There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Magdalena was born to be a princess. The only child of King Edmund, she was doted on and beloved by the entire Kingdom of Nishelle. She was dubbed “The Finest Jewel of the Castle” by the common people. Her laughter filled the corridors and the palace servants fought each other for glimpses of her as she passed by with her guards.
Magdalena knew nothing but girlish games and the comforts of royal living. She filled her earliest days running through the inner gardens of the palace and dancing. Her hair shined golden in the sun and fell in natural curls around her pretty round face. She wore the most magnificent dresses handsewn for her from the most accomplished tailors with the finest materials.
As she grew she began her princess classes at five years old, as was custom. She learned about flower arrangement, etiquette, formal dance, fine art, and, most importantly, how to squash unprincesslike thoughts and ideas out of her head. Her tutors endlessly praised her and she seemed to naturally excel at anything she set her mind to.
Princess Magdalena aged beautifully and by the time her sixteenth birthday neared there was no arguing who was the finest lady in all of Nishelle. Magdalena loved her station in life and valued her royal responsibilities above all else. She left no room in her mind for anything else. She would do anything for her kingdom.
King Edmund had grand plans for Magdalena’s sixteenth birthday. It was tradition for a princess to become betrothed on this day to strengthen their kingdom by joining it with another. King Edmund knew his daughter was special, so special that she deserved an engagement that would shock the land. He wanted to give Magdalena something every noblewoman would envy. She deserved something that bards far and wide would sing of for ages to come.
That’s how Magdalena found herself here, sitting in the grand conference chamber with her father and the Witch.
“It’s all very simple on your part, Magdalena,” King Edmund stated, his voice echoing in the stone chamber.
“Yes, dear,” the Witch’s voice was raspy, and she found the wavering pitch unpleasant.
The Witch was a shriveled shell of a human with wispy grey hair and a long, hooked nose. The iron collar gleamed at her throat in the lantern light. The Witch reached into a woven basket that sat on the table before her and pulled out a corked bottle. Black fluid sloshed and bubbled gently inside the thick glass. Magdalena eyed the bottle warily.
“So, I just drink that,” Magdalena said slowly, keeping her eyes on the bottle. “And when I wake, I’ll have my prince?”
“This potion is specially brewed to keep you asleep until a worthy prince enters the bedchamber, or a thousand years pass. Whichever comes first, dear,” the Witch let out a hollow bark that she could only assume was supposed to be a laugh. The sound sent a cold chill down her spine.
“It will all be very safe for you, of course,” King Edmund reassured her. “I have furnished the Hidden Tower with every comfort you could ever desire. The prince who wins our grand tournament will be given your location. The Hidden Tower and all its contents will become your dowry.”
“But, the dragon,” Magdalena began before her father interrupted her.
“Yes, yes, the dragon!” King Edmund’s dark eyes were twinkling with delight. “The very best part. I thought up that bit myself. As a final act of valor your prince will have to slay the dragon that will awaken with you and attempt to protect you. As the beast will be fed the same potion as you, you will be tied to the same strands of magic that will break together. This will be quite the show!”
Princess Magdalena nodded. She understood that her duty as a princess took precedence over any misgivings she had about magic. The Witch nodded eagerly and gave a gap-toothed grin. It took several years of training in etiquette for Magdalena to not recoil in disgust.
The Witch had been owned by her family for several generations. Owning a witch was a sign of a prosperous kingdom, everybody knew that. However, Magdalena had never been this close to her before. It was unsettling to say the least.
By the next sunrise banners had been strewn all across Nishelle and the neighboring kingdoms. The only topic was of the grand tournament to win the hand of the fairest princess the world had ever known. The streets and markets filled with the buzz of the commoners’ excitement. Far and wide princes of kingdoms both well known and forgotten sharpened their swords and packed their bags for the journey to Nishelle.
Time seemed to move in a strange fashion for Magdalena. An afternoon could take what felt like a century to creep by followed by a week that would shoot past in a blur. Before she knew it she was standing in a room that was as strange to her as it was familiar.
Magdalena looked around the bedchamber of the Hidden Tower. Her father had been right, she would want for nothing here. No expense had been spared in the room’s furnishing.
