Disenchanted
Authors: C L Raven
Disenchanted
C L Raven
Published by C L Raven
Copyright 2012 C L Raven
Cover by Lizzie Rose
License Notes
This
ebook
is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This
ebook
may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this book are completely fictitious. Any
resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
We'd like to thank our mum,
Lynette Davies again for putting up with being forced to read our work in the
crappy stages, the bit in between and the final error check, for not kicking us
and our animal army out to go and find a 'proper' job and for looking after
that animal army when we're off ghost hunting.
Again we'd like to thank all our
Facebook and Twitter friends who've supported us, encouraged us, bought our
first book and eagerly awaited this one. And for helping with ideas and titles
and sharing every link we post about them, spreading the word when we forget
to.
Humongous thank you to Lizzie
Rose, who painted the cover for us using her grandfather's watercolours. He'd
be so proud of you. It's perfection in paint. Your awesome talent left us
breathless and clapping excitedly like demented seals.
Massive thanks to Ryan Ashcroft
for camping at our house for days on end and taking time off work to make our
book trailer perfect. Your ideas and hard work stunned us. Jerk.
Red Bull, you are our rock.
The animal army, thanks for just
being you and giving us a reason to get out of bed.
Long Live the Queen
Once upon a time there was a
beautiful princess called Snow White. Who the hell calls their child that? I'm
surprised they let them register that on the birth certificate. Imagine if everyone
named their kid after their most prominent feature? The country would be
overrun with
Baldlylockses
, Beanstalks and
Wrinklestiltskins
. I would've named her Princess Plastic.
Or Toad Features. Ok, she had white skin (bit of sunshine never hurt anyone),
but she had dark hair and bright red lips. What is she? A Goth? A clown? A
reject from the nineteen forties?
You know the story of how this
poor tormented princess was targeted by some evil stepmother who forced her to
live in the woods with some creepy little men then kept trying to kill her. I'm
surprised she hasn't appeared on
The
Jerry Springer Show
so everyone can enjoy booing me as I walk on stage.
You haven't heard
my
side and it's about time I was
allowed to defend myself and correct facts that have been wrongly passed down
the generations. Everyone's so quick to believe
her
side, just because
I
didn't get a publishing deal. The legend would be a
lot
different if I'd got my story out first. But she went running
to those Grimm brothers, turning on the waterworks so her bosoms jiggled. So,
instead of a tale about how the young and beautiful always get their own back
on embittered witches and win the handsome prince like it's a twisted Rom Com,
it would've been a moral tale about what happens when ungrateful wretches think
they can screw over their unappreciated stepmothers. Try packaging this one in
a bright pink cover with a cursive font, Hollywood.
***
It's not easy joining an
established family. It's even harder joining an established castle. I had
dainty shoes to fill and between you and me, my bunions have been playing up.
Everyone loved Snow White's mother (who no doubt had an equally uninspiring
name, like Soft Hands). She was pretty, gentle, loving, kind and any other
adjective that adds up to sickeningly, arse
clenchingly
dull
. There's more personality in my
pot plant.
Naturally, when someone's that
popular, you despise them and before you know it, their
photo's
on your arrow target. Sweet little queens don't rule countries and defeat other
kingdoms. Sweet little queens don't chop people's heads off, start wars, or
turn servants into quivering wrecks. I enjoy making people cry. A wobbling
lip's not enough. I want real tears or I feel like I've failed.
Soft Hands died giving birth to
that brat, Snow White. Dying propelled her to sainthood. A sainthood's no good
when you're dead. It won't get you into the best clubs. Who can you impress
with
that
? Angels scoff at sainthoods
– they've got halos and wings. It's the equivalent of a
Blue Peter
badge – gets you into some places but is otherwise
useless.
Of course,
nobody
could take Soft Hands' place, however perfect they were. I
was doomed from the start. I should've given myself an obvious name, like Sex
Kitten. The castle staff hated me because I was different to her in every way
and my gorgeous husband's daughter took an instant dislike to me. She was a
pretty child, adored by everyone. You know the type. Daddy's little princess.
Except in this case, it's true. And didn't she know it? Jumped up little tart.
