The Crybaby and the Elf Part 2

Now we continue the tale! Just as clarification, this is not my usual writing style, but I like it for these comedic stories.

The Crybaby and the Elf

(And also a really mean dragon)

Part Two

By

Hannah Williams

The spoiled princess sat in her tower window watching the elf hurry away. Snuffling, she rested her head on her arms and contemplated the knowledge that he would soon be out of sight forever.

            She bolted upright. NO! That mustn’t happen! She didn’t want to see another person if she couldn’t see that elf again. Running down the stairs, she flew from the palace and out the gate, making for the forest where the elf was just disappearing.

            She didn’t take a cloak, she didn’t take food, she didn’t take anything.

            In a few moments, she was tumbling through the forest. The elf was some ways ahead of her, and luckily, he’d slowed to a walk in the woods. However as soon as she had him in view, he pivoted and glared at her.

            Wheezing, she managed to stumble across the distance between them, snagging her hair and dress as she went. At last, she reached him and gave a dizzy smile.

            He frowned. “Why did…” His lips tightened and he seemed to be struggling with the right thing to say. Closing his eyes, he went still for a moment. Then with a deep breath, he looked straight at her and said, “Go away.”

            Dramatically crossing her hands over heart, Wailbaby declared, “Never. NEV-AH! Never again for as long as I live! I’m in love!

            He rolled his eyes and began to walk away.

            “Hey! Wait! Where are you going? Wait for me!” Hitching up her cumbersome skirts, she wobbled after him, but in less than a few seconds, the elf had vanished into the trees. The skirt dropped from Wailbaby’s numb fingers. “Get back here!”

            In vain.

            Unbelievable.

            She would not stand for that! Furious, she threw herself upon the ground—on a couple of rocks and sticks. Ouch! That hurt. Well, maybe she wouldn’t do that stunt quite as much.

            So she began to weep stormy tears. Indeed, she cried for ten minutes. She screamed. She kicked. She hit her foot against a tree trunk. Ow! She stopped kicking.

            Then she carefully opened one eye, expecting to see him on his knees, promising her anything if only she’d stop crying. Perhaps he’d even have the engagement ring out.

            Nothing.

            Bewildered, she sat up and looked around to discover that she was utterly alone.

            Just as she considered crying again, this time for real, she realized that the elf was standing upon a log just a few yards away, arms folded and face expressionless.

            “Finished yet?” he asked, voice cold.

            She sniffed and nodded. He stepped lightly from the log and reached out his hand. Her crush returned and she giggled as she placed her hand in his. He pulled her up, then jerked his hand back like she was diseased Glaring still, he pointed back home. “Go back,” he said.

            “Alone?”

            “I’ll take—” Again, his voice broke off and his face twisted as if he were pain.

            Wailbaby’s eyes widened. “Hey,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

            Bending down, he grabbed a stick and began to write in the dirt. She leaned down and read aloud. “I can only speak two words per sentence…” She gasped. “Hey! That’s weird! Why?”

            He continued writing.

            “…Nobody knows. Possibly a birth defect or a curse that nobody knew about,” she continued. “That’s awful! My first dream man only speaks Gibberish and now the best one can only speak two words per sentence? Woe is me!”

            The elf shook his head, threw down the stick, and turned to walk away. She scrambled after him,  but in her hair caught on a branch, and with a shriek she was jerked back. “Elf? Help!”

            He returned and unhooked her hair.

            “Say,” she said, brightening. “I don’t even know your name. I’m Wailbaby.”

            “I’m Sharenth,” he said, then whipped out his knife.

            Shocked, she leapt back.

            But he flipped it around and handed it to her hilt first. “Cut hair.”

            Her hand flew to her hair. “My hair? My lovely curtain of spun gold? No! It’s the crown of my beauty!”

            “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Won’t return? Keep up. Wood’s dangerous.”

            “These are stupid trees anyway.”

            “Pseudotsuga menziesii.”

            Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just swear at me or something?”

            “Tree name. Douglous-fir.”

            “Oh.”

            Suddenly, he halted so fast she almost fan into him. “Monotropa Uniflora!” he exclaimed and ran across a bed of leaves as noiselessly as silk on marble.

            Confused, she went to see what his fuss was about and saw some transparent white, bell-headed, stalks rising from the ground.

            “Translation, please?” she said with a sigh.

            “Indian pipe.”

            “Huh?”

            He didn’t acknowledge her befuddlement, but pointed instead to something that looked like colored pine-cones growing from the ground. “Boschniaka Hookeri,” he said lovingly. “Ground cones.”