A fire crackled merrily in the hearth of a stone fireplace adorned with expertly carved cherubs so lifelike that they appeared to have a flush to their cheeks. Intricate woven rugs covered the polished floor. She felt their softness under her bare feet as she walked to the bed.
The four-poster bed stood at the center of the room. The posts were made of a deep mahogany and shined with oil. A delicate canopy was draped over the top of the posts. She ran a hand over the furs and luxury linens that covered the featherbed.
“Magdalena, I am so happy,” her father said. “Any woman in the land would kill to trade places with you on this day. After years of decline, Nishelle is finally on the world’s stage, and they are all fighting over you. You are the perfect daughter.”
“Thank you, father,” Magdalena said with a rehearsed smile. She easily locked away any negative feelings she had about the situation, fighting to keep a princess state of mind.
“Before I forget,” King Edmund said jovially, reaching into his pocket. He was ecstatic, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked through the chamber. He pulled out the corked bottle given to him by the Witch. The black fluid sloshed about and bubbled freely as he handed it to Magdalena. The bottle felt strangely warm in her hand, as if the fluid had just been taken off the fire and corked before it had time to cool.
“Thank you, father,” Magdalena repeated, tightening her hand on the bottle. Her father continued to bounce about the room, admiring the furnishings and rambling on about the economy and the grand tournament he had planned around her. She switched which hand was holding the bottle, it had grown uncomfortably hot the longer she held it.
“I really must be off,” her father stated, glancing out of the lone window. “As soon as I leave I’d like you to don the finest gown in the wardrobe and get in the bed. Try to down the potion in a single gulp, I can’t imagine it tastes pleasant. You won’t be asleep longer than three days. We’ve already transported the dragon through the antechamber and into the great hall. The beast hardly had time to blink after the potion touched its lips, it dropped to the ground almost instantly.”
The door clicked faintly as he left the bedchamber on that note. Magdalena cringed at the thought of what the potion did to the dragon. She threw the hot bottle onto the nightstand without looking at it.
She took as long as physically possible to look through the extensive wardrobe. She finally picked an elaborate gown of pale pink silk. She sat in the bed and took time examining the wrought iron candelabra on her nightstand. Elegant designs were etched into the iron, small and delicate swirls flowing freely down the sides before pooling at the bottom.
The sound of cannonfire in the distance broke her attention. The tournament must be beginning soon. She stood up and walked to the window, deciding to take a final glance out before her forced sleep.
The Hidden Tower was located deep in the heart of the Maucove Forest, which lies to the north of Nishelle. Pathways of hardened earth led from the drawbridge entrance to disappear throughout the ancient trees. She looked at the canopy over the forest wondering where exactly her father and his escort were on the path back to the castle.
She could see the stone turrets of her previous home poking out over the treetops. A tendril of grey smoke drifted into the clouds coming from what had to have been the palace courtyard. A soft rattling sounded from behind her. She pulled her eyes away from the window and looked to the wooden door.
The rattling grew louder, but the door did not move. The bottle on the nightstand caught her eye. The black fluid was bubbling with more force than before causing it to vibrate on the nightstand. She walked across the room and sat on the bed, keeping her eye on the bottle as she moved.
The bubbling had rapidly increased causing the bottle to start moving across the nightstand, the rattling growing all the louder as it echoed off the stone walls of the bedchamber. She wondered faintly if the potion had an expiry date the Witch should have informed them of. The bottle was now bubbling so rapidly that it was freely moving in small circles. The wax around the cork started to melt away and drip down the sides.
She held a hand out just in time to catch the bottle as it fell off the edge of the nightstand. The moment the glass hit her hand the cork flew out and bounced about the room before rolling into a distant corner. At once the bubbling ceased. Her mind finally registered the pain of the hot glass searing her hand and she almost lost her grip on it.
Without fully thinking about what she was doing she brought the bottle to her lips and drank the potion down in a single gulp. A fleeting thought about how odd it was that the potion tasted so cool in her mouth yet so hot on her hand barely formed in her mind before she was plunged into blackness.
***
Magdalena’s eyes flew open and she gasped for air. Her heart pounded in her ears as she looked around the dark room. She tried to quickly sit up but was unable. She furrowed her brow and began to panic slightly. If she was able she would have thrashed around in the bed, but she was so stiff she could only produce a slight wiggling in her fingers.
