Handsome & the Hideous
VIII
The curse hadn’t transformed the castle,
like its long-suffering occupants, but through
them it changed all the same.
Its walls had once absorbed laughter and light,
hummed with constant activity, whether
the busy, efficient steps of the servants or
the unhurried movements of the gentry.
For all except the queen the curse was instant,
one moment there, the next invisible and mute to all,
even themselves.
But not the castle, it still saw their flesh, heard their
wails of misery and disjointed speech, words
slurred or missing as the speaker heard nothing.
Some guests tore off their unseen clothes,
throwing them on the floor and willing them to
become visible. They raided wardrobes and redressed
in eye-catching fabric, moving limbs and
watching the movement of the cloth in mirrors.
They could almost imagine their bodies again.
Many -mostly the guests- left the castle,
muttering hopes of outdistancing the curse.
Some returned, months or years later,
while some stayed away, living ghosts in the outside world.
The paper, books and ink were used up quickly, every
inch crammed with pleas of communication, verification
that others existed. Wallpaper was stripped
off for portable messages. Written using small
sharpened twigs, with substitute ink ranging from
rotten food to their mistress’ blood-drool.
Objects like hairpins and cutlery, no longer needed,
were used to scrape and scar the castle walls,
Writing their name, family members, interests,
anything they could hold onto.
Others wrote theories and plans, elaborate creations
that would free them from this hell.
Those consumed with rage and hurt dominated
space with harsh words, accusations and imaginative
death fantasies towards the cursed queen,
who read every single one.
Time did not touch the cursed, but it did affect the castle.
Tortured and mutilated with desperate messages,
even on its floors, ceilings and outer walls,
its stone and tiles began to corrode from the elements.
Scratchings of hate and hope faded, crumbled to the ground
and were forgotten under dirt.
Surviving windows were opaque with filth, those
broken filled naturally with vines, twisting
and sealing any light away.
Dust created a constant mist when
disturbed by aimless wandering.
Wooden doors, bannisters and chests were
eaten away inside, ready to collapse
under any pressure.
Once beautiful furniture, curtains, bedsheets and cutlery
lay in ruin, either from violence or nature’s influence.
No warmth could be sustained, even in summer.
A chill of defeat permanent and unrelenting.
Only two areas of the once glorious structure
were maintained and preserved by dedicated individuals.
The west wing was scrubbed clean,
linen and cloth stored safely away, doors and tiles
replaced and windows boarded up.
Any salvageable items were locked away and
guarded, even from the queen.
At times some would leave the castle for weeks
and return with supplies, new equipment.
Any means necessary to maintain what they could.
The second area was the courtyard and garden,
kept flourishing due to the groundskeeper, Jeremy.
He grew fruit and vegetables none of them needed to eat,
he trimmed plants and grass so it didn’t become
wild like the forest beyond.
And he loved his mistress, with all his heart,
strong enough, surely, to break any curse.
Scribbled Thoughts 