            Arms akimbo, she stared at him. “Why in the world do you know that? Oh, that’s right. You’re an elf.”

            Straightening, he looked her in the eye. “A botanist,” he said sternly.

            She laughed. “That’s hilarious! You mean that an actual specific occupation in Elvendom? Oh, how rich.”

            He, for one, did appear amused.

            When he began walking again, it was at a rapid pace and she had to trot to keep up. “So whatcha doing?” she asked.

            “Delivering messages.”

            “Oh yeah, like the one for Pop. What’s in them, anyway?” She reached for the one in his hand, and he ducked away. 

 

            “Personalized messages.”

            “Who cares,” she grumbled, but she didn’t try to grab again.

            “So who are we delivering to next?”

            “Zelray Kingdom.”

            She groaned. Not Zelray. Zelray ruled by King Rifolard the 10^th.

            Colletiatessa’s father.

An hour later, they stood in the court of Zelray. The King, the Queen, their daughter, and their son-in-law had not worried about personal primping, but instead hurried out to see what the matter was. When they saw the elf, they smiled. It was wonderful to see elves. Then they saw Princess Wailbaby.

            They stopped smiling.

            “What’s she doing here?” Colletiatessa growled, pointing a long finger at the guilty party. “How dare the princess of the kingdom that abducted my mother appear here?” At her cry, the soldiers milled about in their ranks, heavy scowls on their faces.

            Wailbaby tried to hide behind Sharenth. The elf stepped aside, and placed a hand on her shoulder, looked the king right in the eye, and said, “Under authority.”

            With a nod, the king reached for the scroll. Even with his glasses, he couldn’t read it, so he handed it to Bill. Bill looked over it and gave a long a whistle. “Boy, you elves sure write purty. Right. The message. Here it is:

            “Greetings, Rifolard the 10^th, King of Zelray, from Thancalon the Silver, Lord of Eretheal Wood and those therein. It has come to my attentions that far to the south in Irony Mountains, the Dragon Fellfang has awoken from his 100 years of spelled sleep. His rage will be great and his retribution swift. We must prepare for his onslaught. Beware dragons. Do not underestimate them.”

            Bill went quiet. There was a note at the end that read, “Please treat my messenger well. He can only speak two words per sentence, but I thought he needed to go on an adventure.” Of course, Bill did not read this out loud, so he wouldn’t embarrass the elf.

            He whistled again. “How about that? A dragon.”

            Colletiatessa leapt into the air, pumping her fist. “YE-ES! I’ve always dreamed of fighting a dragon. I was almost there in the 3^rd level of DragonDeath, but a real one will be so much cooler!”

            “Pardon me, mademoiselle, but thou is unwise to wish for a dragon when one you have not met me.”

            She sighed. “I know, Scholar Darlanvalancousious.”

            Wailbaby peeked around Sharenth to see who she was speaking to, and to her complete shock, she saw, perched on a chair before an open book, a phoenix, pen in wing and glasses on beak!

            The phoenix was speaking again. “Noble elf, will you deliver this message to my brother. As you know, dragons hate phoenixes because they are another creature of fire. His name is Skervalcousious and he lives in the Sharded Crags. It is a rather difficult climb. Will you do it?”

            “I will,” Sharnth said, but he glanced uncertainly at Wailbaby.

            Guessing his thoughts, Colletiatessa snapped, “She can’t stay here!”

            “Now dear,” Bill began.

            “Don’t dear me! I won’t have that little Kleenex hoarder bringing down our castle!”

            When the king and queen nodded their agreement, Sharnth bowed and led the way out the exit. Wailbaby scrambled after him, glad to leave the hostile-heavy court.

            The chilly air nipped at their noses as they crossed over the moat. Already, Wailbaby’s breath came in short pants as she struggled to keep up with the elf. “So,” she said. “A dragon? How can we handle a dragon?”

            “No idea.”

            She glanced at the western mountains where the sky was already turning a dusty pink. “Awful stingy of them to not let us stay for the night,” she grumbled.

            “Your fault.”

            “My fault? What makes you say that?”

            “You’re selfish. You’re greedy. I guessed.”

            Folding her arms, she glowered. “All I wanted was to be rich.”

            “What for?”

            How strange. She didn’t have an answer.

 They continued traveling towards the forest, when she said, "So I've been thinking about your unusual handicap. I guess it's not that bad after all. I mean, you can say things like, "yes, darling", "yes, sweetness", "yes, sugar"..."

Night had fallen as they entered into the forest, and the princess began to shiver in the biting chill. “Where…where will we sleep?”