She laid there for an indeterminate amount of time as she tried to regain her movement. She didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she was incredibly sore and could hardly move. She couldn’t remember where she was or how she got there.
A loud sound echoed throughout the chamber as someone knocked on the door. Her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness by now. Thin slivers of moonlight shone from a window in the corner. She watched small particles of dust suspended in the air come in and out of view as they danced around in the light.
Another knock sounded as she was able to weakly pull herself up. She felt incredibly lightheaded and her mind was slow. It was hard to focus on anything. Glass shattered on the stone floor as a bottle fell off the bed. She looked down at the broken shards curiously as they glinted in the moonlight.
She remembered… A potion. She took a sleeping potion… Given to her by the Witch… Three days. Right. She was supposed to be asleep for three days. A loud bang sounded from the door. Someone was trying to get into the room. Her prince? She put her hand on the nightstand to help herself up but pulled it away quickly.
A layer of dust had collected on the top of the wood almost an inch thick. She looked at her grey fingertips in confusion. Dust? The light momentarily reflected off of a shiny burn on her palm she didn’t remember. Her mind was still sluggish. She grabbed the post of her bed for support instead. The wood was splintered and cracked, rough against her skin.
As she stood on shaky legs the bed creaked loudly in protest. She pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and felt around in the darkness for matches to light the candelabra. She quickly found what she was looking for and eventually lit the match after several attempts. She lit the four candlesticks and the room was bathed in a warm yellow glow.
The bedchamber that had previously taken her breath away with its finery looked nothing like how she remembered it. The furnishings were filthy and in different stages of rotten decay. The lifelike cherubs that had decorated the fireplace were crumbling unrecognizable masses. The fine rugs were moldy lumps on the floor. The delicate canopy that had been draped over the four posts of her bed was moth eaten. Another bang sounded.
She looked to the door. Several cracks had formed from what looked like a bad case of dry rot. The door looked liable to fall apart at any moment, especially with someone pounding on it like that. How long had they been knocking?
She took the heavy, tarnished candelabra into her hand and walked towards the door. Her first few steps were difficult but it became easier as she moved more. Flecks of splintered wood and dust flew from the door with every loud knock. How long had she been asleep?
She reached for the decorative handle on the door and gave it a pull. The door let out a loud creek as it swung open on rusted hinges. As the candlelight bathed the figure on the other side of the door Magdalena let out a scream.
The person, she at least thought it was a person, on the other side of the door was hideous. Grey skin filled with oozing holes and scabs was stretched over a gaunt face. The person’s nose was missing, leaving just an open hole divided by cartilage and worms in the middle of their face.
Rotten patches of stringy hair grew on the person’s head in dirty clumps. Their eyes were clouded over. Magdalena could see her own reflection in their milky white depths, frozen in horror and disgust. Her trance was broken by the person letting out a deep moan and reaching out a battered hand as if to knock upon the door again. The person hadn’t even realized she had opened it.
Magdalena’s grip tightened upon the candelabra and she swung it with all her might. A crack echoed as it hit the monstrous person’s head, knocking them to the floor. They laid there splayed out and unmoving, semisolid grey brains leaking out of the split in their head. She took a few quick steps back, examining the remains of the clothing the person had been wearing.
She immediately noticed the crest. Sewn onto the top right of the remains of their shirt was the unmistakable crest from a neighboring kingdom, two crossed swords over a field of grain. She would have recognized it anywhere, she had grown up seeing the symbol. Upon further inspection the person was barely identifiable as male.
“How long was I asleep?” she verbalized, her voice cracking and dry. She looked down in disgust at the occasionally twitching form on the ground. A pool of blood as black as ink had formed around his grotesque head and continued to grow.
She caught a glimpse of a dingy mirror hanging on the wall and ran to it, panic stricken at the thought of looking like that man. The mirror was so filthy that it wasn’t reflecting anything at the moment. She found the remains of the wardrobe, the doors had rotten off long ago, and grabbed the least disintegrated dress.
