Emmerline Fluggernut. That is her name.
The world held its breath on the night that she came.
For Declan and Neila, the King and the Queen,
Had no heirs to love, ‘til the fates intervened.
The Queen had been barren, and quite full of years
Were the two when they learned. ‘Twas a day full of tears
And rejoicing when word of that babe was declared.
For the future of Gedeonore had been spared!
That poor little girl. If she only knew
All the weight that was on her inside as she grew.
As a Royal, perfection was always admired,
But if truth be told true, it was also required.
So when she arrived and they gazed for a while
On her curly red hair, green eyes and warm smile,
They thought in an instant, and began professing
The daughter they loved an immaculate blessing.
But just as the handmaid began to caress
The young girl to put on the noble white dress
And the Blessing Stone every young Princess was gifted,
She noticed a spot… and the aura was lifted.
A tiny grey dot appeared, umbleflea-sized,
On the base of her neck. And if fate could revise
That one moment, the maiden would stifle the gasp
That announced to the room that the blessing had passed.
The Queen took a hold of her once perfect child,
Turned her over and gazed on the mark that defiled
And handed her back, never saying a word.
Nor was there one that would ever be heard
On the matter. In fact, the girl never was touched
Once again by the parents who needed so much
To be perfect, they couldn’t have one little speck
Of a flaw to be found on their Emmerline’s neck.
That same awful day, the prized Blessing Stone
And the Royal Gown, she, by all rights should have owned
Were stored in box. And the daughter was raised
In the house of the servants and scullery maids.
Eight long years later, the grieving Queen died,
Followed soon by the King, and sweet Emmerline cried.
**************************
The passing of kin is a hard enough hill
To traverse when they’re mirthful and full of good will,
But when they’ve been awful or haven’t been there,
The loss becomes more than some people can bear.
So, as she was mourning, the last thing she needed
To find as she scoured for clues and succeeded
Was a leather-bound book, neglected and torn,
Recording the gloom of the day she was born.
As each page was turned and the truth was applied,
Her spirit was spurned and a part of her died.
Til, finally, sorrow was all that was filling
The ground in the sad little heart it was tilling.
Then, Emmerline Fluggernut went into hiding
Alone on the hill with a deep and abiding
Disdain for herself and the lot she’d been given.
Locked deep within, like a self-imposed prison,
Through daytime and night in the cold, castle home,
She busied her brain reading tome after tome,
Filling her mind up to hide from the healing and
Spare her poor heart of the pain it was feeling.
And when all the knowledge of men had been gained,
The secrets of spirits were yet unattained –
And so she dove heedlessly down to the mark
Of mastering all of the Gifts of the Dark.
Enchantments and curses and strange predilections
For scourges of sickness, a vile collection
Of potions and tinctures became her endeavor,
‘Til fin’ly the mind and the spirit were severed
Apart: the heart hidden, the good conscience seared.
The Grey Faerie rose and the girl disappeared.
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