Snow White never knew her mother,
so I did the best I could. I'd never liked children and never wanted any (I
have an hourglass figure that wouldn't take too kindly to harbouring life), but
when I met her father, William, I fell in love. We met when I fell off my horse
and he came to my rescue. I've always had a hero fetish. Ok, I confess, I'd
spied him and thought, 'now that's a scrumptious little crumpet' and faked a
fall so he'd stumble across my unconscious form and save me. Forget the advice
on dating sites, faking death is the best way to win someone's heart.
Mother warned me about men with
baggage, but I loved him. I vowed to prove Mother wrong. Even if she was right,
I'd still get a castle and a crown out of it. It beats a detached house and
oversized car in suburbia.
Will was a sweetheart. Toned,
fit, the most amazing eyes I've ever seen and he wasn't just a ruler in the
kingdom, if you know what I mean. He told me once Soft Hands was too tame in
the bedroom. She was a wedding night, special occasions only and missionary
position type of wife. I was an every night, twice on special occasions and
every position type
kinda
girl. It wasn't all
physical. He had an amazing sense of humour and what he didn't know about
beheading wasn't worth knowing. He could instruct the executioner to get the
exact angle and force to make the head bounce, roll and spin like a dropped
coin, complete with blood fountain. But he doted on his darling daughter and
felt he had to compensate for her having no mother, so he never disciplined
her.
There's nothing worse than spoilt
children. They're up there with colonic irrigation and contagious flesh-eating
diseases. A child needs boundaries, but when I'm the only one who chastises
her, I come across as the bad guy. I was trying to prevent her from spiralling
into a life of underage drinking and snogging unsavoury boys on street corners.
If you know this tale, you'll know that had I got my own way from the start,
she wouldn't have ended up shacked up in that weird set up in the woods and
marrying a guy who clearly prefers girls of the cold and dead variety.
At first she liked my magic. I'd
do tricks for her, stage magician stuff really. She loved the cute bunny in the
hat trick, until the cute bunny bit her. I laughed for hours. It was
so
funny. The
tantrum
she threw! Tears and snot streaming down her face. I
painted the scene and look at it when I need cheering up. She tried to have the
bunny banished from the castle. See what a wicked little minx she is? I kept
the bunny and called her Countess Dracula. We were united in our hatred of that
obnoxious toad.
***
As Snow White got older, magic
was no longer cool and I was branded a witch. You know what teenagers are like.
Nothing's cool. She couldn't stand that I did something better than her so
spread horrible rumours I was practising black magic and casting hexes. Oh come
on
! If I was going to hex
anyone
, it would've been
her
. I'd have made her ugly, fat and for
everyone to see what she was
really
like beneath that tiara. The fact she was magically unmolested should've been
enough proof the rumour was profoundly untrue.
Whenever something went wrong, it
was my fault. Everyone ignored the fact I could make crops grow, cast love
spells and bestow wealth on the king. They only saw the stereotypical witch in
a black cloak, with a black cat and a pointy hat. I'd like to point out, I
don't have warts. Or a broomstick. Queens don't clean. And I've never cackled
in my
life
. Ok, I have the cat, but
he's a sweet natured Persian called
Mr.
Darcy and has
never helped cast a spell. He has more important things to do, like sleeping,
washing and sitting on the windowsill, watching the world go by. And dropping
the occasional mouse into Snow Spite's designer stilettos.
My only friend in this cold
shouldered castle, apart from
Mr.
Darcy, was my
mirror. He was always there with a kind word, encouragement and good advice.
But you know what it's like getting older. Each morning a new wrinkle appears,
you can't get away with partying all night and that chocolate cake doesn't move
off your hips like it used to. I needed my mirror to boost my flagging
self esteem
, especially when people were fawning over the
beautiful young woman that pampered princess was becoming. People forgive a
pretty face anything.
One morning, I got out of bed
after a particularly rough night. Snow White had been singing to the moon or
something (crazy cow), I was coming down with a cold and had one of my
migraines. I stood before the black coffin shaped mirror, ready for my shot of
ego boost. I tossed my hair and pouted sexily. Still got it.
"Mirror, mirror, on the
wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
I don't know why he insists on
that ridiculous rhyme. Imagine my horror when that treacherous mirror replied,
"Snow White's the fairest of
them all."
I know I looked rough, but this
was
harsh
.
"What? Princess
Bouncy Boobs
? That obnoxious snotty
troll
?!" I paced my room.
"You're still beautiful, my
lady," the skulls above and below the glass answered.
"I'm second best to Snow
Shite? That lazy, plastic fantastic…
her
?