She brought the dress to the mirror and scrubbed as vigorously as her stiff arms would allow. She looked just as she had remembered herself, even her fine silk gown appeared untouched. She traced the outline of her nose with a sigh of relief. At least there was that. She looked around the ruined room.
Her mind still seemed to be running slow. She didn’t understand what had gone wrong. She would have been terrified if she wasn’t so sluggish and confused. Could she be dreaming? She considered this as a possibility.
She wanted to sit down and regroup but she didn’t feel safe here. She eyed the disgusting man on the ground warily. She had to make it back to the castle. Her father would know what to do. She tightened her grip on the candelabra and headed to the door.
She kept her eye on the man who laid splayed out by the doorway. He occasionally let out a little jerk, but did not rise. Her lip curled in disgust as she carefully passed him on tiptoes. He smelled like rotten eggs.
She tried to shut the door but his legs were in the way. She gave him a few sharp kicks, a dull thud sounding with each impact of her foot. She continued until he was through the threshold and she slammed the door. The door rattled dangerously on its hinges but did not collapse. She shook her head, trying to force the unpleasant thought out of her mind.
The corridors of the Hidden Tower were as filthy as the bedchamber. She had to duck occasionally so as to not walk directly into the low-hanging cobwebs. She found the circular stone steps and hurried down them as safely as she could. She just wanted to get back to the castle so she could escape this nightmare.
She slipped on a thick collection of dust midway down and fell on her bottom. She tumbled down the rest of the flight and skidded on the marble floor of the great hall. She came to a halt by bumping into something large and warm. She couldn’t find her candelabra anywhere, she had dropped it while falling down the steps.
The great hall was an enormous circular room that composed almost the entirety of the ground floor of the Hidden Tower. Magdalena tried to get her bearings about which direction was which. The great hall wasn’t as dark as her bedchamber had been, but her head was spinning from her tumble. There were several windows high up on the walls filtering in enough moonlight to cast the room in shadows.
She could faintly see the silhouette of what she knew was the throne her father sat in on his rare visits to this tower. She turned her head to look for the entrance and came face to face with an enormous, flaming red eye.
She froze in fear as the eye blinked, the vertical pupil constricting until it was a black slit. She stared into the fiery depths of the eye, unable to move. It was like looking at molten lava, the eye seemed to emit a heat all of its own. Flecks of gold and silver were peppered throughout the iris. If she wasn’t scared for her life maybe she would have appreciated how truly pretty the sight was.
There were only two things that Magdalena knew at that moment. The thoughts kept replaying over and over again in her head in that second that seemed to last a century. First, that this was a dragon’s eye, and second, that she was dead.
She was stirred into movement when the dragon attempted to lift its head, the rough scales rubbing against her shoulder. Like an electric spark went through her body she regained movement and was able to crawl back a few feet. Her mind couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. She had bumped into the dragon when she fell down the steps and hadn’t even realized she had been resting against it.
The only reason she wasn’t already dead was because she must have stunned the poor creature by waking it up in such a rude manner. The long neck rose and rose as the dragon stretched out after its long slumber. She couldn’t believe how massive this beast was.
The dragon opened its great mouth towards the stone ceiling, gearing up for swallowing her whole she figured, and she saw deadly sharp fangs reflecting the moonlight. She attempted to pull herself up but she was shaking so violently that her body seemed unable to perform such a coordinated task. She settled for closing her eyes tightly and holding her breath, waiting for the strike to come.
It never came. She eventually had to breathe, and when she did she cracked her eyes open a quarter of the way, wondering what was taking the dragon so long. She saw the molten eye again, this time two of them. The dragon had bent its neck to look at her up close and center. The pupils were no longer constricted but dilated so much so that most of the eye was taken up by blackness.
A puff of grey smoke plumed from the dragon’s nostrils and it nudged her gently on the chest. She was still frozen in shock and covered in a cold sweat. Her brain tried to tell her body to get up and run but there was some sort of disconnect. The dragon nudged again, almost knocking her on her back with the force.
It raised its head to look her in the eye. The dragon’s eyes were such a beautiful blood red, and they seemed to have so much soul beneath the surface. She hadn’t fully appreciated that in her fear. She slowly raised a shaky hand and brushed it against the dragon’s head. The rough scales were warm to the touch, and the dragon leaned into her hand.
