 
She dug into the basket for a spoon, plunged it into the pudding beneath the worker, and scooped him out amidst a generous dollop of sweetness. He almost managed to toss himself over the side of the spoon, but she was quick to roll it the other way and settle him back in. As she peered down her nose at the terrified treat, his vain struggles ceased. Fear had made him cold. As he laid petrified, her resolve solidified and she opened her mouth. She took a deep breath and squeamishly passed the spoon inside, along with its hapless passenger. When she slid it back out, the spoon was empty.
 
The princess swished man and pudding around her tongue for a moment, sampling the flavor, with her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She then placed her fingertips on her throat and made an exaggerated swallow, eyes going wide as she felt him slide beneath her collarbone into history.
 
“Justice has been served,” she said. Making a face, she tossed the remaining custard over her shoulder into the vines. “I just wish it tasted better.”
 
 The picnic continued in silence for a few more minutes. May kept eating as there was somehow a bottomless pit in that small belly of hers. Isabella picked at her food, suddenly finding it rather uninteresting compared to the tumult within. She was never at a loss for ways to make trouble, but her devious mind was finding particular inspiration from a recently acquired inner voice...pounding feebly on the walls of her stomach.
 
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. A slightly older, pale-skinned, willowy woman in noble blue attire appeared in the clearing and marched toward them.
 
“Isabella, May—what are you two doing out here?” she inquired. “This is where the workers live. You're not supposed to be here.”
 
Isabella scrunched her nose at the sight of the newcomer.
 
“Oh, look, it's Olivia,” she announced. “It's only five in the afternoon. Did you just get out of bed?”
 
“Based on her hair, she probably did,” May said. “Or maybe she was inside, reading those stupid books again. Hey, Olivia. Can you read this?” She bit her thumb and flipped Olivia the bird.
 
Olivia pushed away her mocking hand. “That's not funny.”
 
“Neither is your social life.”
 
“And neither is having a picnic in the middle of the vineyard. There are plenty of other places you could do this. In a toxic waste dump, for example.”
 
“But we're already here,” Isabella said. “You could join us, you know.” She began patting the blanket on the ground next to her—extra hard. What was left of one building became dust under her handprint.
 
“What was that?” Olivia asked.
 
“What was what?”
 
“That sound.”
 
“Sound?” Isabella leaned her ear into May's stomach again. “I'm sure you heard nothing. That's all we hear. Nothing at all.”
 
May laughed.
 
“I don't know what's so amusing,” Olivia said, “but I'm going to have to ask you two to move somewhere else. You can't be bothering the workers.”
 
“You're the second person to tell us that,” May said. “...You don't want to end up like the first.”
 
“I want her to,” Isabella muttered.
 
“...I know you two are up to something,” Olivia said. “What have you done? Did you do something to the workers?”
 
“Oh, please,” May said. “We wouldn't touch your stupid workers with a ten-foot blanket.”
 
Isabella snickered. “It's more like eight feet.”
 
“But feel free to look around. You won't find a stick of evidence anywhere in sight.”
 
“Nope,” Isabella said, bouncing up and down on the blanket. “Nowhere.”
 
“...What are you sitting on?” Olivia asked, reaching for a corner of the blanket. “What's under here?”
 
 She only had to lift it up partially to see the crumbled remains of a tiny stone foundation, now filled with debris, and realization hit her like a runaway wagon.
 
“You monsters! You couldn’t have!” She jerked hard at the blanket, almost bowling the princess over. May and Isabella could no longer contain their delight as their prank finally revealed itself. They burst into a fit of giggles as Olivia began kicking their food across the ground and rolling the blanket back to reveal the full extent of the devastation. An entire village had stood here, and now there was nothing but a field of dust and flinders stained throughout with splotches of red.
 
Olivia's face contorted with anger. These brats had always made an art of picking on anyone who couldn't fight back, but this was an absolute massacre.
 
And for what? A cheap laugh at the expense of a hundred living creatures. Her fists balled tightly as she approached the laughing idiots.
 
“How!” she spat. “How could you even think of doing something so vile? They were harmless!”
 