Oh this really takes the biscuit! She's got to you, hasn't she? What'd she do?
Pose in her Ann Summers Prostitute Princess lingerie?" The mirror, for
once, had no opinion.
Even my
mirror
preferred that troublesome wretch. It's bad enough having to
compete with other women to get the attention of men, but my own
stepdaughter
? She, with the personality
of rotting fungus? I embarked on a vigorous exercise programme, sent for the
castle nutritionist and made the best face cream my ingredients had to offer. I
sweated, starved and covered myself in goo for six months then faced my mirror
again. We hadn't spoken since that day.
"Mirror, mirror, on the
wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
"Snow White's the fairest of
them all. She grows lovelier each day."
"You've got to be
kidding
! I've eaten like a rabbit for
six months! I haven't tasted a chocolate cake for six…whole…months! My corset's
reduced my waist to seventeen inches! I haven't had a seventeen inch waist
since I was sixteen and you're telling me little miss perfect pants is prettier
than me? What do I have to do? Drink the blood of children? Sell my soul? Cast
an ugly spell on little miss grumpy knickers?"
I launched my face cream at its
lying face. I picked up the shards, cutting my finger. I'm not nominating
him
for mirror of the year. As long as
Boobilicious
Barbie was around, I'd always be second best.
Will didn't see her for the poisonous toad she was. He'd say it was hard for
her growing up without a mother. What was I? A hat stand? It's hard living with
her
, but am I cut any slack? No. I
had to get rid of her. I know it seems harsh, but who wants to face encroaching
middle age with that buxom beauty reminding you of the youth you lost looking
after her? I was getting more wrinkles while she was bouncing round with her
flowing locks, pert breasts and tight, perky little peach of an arse. And was
she grateful? Was she heck!
I went down to the stables and
summoned my best huntsman. When I say best, I mean easiest on the eyes. And he
could ride. Between you and me, that's not why I hired him. There are certain
things I need to make my life bearable. Gorgeous huntsmen and stable boys,
horizontal Tango with Will, chocolate cake and no Snow White. It's so much
nicer peeking out a window and watching these fine specimens work rather than
some old flabby man. In the summer, they strip to the waist. On those days I
spend a lot of time outside. Just to check they're doing their jobs properly.
It's not like I'm sitting there fanning myself, watching their rippling muscles
as they muck out the horses. If I angle my chair right, I get a perfect view
when they bend over.
"Take Snow White into the
woods and get rid of her," I told my best looking (I mean best) huntsman.
His eyes widened. "You want
me to kill Snow White?"
"No, I want you to play hide
and seek with her." He stared at me. Cute, but dumb. But we've established
why I hired him.
Pecs
appeal. "She's planning to
kill me and frame the king so she can have the throne. I want proof that you've
killed her." The words slipped out before I could stop them, but I
couldn't take them back. You know what it's like, you say something, get
carried away and bang! You're embroiled in a murder plot. "Bring me her
heart so I know you've done it."
In hindsight, I should have asked
for her head, but it would've been tricky explaining to my beloved Will why his
precious daughter's head was mounted on a plaque in the drawing room. I could
hardly say it was a perfect place to hang my hat and scarf. I would seem so
heartless. However much I hated that little weasel, I couldn't break Will's
heart. This had to be done on the q.t. I'd claim it was a hunting accident. Or
she was mauled by a bear while she was collecting berries. Nobody does a sad
face better than me. I have plenty of time on my hands to practise fake
sincerity. There's a lot of waiting around between executions, royal parties
and plotting how to spend the next million.
I waited for the huntsman to return,
a strange quivering feeling in my stomach. I was finally rid of that pest. He
stopped beneath my window.
"It's done!" He hoisted
up a heart.
"Thank you." I turned
away, smiling. I was once again, the most beautiful woman in the castle.
Goodbye salads, squats and smearing myself in gunk. Goodbye sour puss.
I spent the day gluing my mirror
back together then sprinkling fixing powder over the cracks. It transformed
back into an unbroken mirror. If only it was that easy to get rid of wrinkles.
I hung it on the wall and went to bed. I woke in the morning ready to face the
world again. I stood before my mirror and blew it a flirty kiss.
"Mirror, mirror, on the
wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
"Snow White, my Queen has
escaped your knife and she gets on happily with her life. With seven dwarves
she lives it seems, you're only pretty in your dreams."