The Whispering Gallery

Elara was trapped. The carriage was sturdy oak. She threw her shoulder against the door, but she was weak, the curse having drained her strength.

She slumped against the seat, weeping. She thought of Kaelen turning to stone. She thought of the boy in the oak tree.

* The tree.*

She remembered the ribbon. She remembered the day.

Kaelen had given her something else that day. A hairpin. A silly trinket he had won in a game, made of twisted silver wire. He had put it in her hair to hold the bandage.

She still wore it. It was the only piece of jewelry she never took off.

Elara reached up and pulled the silver pin from her hair. It was thin, strong, and bent at the tip.

She jammed it into the lock mechanism of the carriage door. She wasn't a thief, but she was desperate. She wiggled it, praying to whatever gods watched over plain girls and monsters.

* Click.*

The bar slid. The door swung open.

Elara tumbled out into the mud. She didn't stop. She scrambled up and ran for the Citadel.

The main doors were barred. But the briars... the briars had recoiled from her blood before.

She grabbed the thorns again. She let them tear her palms open.

"Let me in!" she screamed at the curse. "I am the bride! You cannot keep me out!"

The Citadel groaned. A side door, strangled by vines, cracked open.

Elara slipped through. She ran through the halls, following the sound of the wind.

The Whispering Gallery was at the top of the highest tower. It was a circular room lined with books, open to the sky.

When she burst in, Kaelen was standing in the center of the room.

He was chanting. The air around him was gray and heavy.

He was turning to stone.

His feet were already fused to the floor, solid granite. The stone was creeping up his legs, turning the velvet breeches to rock. It had reached his waist.

"Kaelen!" Elara shouted.

He stopped chanting. He turned his head. His face was fully human now—the Golden Lord restored. But his eyes were terrified.

"Stay back!" he yelled. "It is almost done! If you touch me now, you will petrify with me!"

"You coward!" Elara cried, staggering toward him. "You think this is noble? Leaving me alone? Leaving me with the guilt that I killed you?"

"I am saving you!" Kaelen pleaded. "Look at you, Elara! You are fading!"

Elara looked at her hands. They were gray. She felt light, as if a strong wind could blow her away. The curse was still feeding, trying to finish the restoration before he turned to stone.

"The curse wants a trade," Elara realized. "Beauty for Life. It thinks you are the beauty."

She looked at Kaelen. He was perfect. And he hated it.

"It wants a sacrifice," Elara whispered.

She looked around. On a pedestal lay a shard of mirror, likely shattered by Kaelen years ago.

She grabbed it.

"Elara, no!" Kaelen struggled, but his legs were stone. He couldn't move.

Elara held the jagged glass. She looked at her reflection. Plain Elara. But her hair... her hair was long, lustrous chestnut brown. It was her one vanity. Her one pride.

"I offer it," she screamed at the sky. "I offer the beauty!"

She raised the glass and slashed.

She didn't just cut her hair. She dragged the glass down her cheek, opening a gash from eye to jaw.

Blood sprayed.

"Elara!" Kaelen screamed, a sound of pure agony.

Elara didn't stop. She ran to him. She didn't recoil from the stone. She threw her arms around his petrifying waist.

"I am not the victim!" she sobbed into his chest. "I am the partner! If you are stone, I am stone! If you are mud, I am mud! Share it, damn you!"

She kissed him.

She kissed him with blood on her face and the curse in her veins. She poured her love, her stubbornness, her plain, unyielding earth-strength into him.

The magic shrieked.

It didn't know what to do. The curse was designed for vanity. It was designed to punish a man who loved only beauty. It could not process a woman who destroyed her own beauty to save a monster. It could not process a man who chose death over perfection.

The transaction failed.

The equilibrium shattered.