“You are probably pretty confused, huh?” Magdalena wasn’t sure what made her speak. The dragon blinked again, staring at her in such a way that she couldn’t help but feel like it understood what she was saying. “I’m very sorry I woke you up like that.”
After staring into those deep crimson eyes Magdalena knew she was no longer in danger. She stood up slowly and began to carefully pace around the room, feeling out with her arms so she didn’t bump into anything. The dragon watched her closely.
Without warning, the dragon opened its great mouth again and shot a jet of flames towards her father’s throne. Magdalena yelped in alarm and jumped back. The old, splintered wood immediately kindled, bathing the room in a yellow glow. She looked up at the dragon, who was looking down at her curiously.
“Warn me next time you do that,” she breathed, her heart still pounding violently in her chest. The dragon blinked, never taking its eyes off her. “But, thank you, nevertheless, that is what I needed. You are a very courteous, wise dragon now, aren’t you?” The dragon tilted its head to the side, considering her intently.
Thank you, a voice seemed to say inside her head. She blinked in surprise, staring at the dragon with wide eyes.
“Was that you?” Magdalena gasped at the dragon, her voice echoing around the hall.
There’s nobody else here, now is there?, the voice inside her head questioned. Magdalena frowned, looking around.
“I sure hope not,” she said, remembering the disgusting, rotten man outside the bedchamber with a shudder. The dragon snarled, white fangs glinting in the firelight.
I will tear that filth to shreds, the voice in her head growled.
“No need, I bashed him with a candelabra and shut him in the bedchamber,” Magdalena said in a soothing voice. The dragon stared at her a moment before responding.
A good choice, the voice said. Magdalena smiled despite herself.
“I never knew dragons could speak the human tongue,” she said.
I never knew a dragon that wished to speak to a human, the voice replied.
“That’s fair,” she said before growing quiet. She looked around the decaying hall, seeing the same signs of former grandeur that her bedchamber showed. “I don’t understand what went wrong.”
If it had gone right, that rotten man would have slayed me, they had drugged me to make it easier for him, the voice in her mind said. She felt a pang of guilt.
“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized before gagging. “That man was my prince?” The dragon nodded, and she shuddered. “Don’t worry, if anyone tries to slay you they will have to first get through me.” She found her lost candelabra on the dirty floor and wielded it menacingly.
Formidable, the voice said. I had best stick with you, for safety.
“Of course,” Magdalena said. “We need to get back to the castle, I’m sure my father will be able to explain everything.” The dragon looked unsure, but did not respond.
Magdalena headed towards the antechamber and located the heavy oak front doors, the dragon’s thundering footsteps close behind her. She lifted the iron latch and pushed at the doors, but they wouldn’t open. The hinges were so rusted they wouldn’t budge.
She raised her candelabra, ready to give the doors a few cracks but the dragon stopped her. It nudged her back to safety before turning around and whipping the doors with its thick, barbed tail. A crash boomed and the doors were easily blown away.
“What?” Magdalena breathed, looking outside.
What she remembered as the lush, Maucove Forest was covered in sand. A harsh breeze swept through the landscape, sweeping up and tumbling the grains. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon, bathing the sandy world in the grey before dawn.
The stone steps she remembered were completely covered in sand. She stepped out of the threshold and felt her feet sink slightly. This was all wrong. She looked to the dragon, who’s jet black scales she could fully appreciate now that they were out in the open.
“I don’t understand,” she said, motioning to the desert surrounding them. “Did the Hidden Tower move while we were asleep?”
I don’t think so, the dragon responded inside her head. There was nothing but sand for as far as she could see. The desert spanned across what had to be miles. The dragon pointed its nose to the south, and Magdalena followed its gaze.
It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. The castle, her home, she could just see it in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat. She had to get back there.
It could be dangerous, the dragon said in her mind.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Magdalena replied with a smile. “I don’t know what else to do. I need to talk with my father.”
It will be faster if we fly, the dragon said after a few moments of silence.
The dragon kneeled on its front legs and extended out its tail. Magdalena clambered up the tail awkwardly, careful to avoid the sharp barbs at the tip. She found there was a convenient place for her at the base of the dragon’s neck. She hooked her legs in front of the wing joints and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s thick, scaly neck.