“Tell that to my custard,” the princess said. “You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get my compensation from that food-spoiling morsel.”
 
“You’ve gone too far this time!” Olivia cried and lunged for that smug face. She barely got a hold of Isabella’s neck before the laughter ceased and the situation turned ugly. In a blur, she was on her face in the dirt with May kneeling on top of her and holding her arms crossed behind her back.
 
“Get one of the men from the vines,” May said. Her voice was dead serious.
 
Isabella stared at her.
 
“But...”
 
“Do it.” May planted her knee on the back of Olivia's neck. “We have to teach Olivia some manners. We're guests here and she needs to treat us with some respect.”
 
 Isabella was never fond of being told what to do, but the prospect of torturing her cousin was more than enough reason for her to turn a blind eye to May's demands. She moved up and down the nearest trellis, searching for any man stupid enough to still be hanging around.
 
 Sure enough, there were a few workers who had decided rather unwisely to remain hidden among the leaves and wait out the visiting hellions rather than risk escaping to open ground.
 
 Isabella plucked one shaking man from the vine, and held him at arms-length as she walked back towards May.
 
“Ugh,” she said. “You watched us level your whole world and you still can’t figure out that you don't belong anywhere near us.”
 
She handed the man over to May before he could respond.
 
May took him and dangled him in front of Olivia's eyes. “You see this man?” She shook him back and forth. “This man annoys me. You annoy me, Olivia. Do you know what happens to little things that annoy me?”
 
Olivia grunted and shook her head in the dirt. Try as she might, she wasn't strong enough to shake May off.
 
May moved her knee away so that Olivia could lift her head and open her mouth.
 
“Get it away from me!” she screamed upon seeing the wriggling creature.
 
With a callous and firm expression, May stuffed the man into Olivia's mouth and used her palm as a shield to keep him there. Olivia struggled and fought back, but she was still no match for May, who was easily able to keep her pinned down to the ground and her mouth shut.
 
“Swallow! Swallow!” Isabella coaxed her.
 
“Do it,” May whispered into Olivia's ear. “Or I'll grind up an entire village of men into paste and force-feed it to you.”
 
Olivia closed her eyes and swallowed. It was a horrible feeling—one that she would never forget—and the pain in her chest was so great that she didn't even notice when May pushed off her and stood up.
 
“I hate you...” she said, but her voice was soft, shaky, and full of trepidation. “I hate you both. You're both...monsters!”
 
She ran away crying. Isabella and May laughed at her, calling her names, and their voices carried through the entire vineyard, echoing in Olivia's ears, as she ran blindly through the endless rows of grapevines. At one point, she sliced her ankle on a careless wooden post sticking out of the ground and face-planted. Broken twigs and grape leaves clung to the mats of her hair as she pulled herself up on her bruised palms.
 
“Olivia...” came a gentle voice, and a hand reached down and helped her up. “Dear, are you okay?”
 
“I am fine, gramma,” Olivia said, brushing the foliage from her hair and the tears from her eyes.
 
“You don't look okay. What's wrong?”
 
 “...They made me eat a man.” Olivia threw her face into her grandmother's comforting shoulder. “It was so gross. Why would they do that!? Why are they so mean?”
 
Gwendolyn patted her on the back.
 
“I assume you are referring to the princess and that horrible child she associates with,” she said. “It will be okay. It won't always be like this.”
 
“They've always treated me like dirt. They hate me. Everybody hates me, gramma.” She sobbed. “Even my own mother hates me. All I want is a friend.”
 
“I'll always be your friend, Olivia.” Her grandmother stepped back and smiled, putting her hands around Olivia's moist cheeks. “I know you don't hear this enough from your mother, Olivia, but I am so very proud of you. I've watched you mature into a fine young woman, which is more than I can say for Rebecca. Dai Celesta knows why good intentions tend to skip a generation.”
 
Olivia tried her hardest to return the smile.
 
“There it is. I know you can be strong.” Gwendolyn put an arm around her granddaughter and began walking her towards the old manor in the distance. Her legs were growing weaker with age, but she was still able to maintain a steady stride with the help of Olivia.
 
