FIN
"For three days and three nights, the farmer waited in the forest, watching the tower.” Fin continued, her eyes shifting among the children, almost as if she were blissfully unaware of anything at all happening around her beyond their wide, intrigued visages. And truly, she was entranced in spinning her spoken word - to the point that as she basket began to circulate, she was almost utterly oblivious to it.
“In his mind, he imagined all manner of terror inside. A troll, overgrown and hair, or a dragon, fierce and formidable, with gnashing teeth and spouts of fire for breath… perhaps a great and powerful lich king, enslaving the souls of his desperate victims. What unspeakable evil had ensnared his nightingale could only be the most fearsome and horrid of monstrosities. Fear clutched at him, deeply rooted in the heart of him… and for some time, he wondered if he was simply too weak… too cowardly to strike. But every morning her voice would ring out clear and lovely, and renew within him the desperate desire to see her freed of her alabaster cage. Upon the morning of the fourth day, however, he heard a new voice… that of her captor, the witch. For another year had passed, and as was tradition, the witch came to remind the girl of why she had been so imprisoned. Cruelly, she mocked the girl… reminding her of why she had been trapped away, in the tower and behind the mask. Tears were the nightingale's melody that day, soft and agonizing.
The farmer could stand no such song. Fashioning a weapon from a sharp, loose board in the cart, he freed his mount and sent the mule off along the path, then piling straw and leaves, he set fire to it all before making his way to the base of the tower.
From the window in the princess’s chamber, the witch could see the black smoke rising from the forest, and fear struck deep. Certain she had been discovered, anticipating the arrival of the king’s forces, the witch gathered her book of spells and races to the secret door in the tower’s side. As she stepped out of the tower, she was met by the confusing sight of a burning cart in an otherwise empty forest. Met by the vision of the beautiful and terrible woman, the farmer nearly forgot himself before realizing opportunity had presented him with the answer to his complex riddle. How to get inside. While she investigated the inferno, the farmer dashed through the door and feet barely touching the slick stone, he raced up the stairs, raced to the chamber at the top of the tower.
Upon crossing the threshold, he saw before him a woman as delicate and exquisite as her song. For several seconds, he could say nothing, stunned into silence as he stared at the porcelain mask that shrouded her face. Fear glistened behind her eyes, but also curiosity, and her voice as she spoke trembled both with trepidation and wonder.
“Who are you?” She asked her champion.
His answer was curt… not for any manner of indifference, but because he could think of no charming or witty answer befitting the creature of majesty before him, “Just a farmboy, miss… You seemed in need of rescue.”
“...Very much, sir.” The maiden replied, and in her gaze he could see the crystal beads of tears forming. Without thinking, without really meaning to, the farmer stepped towards the girl and clasped her hands, soft and perfect, in his own rough, clumsy mitts.
“Don’t cry.” He pleaded, softer now, “It will be alright, now. Only we must hurry. Your mask, can you take it off? You’ll need to see.”
Suddenly, her hands flew from his grasp, covering her face with a sharp, uneasy gasp, “Oh… oh no, you mustn’t.”
“...Why ever not?” The farmer asked.
“It is a curse… a terrible curse. I’m afraid it’s why I was locked away in this awful place. The witch says without the mask… to look upon my face would bring death.” Came her answer.
“Death? How… how can that be possible.”
“The woman who keeps the tower says that I am hideously deformed… A face so ugly, it stops the heart with but a glance.”
A laugh escaped the farmer - he was unable to help himself, you see, as he looked the princess over with incredulity, “...Forgive me, Miss. I do not mean to laugh, but surely… surely this woman has lied to you. I can see in your eyes… there is nothing hideous about you. And no one with a voice so enchanting could stop a man’s heart… only steal it.”
In truth… the princess had wondered herself if the woman could be lying. It seemed odd, after all, that she would remember none of what the warnings held and in that moment, something about the farmer’s words… about his honesty and his sincerity and something in the kindness of his manner made her desperate to believe. It was for this reason, perhaps, that she did not stop him when he reached up to pull the mask from her face…”