The Legend of the Spectral Seal
The Songbird’s Tale
by Aria (beautyaria04@yahoo.com)
Once, far away, and not so long ago, there lived a maiden. One who had a heart of gold and looks to match. She had hands like a delicate flower. Her lips were as soft as the petals of a rose. Her skin was white and milky. And she had the voice of a songbird.
Because of that, she was nicknamed Aria, for the songs she sang. They came, like everything she did, from her heart. And it was what people remembered and cherished about her. One note from her, and the sun would shine through the darkest day. Happiness seemed to follow her.
That was, until one seemingly chance encounter with the town’s Baroness. The woman watched this girl grow and became jealous of her. And even though Aria did not realize she was popular and well liked, and to the town was, in her own right, a princess, her heart of gold and tenderness could not stop what took place.
In the square near the market place, Aria bumped into the Baroness and shattered the porcelain doll she carried. A look of sadness and regret passed over Aria as she looked at the broken pieces. The Baroness lingered over Aria and spoke her magical words.
“Look deep into the fractured glass, my dear. Those shards now hold your very essence. With each moment you stare, one by one those around you will forget you. Neither your song nor your touch will they crave or desire. You are but a memory now, and soon shall fade till you are broken and used up, empty and forgotten like all childish things.”
As the woman spoke, Aria could not help but let her eyes linger, trying harder with each passing moment to find the beauty and the good within the pieces before her. As she did so, the older woman moved about her, hiding her from the public eye in a magical mist.
“Look deep, my child, beyond the reflective images and lights. Watch your fate unfold before your eyes. Feel what its like to be nothing, forgettable and plain. See what you really are: nothing special, not worthy of anything or anyone. Your beauty and grace are but an illusion, a trick … the true self is before you and you are now but a tale.”
Again, as the woman spoke, Aria felt herself fall deeper into the words spoken. Not knowing or caring about the outside or that she was fading to the town, she reached out to pick up the pieces, cutting herself. The blood dripped onto the crystal and the magical spell sealed. Aria fainted, surrounded in blackness and cold.
What no one knew, what no one could see was that the Baroness was harboring a secret. Not just any secret; one of magic, black and deadly. In her travels with the Baron, who was now deceased, she had come upon a magic amulet, one she named “The Spectral Seal.” It was this Magical device, which gave the woman her power: the power to warp and bend, to bring her desires and sins or even whims to life and make them real. She herself was twisted and maddened by it every time she used it.
Poor Aria was unaware, falling under the spell, never to know the truth behind or the reason for it, just to live as the Baroness called, forever a slave, someone plain and unreal, locked away like the secret spectral seal.
When she woke up, she found herself not in her bed, but in a cell. The Baroness imprisoned her further, using her as a slave girl to emphasize her point. Ordering her to wash and clean, primp and preen the Baroness so she could further degrade the young beauty. Aria did as she was told, always without a fight or a word, working day and night on castle floors or in the kitchen to make meals of the gizzards brought to her. It was rare that more than a few people saw her. When that happened, no one spoke to her unless to pass an order from her high-and-mightiness. The beautiful body and eyes of light Aria once had now dimmed with each passing day. The life was sucked away with every menial labor performed, every order given.
When the Baroness tired of her, no one really knew how long it had been; she threw Aria out onto the streets of the unforgiving kingdom that scorned the Baroness. Left on her own, no one would give Aria a look nor the time of day. The woman sat on a stoop, crying, day in and day out.
Then, one day, a scream was heard. A cry of shock and desperation rang out for all to hear. “My chickens, my sheep, all gone to that beast.” Another said, “A dragon…a dragon, that black hearted lizard!” More chimed, “It comes to claim one of us again.”
Aria came to see what was the matter. Her steps took her to the scene of the crime. She looked, seeing what all the fuss was about: some dragon or serpent; something was amiss. She looked to everyone gathered in the square, who only saw only a peasant. Out came the Baroness, pointing her cane straight at Aria. Then she proclaimed: “A sacrifice!! A sacrifice must be made. So the prophecy may be fulfilled and the debt repaid.”
All eyes then turned to Aria, and some men grabbed her, tussling her about like some sack of potatoes. The baroness directed them to move to her to the appointed spot. The offering was chosen, and she fought to stay alive. Alas, no matter how hard she fought or what was said, Aria was going die, left by the seaside, wind blowing salt water in her face. Muffled screams went unheard and unanswered. Aria deflated, imagining her demise, tethered to a tree in such a lonely place. What fate awaited her we cannot imagine. She indeed was to be someone’s dinner … guest.
Out of the darkened sky, swooping down with wings out at his side, a red and black dragon flew around his prey, lovely, and full of fright. What a delectable sight! Aria saw him move in. She thrashed with all her might but, alas, he reached to grab her, claws holding tight, and then flew away, high into the night, away from the town, and those hidden in fright. His claw held her, safe from the air, gentle almost, with some care. Sometime after, Aria fainted, leaving a kiss on his scales, heaving a sigh as he flew her to his home, placing her, safe and in comfort, in some down.
Hours passed—days, perhaps—when finally his sleeping queen awoke. A man’s voice boomed and sounded strong: “Welcome, my love, the one to break my spell!”
Aria blinked and wanted to cower. She leaned against the tower he had placed her in, trying to comprehend just what had happened and why she was not dead.
The dragon bowed his head and snorted once, waiting for his beauty to emerge.
Aria spoke finally, softly, as if afraid: “Dear dragon, why am I not your meal?”
He gave a chuckle and, before her eyes, transformed from dragon to the prince, Astare. “This is why, my form was switched by a spell, which could only be broken with a kiss.”
She blinked again and sat still, wondering just what magic was this trick.
He saw her dismay and nodded again, caressing her skin gently with his hand. “You see,” he began, “your Baroness, the one who was cruel and jealous of you” he paused only a moment to move closer to her, wrapping his arms around to hold her “she tricked me once, and turned me into a monster, all because I would not marry her and disown my line.” Then he smiled at Aria. “I had to live as you saw until a kiss came along, ‘til your kiss and your true heart were found.”
Aria did not know what to say: she was blessed in every way. All the hell and all the sorrow had led to this moment, to the truth and light of tomorrow. She smiled and kissed him. Both were happy to be rid of their curses, ready to live together and plan what to do next, all to the ill fortune and horrendous luck of their former pursuer.
Unkindness, jealousy, and hate breed nothing but bad luck. This becomes a moral dilemma, fate’s cruel trick upon those using the powers for their own sake. As the Baroness learned, when it got the best of her, all things turn. Your desires and wishes, if left unchecked, will come to bite you, especially if you are an ass.