 “In time, this entire vineyard will be yours,” Gwendolyn continued. “And I wouldn't worry about your mother. Everything in her life has happened so fast, and you came into her life much earlier than could be expected. All things considered, she's not truly ready to lead. We can only hope the reigns of power will steady her hands a bit.”
 
“I could help her...” Olivia said quietly. “I've learned so much from you and I've read so many books on the subject. I know more about politics than she wants to believe. I could help her, if only she'd listen to my ideas...”
 
“She will. When she realizes she can't do anything alone, she'll seek out advice from those closest to her. It's only natural.” She sighed, but it was more of a breath of relief than one of disappointment. “That is why I've decided to test your mother by granting her power on a provisional basis. I hope this will give me the chance to teach her some good, while there's still some life left in these old bones. And if, Dai Celesta forbid, my dear misguided daughter isn't what this land needs....well, then, perhaps the same unique precedent that allowed your mother to ascend so young might called into play on your behalf. I've already spoken to the Royal Queen on this matter and her advisors assure me such things are not out of the realm of possibility.”
 
“I don't know that I could do that... That's more of a responsibility than I can handle.”
 
“But you will never have to face it alone. Simply understanding the level of responsibility involved makes you a good candidate for the position...” She winked at Olivia. “I know you worry about the future of Ellewyn, but I see bright times ahead. For all her troublesome ways, Princess Isabella is too young and reckless to inherit the throne, and I'm sure the Royal Queen has many years left to live. The Duchess won't easily surrender her title to May either. But as long as we can maintain at least one competent ruler at the head of the three households—and our friends in Kaligar are united under a strong, kindhearted leader—then Adelais will be shielded from the darkness that once plagued our land.” Then she chuckled, whimsically, and waved her hand as if to spread magical seeds around the vineyard floor. “Or so reads the prophecy of our ancestors.”
 
“Is it true, gramma?”
 
“That's hard to say, child. Many legends were written to scare us. Some are only partially true, and others...” She stopped momentarily and looked up. “...Well, sometimes you just have to accept that our ancestors were far wiser than we could ever hope to be. After all, we're all daughters of some grand design.”
 
Olivia followed her gaze to the sky. The afternoon was waning, but the glowing hues of evening were still an hour or two away. Olivia's eyes swept across the fields and farms and over the rooftops of Haledon as she mused over the words of her grandmother.
 
Such a promising future felt so distant, so out of reach. This wonderful little world had always been hers, despite all the dreary folks who spent so much time trying to tell her otherwise. To finally hold it in her own hand, with no one else to dash her fragile dreams with all that callousness and cruelty that seemed to sit on the shoulders of those who claimed to live in 'the real world'... Could it really be so?
 
Olivia turned to find reassurance from her grandmother, to hear more about the bright future ahead, but the wise old woman was nowhere to be found. Olivia suddenly felt very cold and alone in the dimming light of dusk.
 
Where had she gone? Why had she left her granddaughter alone in the middle of nowhere, hapless beneath these looming dark skies? The deep blue abyss bore down heavily, meeting the horizon and crashing over the land, casting stark shadows from the trees and vines that danced like haunted spirits in the gale, whipping her hair back and pelting her face with freezing droplets.
 
In a panic, she made a break for the safety of the city, but the walls seemed to retreat from her just as fast as she ran. The land was a vast carpet being swept out from under her, and the wind snatched at her body like the claws of some terrible beast, dragging her inexorably away from her home, up the great cliff face that towered next to Haledon. The blackness overhead growled and rumbled, calling out to her in a monstrous voice. Its shrieks were frightening. Flashes of lightning revealed crumbling ruins at the summit, the derelict fortress that had stood watch over Haledon since the darkest of times long forgotten. Massive fingers of steel and stone wrapped around her, and she screamed to the voices for their help, for mercy, for clarity and release. Where was Grandmother to ward off this ancient terror? Hadn't she said she would always be there?
 
The light of the future had been stolen from her. From all around, the voice of the beast beckoned and bellowed, sneering at her plight, and mocking her foolish naivety. The future was never hers to hold, it said. She would spend the rest of her life surrounded by the darkness of despair, while the monster alone would bask in the light. Her lost world had been reduced to a meager spark, a dying flame.
 