Her arms didn’t even wrap the whole way around. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she had expected it to be. The hardest part was trying to find a good grip. Eventually she settled for resting her candelabra on her lap sideways and pinning it to the dragon’s neck with her body. She held on as tightly as she could with her arms and legs and the dragon extended its wings to their full span.
There was a gush of air and sand as the dragon brought down its wings and she screwed her eyes shut. She coughed and gagged on the abrasive grains but did not loosen her grip. Air swooshed past her from every corner as they lifted up into the sky. She did not open her eyes or dare to breathe until they were several yards off the ground.
She opened her eyes when the air became cool and crisp. The air rushing past her face made them water but she forced them to stay open. She could see with amazing clarity the castle of Nishelle growing closer and closer.
The horizon was beginning to turn rich shades of pink and red as the sun rose. The beauty of the sunrise seemed to increase by tenfold as she was closer to it than ever before. They flew directly over the drawbridge and stone turrets, landing smoothly in the palace courtyard by unspoken consent.
The courtyard was similarly filled with sand. Magdalena carefully climbed off the dragon’s back and dusted herself off. There were no signs of life in the courtyard. She found the doors leading into the main castle and went to head towards them when the dragon stopped her.
Princess, the dragon’s voice spoke slowly and carefully. I want you to prepare yourself for what you might find in your old home. Things have changed while we were in our enchanted sleep. Magdalena gave the dragon a sad smile.
“Dragon, you have been so kind to me,” she said, reaching out a hand and rubbing the inky black scales. “I can face whatever it is I find inside that castle as long as I know I have you waiting for my return.” The dragon lowered its head and Magdalena gently placed a kiss upon its scaly head.
She headed to the main doors, still clutching her candelabra. If not for all the sand, the courtyard looked exactly as she had remembered it. The doors were not rotten and cracked with age as at the Hidden Tower. They appeared as well cared for and polished as she remembered them. They swung open easily and silently at her touch.
She walked into the castle alone. The furnishings were untouched by age. Everything looked exactly as she had remembered it except for the silence. The castle had always been filled with people. Despite obvious signs of life such as all the lanterns being lit, she did not spot another soul as she traveled down the corridors.
Magdalena felt an otherworldly pull towards the throne room. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way, she just felt like she was expected to be there. She licked her dry lips, her footsteps echoing in the empty halls as she approached the ornate red doors leading to her father’s throne.
She reached out a hand but the doors swung open of their own accord before she could touch them. The throne room was a massive hall composed of an empty stage floor and concrete steps leading up to her father’s throne.
King Edmund was to be the only one seated in this room, his guards and whomever traveled to meet him here were expected to stand in respect. However, King Edmund was not sitting on his throne. The throne was occupied by a young woman that Magdalena had never seen before.
The woman looked bored, sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, her foot bobbing in the air. She had an elbow resting on the armrest, her pale face in her hand. She wore a blood red dress. Thick black hair was tied in a long braid that traveled over her shoulder and rested on her lap. Bangs were cut in a straight line over her bold, black eyebrows which had risen in shock.
“Oh, this is a surprise,” the woman said, ruby red lips curling into a smile. Magdalena noticed an iron collar at her throat as the woman sat up. “Look who finally woke up. I’ve only been waiting here for a few hundred years.” Hundreds of years? So that means her father must be… dead…
Witch, the dragon snarled in Magdalena’s mind, pulling her away from dark thoughts. Careful…
“Witch?” Magdalena asked, remembering the crone who had given her father the potion.
“Present,” the Witch responded, running a delicate hand over her collar. “How did you know?”
“I…. It doesn’t matter,” Magdalena stammered, thrown off by the Witch’s altered appearance. “Why do you look so different?”
“I can look however I want,” the Witch responded, her voice as smooth as silk. Her dark eyes glanced over Magdalena in a disinterested sort of way.
“Then why would you choose the form of a crone?” Magdalena asked. The Witch gave her collar a few taps with her finger.
