She had been sleeping without dreaming for a hundred years and more, but now a dream was come to slay her peace.
She was playing with her sisters, when a voice behind her jeered, “Lo, see the Undesired One!”
Her sisters vanished, and when she turned, she beheld the Magician, bearing the Witching Ring. On an altar before him was a bunny ready to be sacrificed. She caught its eye as it struggled, and knew that it was he.
She tried to run up to the altar, but she couldn’t move. The Magician laughed, taunting her in her helplessness. He brandished the Ring and said, “You gave up your agency when you refused this, and so I triumph!”
Before the Magician could bring the knife down, though, the Bunny had freed itself, standing up to face the Magician down in a contest that should have been ridiculous, but was horribly intense instead. A flash of light burst from the Bunny, blinding her...
As the dream subsided, her thoughts turned to him, the reigning star of far too many of her dreams.
It was absurd; so she had told herself over and over again during the seemingly endless stretches between his appearances. If he felt anything for her at all beyond annoyance and disgust, it would most likely be pity for the Undesired One, and that was nearly harder to bear than the loss of her sisters.
Moreover, they had spent precious little time together, so it was absurd in that manner as well: she, the Princess famed for her waspish stand-offishness, should be the last person in the Realm to succumb to the folly of l--infatuation at sight.
But was it really at sight, though? Certainly, her first glimpse of him hadn’t been particularly conducive to these unwelcome affections towards him, as no one looked good when fleeing an enraged ram.
Just as certainly, though, when she’d first met his eyes and seen his “Oh, it’s you, then” expression, something inside her had cracked. Even then, without knowing who he was or whence he came, she’d known that the thing she wanted most in the world was this bedraggled boy’s good opinion. Contrary as she was, the knowledge had only spurred her normal sarcastic wit to new heights.
Once she knew who and what he was, though, her secret folly was even more absurd, as he would only come when they needed him most and vanish once his task was done, his visits as ephemeral as her dreams. She could never hold him to her as she wished; nor would she, as caging a flickering spark was the surest route to an inferno.
She had told herself so many times that it was pure folly, and yet, each and every time he was nearby, his very nearness made her feel more alive, as though the long, drab stretches without him were so many dreams that his vivid reality set to flight, commanding her into wakefulness at last.
Again and again during the long emptiness of his absence, she’d told herself that she must be strong, but all it took was his appearing to kindle in her the urge to run to him. This inevitable weakness in her mocked her claims of strength.
Through the haze of her enforced slumber, she sensed someone’s approach, but without concern, as she knew that only the Young Protector could open her gilded-and-glazed cage and end her long sleep. He would come soon, bringing the joy and the pain of his presence, and she would soak up his nearness like a sponge against the long stretch of his next absence, as she always did. It would be enough.
It would be soon...