The monster held the light out for Olivia to see, but never let it get close enough for her to grasp.
 
“Get away...” she whispered. Her voice was dwarfed by the calling winds. Not even she could hear it.
 
“...YOU'RE STILL ALIVE,” the monster growled, leaning closer. It was a horrible sight to behold. The monster had skin like scales, hair as brittle as bone, and a long, twisted, bubbling scar running across the fold of her left eye. The eye was dead and cold as it glared at her, but the other was alive, darting back and forth like a crazed black fish in an underwater prison. Despite its wild movements, the eye was fixated on Olivia the entire time.
 
It wasn't until now that Olivia realized she was lying prone, trapped in a body that couldn't move. Her arms were frozen as stiff as icicles to her side and she stared at the monster numbly. She didn't feel alive. Did the monster's confirmation make it true?
 
Breathlessly, she closed her eyes, wondering if the monster would go away for good.
 
In the furthest reaches of her mind, she screamed, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” But in this dream, no words came out. She tried to yell out again. Her mouth was open. She knew the words. She knew what to say. She remembered how to speak.
 
So, why was it silent!? Why couldn't anybody hear her? Why was she alone? What was this horrible place?
 
The more she tried to scream, the more effort she put on her lungs, the more horrified she became. It was like drowning, like flailing helplessly in these dark waters, seeing the light at the surface flicker and fade and gave way to shadows, until at last...
 
Silence.
 
Her eyes shot open. The monster was still there, grinning at her. This nightmare would not end.
 
“THAT'S TOO BAD,” the monster said, its curled, scaly back now to Olivia. The flame that it carried began to shake back and forth. “You've been unconscious for so long that I was SURE YOU WERE DEAD. I was about to arrange for your funeral, but then I realized NOBODY WOULD SHOW UP. We buried you years ago.” The monster threw back its head and howled with laughter and the echoes boomed like thunder in the dark confinements of Olivia's head. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The poor girl didn't have the strength in her arms to cover her ears from the horrific sound, so she just let them bleed and slipped further into insanity.
 
All the colors began to swirl together. Then the monster fell against the shrinking cage and stretched its neck so far through the bars that its forked tongue whisked Olivia's nose.
 
“...YOUR MOTHER wasn't kidding when she said you love that tea,” the monster hissed, studying the beads of sweat on her brow. “LOOK AT YOU. Without your precious herbs, you don't even have YOUR WILL TO LIVE.”
 
The tea. Water. Drowning. Olivia finally noticed the dryness of her lips. She hadn't had a sip of liquid in days. Her stomach ached, a most terrible kind of pain, and she suddenly began gasping for air. How long had she been here? It felt like a very long dream. Why couldn't she wake up?
 
“I decided to STOP GIVING IT TO YOU,” the monster said. Its head retracted through the bars of the cage and it reached for a strange, gray, rectangular object. “From now on, you'll be dining on bread and sewer water. You don't really DESERVE NICE THINGS.” The monster dropped the gray object to the floor, planted the heel of a boot on it, and pushed it under the bars of the cage. “...EAT UP, YOU LITTLE WHORE.”
 
Since when did monsters wear boots?
 
As Olivia continued to look on, the monster's scales melted into flesh and the nightmare began to fade. She remembered this place. Her cell. Locked away. But for how many years?
 
For the first time since she had opened them, Olivia drew her eyes away from the monster and looked around the cell. The gray object on the floor was a tray, full of lumps of moldy food, but it was too far away to reach. The distance only seemed to grow as she stared at it.
 
The monster grinned.
 
“What's the matter?” she asked. “Are you TOO WEAK to move now?”
 
Olivia's breaths were painfully slow. The gap was widening and she was shrinking further into the shadows once more.
 
“Better get it before the rats do.” The monster stood there for a while longer and seemed to take delight in Olivia's lethargic pose. “...What's wrong with you? You STUPID, LITTLE, PITIFUL thing. I'll be back in the morning with a shovel. If you aren't DEAD BY THEN, you will be when you're suffocating under SIX FEET OF DIRT.”
 