“It’s safer for a slave to be unseemly,” she said, keeping her tone neutral but Magdalena felt the thinly veiled anger beneath her words. “I’m bound to serve the royal family in any way they desire.” Magdalena ignored the uncomfortable implications of the Witch’s words.
“How did my ancestors come to own you, anyways?” Magdalena asked. The Witch openly scowled.
“A punishment,” the Witch said vaguely, waving a hand in the air. “Banishment and enslavement.”
“Seems harsh,” Magdalena replied before fully considering the Witch’s words. “Wait, how could you be banished? You lived in the castle. When we banish people from Nishelle they have to cross the Maucove Forest.” The Witch smiled, the gesture not reaching her eyes.
“Stupid little girl, do you really think you know the world? The whole world, apart from where you horrible, insignificant humans dwell?” Her voice had turned cruel. The collar at her throat glowed cherry red, searing her skin. Magdalena smelled the sickening smell of burning flesh. The Witch paused a moment, grimacing. “I’m not to speak my mind to a member of the royal family.”
“But you’re allowed to tamper with a sleeping potion?” Magdalena asked. The Witch frowned.
“I gave your father exactly what he asked for. His wording was… vague enough that I had some room to breathe in my interpretation.”
“You knew what you were doing,” Magdalena accused. “You ensured I would never awaken. You took everything from me, Witch.”
“I may be the villain in your story but I was the hero in my own. Taking you out of the picture was the only way I could free myself,” the Witch’s voice was scathing with anger, as red hot as the collar sizzling and burning itself into her throat again.
“You could have killed me, and stop burning her!” Magdalena yelled at the collar which immediately cooled to its usual grey.
“Don’t be dramatic, little girl. I would have killed you if I could. All I could do was lengthen the time you slept.”
“Why would you do that? You must surely have been punished?”
“Your father burned me for it,” the Witch said dully.
“Then why aren’t you dead?” Magdalena asked, taken aback.
“Why indeed. I was ashes on the wind, for awhile. The ashes slowly collected over time, building back together piece by piece until one day I was whole. Trapped in his accursed, forgotten castle. Alone. Waiting for the last member of the royal family to wake up. I thought I was freeing myself, instead I only added countless years to my sentence.”
“Waiting for me?”
“I am bound to serve the royal family.” Magdalena thought about this a moment.
“You’ll do whatever I ask?”
“Gladly,” the Witch said in a hollow voice. “What shall it be, Princess? A spell to restore your prince? A potion to rewind the days? A hex upon mineself for my insolence? Make it good, please, I’ve been awaiting your return such a very long time, dear.”
“Can I demand you take off that collar and leave this castle?” The Witch took a moment to respond.
“Don’t be cruel,” she said slowly, staring down Magdalena with those dark, soulless eyes.
“Take that collar off and leave this castle!” Magdalena demanded.
The Witch’s collar dissolved and blew away like dust on the wind. An invisible force swept through the castle, knocking the wind out of Magdalena as her and the Witch were pushed out of the castle. Magdalena fell on her bottom in the sand, but the Witch stood her ground, her hand on her throat.
“Why would you do that?” the Witch asked, staring wide-eyed at Magdalena as if she had only just noticed her. “Why would you free me?”
Magdalena smiled, seeing the dragon flying overhead, tucking its wings in to land next to her. “Because you freed me, too.” The Witch considered her for a moment.
“I could teach you, you know. Witchcraft is a craft like anything else, it can be learned, if you want,” the Witch said. “I can show you the world, the real world, if you so desire.”
She emphasized her point by producing a glittering green emerald from nothing with a wave of her hand. She brought the emerald to her red lips and blew on it, morphing it into a crystal, acid-green scorpion that crawled up her arm and rested on her shoulder.
“No thanks,” Magdalena said, crawling up the dragon’s tail and hooking her legs over the wing joints. “We think we’ll carve our own way from now on.” The dragon brought down its mighty wings and she clutched its neck tightly. She looked down for a last glance at the Witch, but she was gone. They rose high in the air and flew far away from Nishelle, they were off to find their own way in the world.
I enjoyed your story, You are very creative and amusing. Keep up the good work.
This one is my favorite so far! Really cool story
Under the Wisteria Tree 
THIS IS INSANE! What a twist! (no pun intended) I’m blown away. Great job!