            In answer, Sharenth paused underneath a large fir and leaping lightly up, caught the lowest branch, and swung himself up.

            Her jaw dropped. “No way! I ain’t sleeping in a tree!” She wondered if it would be a good time to try bawling again.

            Sharenth dropped back down and lifted her to the first branch, surprising her with his strength. The moment her fingers caught hold, he let go, leaving her dangle helplessly. “Hey help!” she squeaked. “I can’t pull myself up!” She jerked her head around, squinting through her golden locks to see him staring at her with incredulousness.

            Shaking his head, he jumped up again, swung atop the branch, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her up. With a gasp, the princess glued herself to the trunk. The ground seemed a mile away.

            However, the elf—the irritating elf, the cold-hearted elf, the mean and rude elf, the not-able-to-understand elf—was not satisfied. He dragged her up to a second branch where she froze in pure terror. Then he disappeared into the foliage above her.

            It was the worst night of her life. She straddled the branch, hugging the trunk, afraid of moving lest she drop, so her face and hands were terribly cold. Oh, so cold. Her teeth began to chatter and her nose turned blue.

            At that moment, she saw the elf’s cloak lower through the branches, then drift down onto her shoulders. Shocked, Wailbaby looked up, but she could see nothing in the darkness. The night wore on, but the cold could no longer touch her.

To Be Continued...

The Crybaby and the Elf Part 1

Today, dear readers, I will begin another my silly fairy tales. Just as clarification, this is not my usual writing style, but I like it for these comedic stories.

I was inspired to write a sequel to The Mailman and the Princess, and this much longer story sprang into being. Personally, it's my favorite between the two. But it might take you a couple of parts to understand why...

The Crybaby and the Elf

(And also a really mean dragon)

By

Hannah Williams

In the whole wide world, there was not a name worse than Wailbaby Odread Burgle. And in the whole wide world, there was not a girl who deserved it more than the one upon which it was bestowed.

            Wailbaby was a dazzlingly beautiful girl and when she looked at her reflection she could pretend her name was something gorgeous like Lasringa Briazethia Shemarei. Or at least Colletiatessa, like the other princess in the next kingdom over.

            But Wailbaby was her name from the moment she was born and wailed with such gusto that the nurses had to stuff cotton in their ears to save their hearing. Ever since Wailbaby was dreadfully spoiled because her parents, the king and queen of Pluopia, lived in dread that her screams would bring the castle tumbling down, despite the fact that the pillars were made of iron.

            So when Princess Wailbaby decided she wanted to be the richest gal in the world, the king and queen found themselves in Monopoly.

            No really, they were playing Monopoly when the door slammed open.

            There in an extravagant purple gown was the explosively beautiful Princess Wailbaby, and explosive was an apt description for her golden hair that usually swept several feet behind her was so frizzed out it filled the entire doorway. Her face had lost its princess pallor and matched the hue of the dress. Her blue eyes, not languid like summer pools, flared like the hottest flame.

            “I ain’t rich!” she shrieked.

            The king was so astonished he broke off his greedy chuckle and let his fake $500 paper bill slip from his bejeweled grasp.

            The queen recovered her power of speech first for she was rarely without it. “My pearly pumpkin, you are unbelievably rich. You are a princess, my pet.”

            Wailbaby shoved out her lower lip four inches. “Ain’t good enough.”

            With a squeaky noise, the king wrung his finger in his ear. “Darling dove, please do not say “ain’t” here after.”

            “Ain’t going to.” Her lip trembled.

            Recognizing the signs of impending doom, the queen slapped the king’s finger out of his ear and said, “Sweet sugar, what is you want?”

            “Wanna be the richest gal in the world.”

            The king groaned, expelling enough air to create a small tornado which swept up all the paper Monopoly money which landed at the princess’s feet.

            “That ain’t real loot!”

            The queen snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! The next kingdom over ruled by King Rifolard the 10^th! They’re as rich as a magpie in a pirates cave! We’ll capture their queen and ask for a ransom!”

            Wiping her nose, Wailbaby asked, “Why not Princess Colletiatessa? She drives me nuts.”

            “No, she’s vicious as a wildcat. Yes sir, a ransom will get the job done.”

            Note to reader: For those of you have read The Mailman and the Princess, they will recall how this dastardly design was thwarted by a mailman named Bill, the princess Colletiatessa, and how they had adventures with towers, trolls, true love, and also a really cool phoenix.

            “Well, that didn’t work,” The king said glumly.