The monster turned away. Only now did her shape become human. Only in silhouette could Olivia see the monster for what she really was.
 
Soon, the flame was extinguished and the monster was gone. A sudden calmness washed over the prison.
 
Olivia let out the air she was holding in. The fear slipped from her just as easily. With what little strength she had, she moved her legs until her bare feet scraped the stone wall behind her. The gritty slabs cut into her flesh, but she was far too numb to feel pain. With a desperate grunt, she planted the flat of her feet against the wall, held them firm, and pushed off as hard as she could.
 
Her body hit the floor without grace. Tangled in a moth-chewed blanket, she pried herself up on her elbows, grimaced, and began crawling towards the tray on her hands and knees. The distance looked even farther from down here. Her muscles pleaded for her to stop. Her stomach became twisted and misshapen and she nearly collapsed, but she dug her fingernails into the stone floor and dragged herself towards the lumps of food.
 
When she reached the tray, she held her head over it for a while, trying to catch her breath. Her ratty hair dangled over her face like thick black spiderwebs and she had to peel back the strands before she could put anything in her mouth.
 
She ignored the bread and went straight for the water. Scooping up the cup in both hands, she lowered her head and took a sip of the cold, refreshing liquid. Her lips absorbed it even before her tongue could get a taste. Panting, she opened her mouth and lapped her dry tongue across surface. The taste was beyond foul and she gagged more than once, but that only made her drink faster. Soon she was ignoring her trembling hands and had her entire face plastered against the rim of the cup, guzzling down its contents until her stomach hurt.
 
When the cup was nearly empty, she tipped back her head and tapped her fingernails against the bottom of the cup, shaking out every last drop of foul water.
 
Then, shivering, she grabbed a moldy slab of bread from atop the heap and crawled over to the far wall. She slumped against the bed, wrapped herself in the blanket, and held the bread to her lips. It was hard and moist, but she nibbled at it so slowly that it would take her hours to eat the whole tiny piece. As she chewed, she stared at the bars of her cage and murmured incomprehensible warnings to the ethereal beings swimming around her.
 
All these ghosts, all these monsters, were coming for her...
 
“Get away...” she whispered. Her voice cracked and she shuddered and tried to curl into a small ball and melt into the floor. “Just leave me alone...”
 
 
-------------------------
 
 
'Twas night in Masiela at the orphanage house
Not a creature was stirring, save one blue-haired louse.
The guards were hung from the porch roof by snare,
Not seeing the ninja that was skulking up there.
 
The orphans were nestled all snug in their beds
With visions of dragon-slayers in their heads.
Amelie in her red wig, teddy in her lap,
Had just settled down for a midsummer's nap.
 
When out in the alley there arose such a clutter,
Amelie sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, she flew in a flash,
As Eric the Elf drew an arrow from his sash.
 
The moon on the rump of the ninja did show
The piercing wound of a tiny arrow.
When, what to Amelie's wondering eyes should appear,
But three miniature men, attacking without fear.
 
Cursing a river, her stealth and health nicked
Amelie knew whose butt was getting kicked.
More rapid than hawks the foul curse words came,
As the men blew her cover by calling her name.
 
“It's Lynne—slash her, bash her, this potty-mouthed vixen!”
“Ow, dammit! You stupid—what, you guys again!?”
“To the top of her head! She can't take us all!”
“Get off me! Get off me! I'm about to fall!”
 
They ascended her mane going straight for the eyes
Sheer pluck and bravado 'gainst superior size.
Across the rooftop the battle ensued,
Against vicious clawing, the men remained glued.
 
And then little Amelie heard on the roof
A crash and a voice that cried out, “Oof!”
As she drew in her head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Lynne crashed to the ground.
 
She was dressed all in black, from her head to her foot
Even still, one could see she was covered with soot.
A bundle of rope she flung off her back,
Unspooling her meddling plan of attack.
 
Her eyes—how they glared! Her face, how scary!
Her hair was like weeds, the color of blueberry!
Her wicked mouth was drawn up like an Elvish bow
And Eric clinging to her chin was as white as snow.
 
