Faeritayl--Sweet Sweet Victory

Faeritalyl added a bounce to his step, a swing to his saunter. He was rather pleased with himself right about now and not even the rotten smell of his little minions could change that.

But he shouldn't underestimate them. They were loyal little fellows, more than willing to do anything you asked them so long as you scared the wrinkles out of their snouts beforehand. No wonder Maleficent had asked permission to use them. Permission which he'd granted. She was, afterall, 'The Mistress of All Evil'--you'd think she'd get somewhere.

"Where are we?!" one of my royal guests--Phillip I think was his name--demanded, only to be answered by a punch in the gut by a small, black fist.

"Where all your worst nightmares originate," he sneered, fully enjoying leaving them in the dark.

He could tell Peterson wanted to say something and was suddenly extremely grateful for the cloth they had tied around his annoying mouth. That confounded mattress maker he had long since fired had told him quite enough of his smart cracks.

Peterson's story had been an interesting one. One night some sopping wet girl showed up on his vast doorstep to ask if she could get out of the storm. It just so happened that he had been looking for someone to marry and, though make-up washed clean and hair a tangled mess, it was love at first sight. The man whom Faeritayl had hired to kidnap that girl had failed miserably and she'd escaped. So, three miles later, he finally noticed, made a U-turn, and followed her footprints to the palace. When Peterson's parents had told them of their plan to see if she was an actual princess, he'd gone berserk, convincing them that anyone could feel a pea under one mattress. What they needed was at least twenty, fifty, close to a hundred! Faeritayl had told him he should've thrown in a few extras with their purchase but his excuse was that their ceiling was too low. It was a castle, there were no such things as low ceilings! That was the shoe Faeritayl had used to kick the man out of his tower.

Faeritayl studied his other lovesick trophies who each had a sack thrown over their head and were being led by jabbing minions down the slick stairs. Adam was just barely conscious now with his head drooping and his feet stumbling. He was glad they'd decided to knock him cold, for rumor had it that he'd once been a monstrous--and muscular, no doubt--beast who could probably eat Faeritayl for breakfast. Of course, it had been his kind and loving personality that had eventually transformed him back, but it wouldn't surprise him if some of those combat skills, and temper, remained.

Then that Flynn character. If he remembered correctly, the witch had said something about him having some mad climbing skills--after which Faeritayl pointed out that she was the one who provided him with a rope in the first place and ordered an 'off with the hair!' to solve the problem. And, like any goody-two-shoes prince, he had a soft heart--willing to use those skills on any tower so long as it freed a poor imprisoned maiden. He'd even seemed more concerned for his family than himself when we'd kidnapped him, explaining why he seemed so lost in his own thoughts. Aw...how sweet.

Phillip. The only guy Faeritayl knew who could court in his sleep. But he wasn't about to hold it against him--that kid was determined. He'd heard of how he'd jumped his horse off a crumbling bridge, sliced, diced, and pureed a whole forest of thorns, and slayed a dragon all in one night. That, and he had those fairy folk who could probably turn even Faeritayl's deadliest streams of magic into a delightful buffet of pastries.

Then there was Charming who, like Adam, was just barely making his way back to reality with nothing but misery to greet him and who‘s name Faeritayl was almost jealous of when he compared it to his own. Though he should’ve make assumptions, it was the name that made the lad seem rather confident that he could do it. It didn’t even matter what it was. He still remembered that day well when Cinderella’s step mother had come storming into his tower, her daughters--their enormous hoop skirts and all--in tow ranting and raving on how the prince had somehow located Cinderella with a lost glass slipper. The things they would think of next…

Then Julian. He seemed one of the most patient. After all, he’d had to wait clear until his love was almost dead before he won finally won her heart. Gah! He knew he shouldn’t have put that loophole of ‘true love’s kiss’ in that poison. But how was he to know she had a secret admirer? He also seemed the most worried, probably pondering over the image of his ill little girl. That’s why he, Faeritayl, had always stuck to scheming. The only thing you got attached to was, well, the utter brilliance of your plans.

Ah Eric, the only thing that had stood between him and his heart's throb was loud personalitied, eight tentacled Ursula. Heheh, yes she'd been an interesting partner in crime. Kudos to the guy who had defeated  her but it was no wonder he was always searching for a sudden change in the redundant waves--especially for such a cautious guy. He'd once drove his counselor insane for his wariness in marrying. He wanted the right one, and only the right one. Anyone even close to that was as good as wrong. And now that he had her--and their child--he wasn't about to let anything happen to them.

They finally reached the dungeon and he ordered his minions to release them. They shoved them inside, tore the sacks from their bewildered faces,  and cut the ropes around their wrists.

“I know you’ve all had a long day so rest up,” Faeritayl grinned wolfishly, "Because tomorrow will be even longer.” And with that he slammed and locked the door, leaving them in the cold darkness.

Yes indeed. It was a successful night--more success than he’d had in years! Now his goal was to keep it that way and not let it fizzle out for the five-hundredth. But what did he have to fear? Maybe he’d left a few weeping princesses in his path, but they didn’t even know how to save themselves, let alone their husbands.

The End

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