            “Ain’t fair!” Wailbaby groused. “Collestessa even got herself a man out of the deal. Hear he don’t look like much, but that don’t change the fact that she got herself a man. A man!” With an anguished groan she collapsed upon the bed as gracefully as hippo breakdancing, which is to say, not gracefully at all. Rolling over, she buried her face in the pillow broke loose with bellowing wails. To the fortune of all, the cushion absorbed the sound.

            Five ear-throbbing minutes later, she popped up, bright and cheerful. “Mop and Pop, I don’t wanna be the richest gal in the world anymore!”

            A big sigh of relief.

            “I wanna get married!”

            Horror. Speechless horror. Then came the screams.

            Far off in the other kingdom, Bill and his lovely wife paused in their game of Wii Battle. “Colletiatessa, my dear, do you that that squealing?”

            With a pirouette, she thrust forward her Wii controller like a sword. “Yeah. It’s that goblin I just spitted.”

            Bill shook his head. “Sounds like some pig getting slaughtered.”

            “Watch out for that troll!” she yelled, causing him to duck, before he remembered it was just on a screen.

            We return to the castle room in Pluopia that contains a blissful Wailbaby lost in dreams of love and a pair of terrified parents.

            The king was the first to calm down. “Wait…this…this is good. She gets married and she goes to live somewhere else! Euereka!” When he leapt in the air for joy, his head hid the chandelier and knocked it down.

            After a dramatic episode in which the castle almost burned down, the queen extinguished the fire with the bucket of tears Wailbaby kept for her bed at night.

            The royal couple rested in the chairs, getting dizzy from seeing the princess whirl around the rooms.

            “He must be the handsomest!” she gushed. “He must have hair as radient as the heart of the sun and eyes as blue as the soul of the sea! He can be rich too! That way I kill two birds with one stone! Oh, weee!” She bounced up and down, before flying out of the room.

            The queen picked up the paper money and looked solemnly at her husband. “Well, George. What are we to do?”

            He sighed. “I don’t know, Mizelbeth. I just don’t know.”

            In the end, they sent several photographers out over the entire world to seek out eligible young men for their daughter. After a week of Wailbaby asking, “Are they here yet? Are they here yet?” the photographers returned.

            The photos were bound in ten inch thick book which the princess eagerly snatched. Curling up in her beanbag, she began to pour over it. An hour later though, she had become fretful. “They don’t look a smidge like my dream-man,” she whined.

            The king made a sonorous sound (everyone thought he was clearing his throat, when in fact his tummy was rumbling).  “My beautiful bunny, your expectations are gargantuan. They very well might be impossible.” His gaze drifted towards the kitchens.

            Moping, Wailbaby flipped to the next page. “Ohmigosh! There he is!” she screamed

            It did appear to be so. His hair and eyes were the right hue, as amazing as that might be. And he wore a sugary smile that he indicated he knew all the flattering, mushy compliments to say.

            “I’ll marry him at once!” declared Wailbaby, clasping her hands to her heard.

            Nervously, Queen Mizelbeth said, “Um, dear, there is a problem. He’s from the country of Gibber and only speaks Gibberish.”

            Wailbaby was stunned. “I won’t be able to understand him?”

            “That’s correct.”

            Her face puckered up for a second, but then she turned to the next page. “Oh well. He wasn’t that rich anyways.”

            But none of the other princes matched her ideal hero. Wailbaby cried herself to sleep.

            The very next morning, a messenger ran up to the room where the king stood awkwardly watching the queen pat the princess in an effort to comfort her.

            Upon hearing the message whispered in his ear, King George leapt high, narrowly missing the chandelier. “Great Scott! Mizelbeth, we must clean up post-haste! There is a messenger from the Eretheal Wood and elves don’t like to be kept waiting! Hurry! I’ve got to curl my bear!” He stampeded out.

            “What about elves?” Wailbaby queried, looking up, her face aglow with interest.

            “They’ve got some message. Clean up and meet us out there,” The queen said crossly before hurrying away.

            While they are getting ready, let me say a word or two about elves Eretheal Wood. The elves lived only in that wood, directly west of Pluopia. They rarely ventured out and had little to do with humans. They were said to be wise and fair and somehow heard news first, which was curious since, as aforesaid, they rarely left home. Their wood was thick with fir, ferns, and flowers, and at night, a golden glow lit under the boughs. A human had never, I repeat, never entered this wood, so my description of it ends now.

            The king and queen, primped and puffed, strutted to their thrones and descended onto their seats. The large court spread out before them: the nobles, the servants, the soldiers. And right before them, on the center of the sun on the mosaic floor, stood the elf.