The stump of a knight she held tight in her teeth,
And Vic's screams circled her head like a wreath.
She made a wicked face at her trim little belly,
That yelled when she chuckled, “Let me out, this is smelly!”
 
She spat out the knight and flicked away the elf,
And Amelie laughed at the sight, in spite of herself!
The swollen black eye and twelve cuts in her head
Gave Amelie to know she had nothing to dread.
 
“That wig doesn't fool me,” Lynne said, glaring down at the child. “I know exactly who you are. Did you really think I'd believe I was standing face-to-face with a three-foot-tall Rene Chandel?”
 
“Not like your disguise is any better. There's only one ninja with blue hair and she's not a very good ninja at all.”
 
“Cute. A little girl with a big mouth.” Lynne held the rope taut in her hands and snapped it. “Are you clever enough to figure out what I've come here for too?”
 
“You got tired of losing to people your own size, so you decided to try your hand at men and children?”
 
“...I knew I should've brought a gag.”
 
“Yeah, it would be a shame if I screamed right now and woke all the other kids. Then you'd have to deal with all of us.”
 
“And you think I wouldn't stoop to killing orphans?” Lynne smirked and moved away from the fireplace. “Nobody would care if I killed them, you know. None of you have mothers who would miss you. Well... except for you, Amelie... isn't that right?”
 
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
 
“Of course you don't.” Lynne began to tie the rope into a lasso. “...What's up with the wig anyway?”
 
Amelie stood her ground boldly.
 
“You wouldn't understand,” she said.
 
“Uh-huh...”
 
Amelie continued to watch Lynne circle her, wondering if she was supposed to be intimidated, and tried not to smile. After all, weren't hostages supposed to be scared? Maybe if her captor didn't look so ridiculous with blue hair and prints of soot all over her clothes.
 
“...Look,” Amelie said, as the ninja began cracking the rope next to her ear. “We can both agree on one thing. If you try to slide that rope over my head, I'm going to scream and put up such a fight that every kid in this room will wake up and be on your back. I know you don't want that.”
 
“I think I can handle a few brats.”
 
“Yeah, I'm sure you think you can—but why waste your energy when you don't need to?” Amelie shrugged her shoulders. “I'll be your prisoner, if that's what you want.”
 
“That's exactly what I want.”
 
“Then I'll be saving you a lot of trouble by going along willingly. But you will do something for me.”
 
“Oh, ho, ho... And what's that?”
 
“You will leave those men alone. And the one that you ate... You'll let him go. Now.” Amelie shook her head. “Really, that's just disgusting. You're gross.”
 
“...Is that all?” Lynne snarled. “I let the men live and you'll come along quietly?”
 
“I said I'd go with you if you let the men live. I said nothing about being quiet.” Amelie rubbed her small chin for a while and looked around the room. Her eyes finally landed on the trail of soot-prints Lynne had dragged in by using the chimney instead of the door. “Okay, I'll tell you what... You clean up the mess you made, and I'll not only come with you, but I'll be as quiet as a mouse. Scout's honor.”
 
Lynne thought it over for a moment. Sure, the little girl's request was ridiculous, but it was simple and it definitely sounded a lot better than having to contend with a room full of angry, sleep-deprived, hyperactive children beating on her with stuffed animals and wooden swords.
 
Besides... When the brat wasn't looking, she would simply scoop the men into a pouch and carry them out the door with her. She could dispose of them later. Maybe in a pot of chili. Amelie would be none the wiser and the three miniature 'heroes' would be none the more alive. It was the perfect deal.
 
The ninja commended herself on being such a great, evil villain. If she had a handlebar mustache, she would twirl it.
 
But she would just have to settle for the mustache of soot she already had.
 
Lynne agreed to those terms and went straight to work
She scrubbed the floors like an old maid, then turned with a jerk.
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And snorting deeply, out her stomach the dwarf rose!
 
Lynne sprang out the door, to Amelie gave a whistle,
And away they flew like the down of a thistle.
But the whole town heard Lynne exclaim, 'ere she dove out of sight
“I hate men and children with all of my might!”