            He couldn’t have been mistaken for anything else. He was garbed in green and brown, with a cloak clasped to one shoulder, the other end, attached to his belt. Though not impressively tall like some of his kin, he held himself straight. His hair was midnight dark and his forest green eyes kept darting suspiciously around the room like he suspected the court of some dark design. But besides the pointed ears, the hair was the dead give-away.

            At that time, long hair for guys was not “in” and elves were the only ones whose men still grew their hair past their shoulders. In humandom, crew-cuts were the rage.

            The elf stepped up the throne and silently handed the king a scroll of birch bark tied with vine maple.  The king glanced at the scroll in confusion, for it was proper for the messenger to read the scroll.

            The elf looked anxious. “Take it,” he urged.

            Feeling mistreated, King George took it, but before he could open it, disaster descended.

            Princess Wailbaby Ordread Burgle came through the doorway behind the thrones. She saw the king. She saw the scroll. She saw the elf.

            Her parents were never able to understand what happened next, because he looked nothing like her requirement.

            But Wailbaby drew herself up to her full height and majestically proclaimed, “Mother, Father, that is the man I must marry.”

            The king was speechless.

            The queen was speechless.

            Everyone was speechless.

            Except the elf.

            “Excuse me?” he managed to say.

            The queen leapt up. “My enthusiastic emerald, you can’t marry him!”

            “Of course I can!” she squealed.

            King George recovered his voice. “Cute carnation, this is not on those times when you can point to something and get it.”

            Eyes clouding, she snapped, “Why not?” For her part, she truly did not understand. From the moment she was born, anything she wanted was automatically hers. Why were husbands any different? “I’ll cry if you won’t let me have him! I’ll cry and bring the roof down!” she stormed.

            The servants bolted for the emergency exit.

            Pushing back his crown, the king groaned and looked beseechingly at the elf. “Will you marry my daughter?”

            “No way!” he cried, incredulous.

            “What do you mean?” the princess wailed.
            The nobles ran out the door.

            The confused and freaked-out expression now fading, the elf looked angry. “I refuse. No consent. I won’t. Forget it. You’re crazy. Understand now?”

            The princess stamped her foot and her eyes began to pool with tears.

            The soldiers rushed out the door.

            Throwing up her hands, the queen said, “I supposed we could lock him in the dungeons, no food or water, until he agrees.”

            “Yes, and have the whole elven army on us,” the king said sarcastically. “And if they don’t do anything, we’ll be walking through the garden and a tree will fall on us. No thanks.” He frowned at his daughter. “Wailbaby, I put my foot down.” He did so. “You can’t force someone to marry you. End of conversation.”

            She fled the room, sobbing.

            Rubbing his head, the King said in a weary tone, “Elf, you may go now.”

            Not needing any dismissal, the elf hurried out. If he had not been so flustered, he would have made sure the king had read the message. But as he was upset and rather shaken, all he thought about was getting out of that crazy kingdom.

            As it was, the king had dropped the scroll during the flurry and it had rolled underneath the throne. There it lay, forgotten…and unread.

            To be continued…

Five Enchanted Roses Cover Reveal!

I am so, so, so excited. Last year, writing stories for the Cinderella collection, Five Glass Slippers, was an absolutely delightful experience. And this year, we have an even more beautiful cover to inspire us...indeed, one of the most beautiful covers I've ever seen. Period.

Behold.

Rooglewood Press is delighted to introduce their second fairy tale novella contest—

Five Enchanted Roses

a collection of “Beauty and the Beast” stories

The challenge is to write a retelling of the beloved fairy tale in any genre or setting you like. Make certain your story is recognizably “Beauty and the Beast,” but have fun with it as well. Make it yours!

Rooglewood Press will be selecting five winners to be published in the Five Enchanted Roses collection, which will be packaged up with the gorgeous cover you see displayed here. Perhaps your name will be one of the five displayed on this cover?

All the contest rules and information (how to enter, story details, deadline etc.) may be found on the Rooglewood Press website. Just click HERE and you will go right to the page.

Rooglewood Press’s first collection, Five Glass Slippers, is available for pre-order now and will be released on June 14. Do grab yourself a copy and see what these talented writers have done with the timeless “Cinderella” tale!

Blog Button:

Please post the blog button on your sidebars so that others will learn about this contest! Invite your readers to share it as well. Here is the link to include: http://www.rooglewoodpress.com/fairy-tale-collections

This link will take readers directly to the contest information.

Cover Illustration Credit:

This cover illustration was rendered by Julia Popova, “ForestGirl.” You can find out more about this gifted artist on her website: www.forestgirl.ru