The Curse of Beauty

The Curse of Beauty

Once upon a time, in a dimension not unlike the one in which our dreams are born, there resided a beautiful, young princess. Now, the title “beautiful”, though a common attribute for most princesses, had come with great work and dedication for this particular royal adolescent. Although she was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, a slight unevenness of her eyebrows had proved a demanding handicap amongst her peers. More than once she had received a gilded wedding invitation to witness the union of an ex-suitor and a princess who, Princess Ophelia always noted, had perfectly aligned eyebrows.

She had sacrificed many long hours of her schooling to exercising the small muscles in her forehead—training them to reside perfectly side by side instead of running slightly parallel. Unfortunately, the eyebrows, thoroughly fed up with the constant calisthenics, decided that they would not be coerced into submission without a proper contract. And so the princess’ eyebrows were forever uneven and, while she had far surpassed the requisites for “pretty”, she could not quite reach the level of “gorgeous” her pride required.

Having perfectly disagreeable eyebrows, Ophelia knew that her looks would not win her the heart of a prince. For a long while she did not worry as her father was, after all, a King and as such would be able to make up for her visual deficiencies. However, two months before her sixteenth birthday, Ophelia’s father pulled her aside into what he referred to as the “lieberry”. There, he explained several times and in successively less ornate language that as the princess of a small and unfertile agrarian kingdom, Ophelia’s dowry was, in short, an embarrassment. At first horror stricken at her father’s words, Ophelia locked herself in her room, stamping her feet and throwing pillows at the door from behind which the King’s voice echoed. “Please, my dear child. Come out and we shall speak more of this.” Ophelia only answered him with another tossed pillow and a threat to never show her face again.

Eventually, the King left her alone and all grew quiet outside Princess Ophelia’s room. “I’ll never come out! They’ll see. I’d rather rot away than turn into an old spinster of a queen!” Away from the noise and distractions of the Court, the silence of her bedchamber, however, had an odd effect on Princess Ophelia. She started to think, something she seldom did. How could she turn this unfortunate event to her advantage? She thought long and hard, careful, however, to avoid wrinkling her pretty little forehead. “Perhaps,” she mused, “if I stay in here long enough a handsome prince will take pity on me and rescue me from my own sorrowful solitude.” She danced around the room as if in a swoon. “’Poor beautiful, young Princess Ophelia!’” she mimicked the court gossips, “’What a horrible fate for such a beauty! To lock herself in her room to die because no prince will love her!’” Princess Ophelia fell to the floor giggling. It was certain to work! However, as the weeks wore on, no one tried to talk her out of her self-induced imprisonment. Feeling a bit slighted, Ophelia gave up her solitude at once. She simply would have to find another way to attract a suitor.



It was as she was wandering through the palace hall one day that Princess Ophelia was struck by her next great idea. It was a simply ghastly day out of doors—dark and raining; the lightening sporadically offering a mockery of cheeriness. It was during one excessively bright flash of light and a monstrous –CRASH-, that Princess Ophelia jumped and, with a high pitched squeal, stumbled into the wall pulling a large, heavy tapestry down on her head. Annoyed, Ophelia disentangled herself from the fabric, grateful no one had been there to see her and peeved that there was no one around to help her to her feet. Finally righting herself, Ophelia retrieved her jeweled tiara from the stone floor. “I swear,” she grumbled as she gave the vagrant tapestry a sturdy, indignant kick, “I must be cursed with the worst of bad luck.” As she glowered at her attacker an idea came to her. “That’s it!” she squealed. Then looking around to make sure no one had heard her, Ophelia scampered off to her room to make her preparations.

The following day a handful of poorly scribed letters fluttered out the palace gates, some on horseback, some on foot, and all in the hands of a few well paid-off and quite illiterate kitchen boys. Ophelia stealthily withdrew to her room in the palace to await a response. Having never traveled outside the palace herself, she had no idea how long it would take for her letters to reach their destination, but she did not want to keep her co-conspirators waiting. Day after day Ophelia sat beside her window, staring into the distance, longing for the day that her plot would come to fruition. It was on the fifth day, that the long awaited answer to her missives arrived. Well, sort of.

It was a perfectly splendid evening. The setting sun had cast just the right shade of purple into the sky and Ophelia was delighted. Her father the king, in an attempt to lure his suddenly reclusive daughter out of her bower, had commissioned the royal seamstress to fashion a dress that would be so flattering on his daughter that she would be unable to resist flaunting it before the court. The seamstress set to work immediately, lowering the neckline and shortening the hem. Aside from the intricate gold and silver embroidery, the dress was dyed a delightful shade of, what the seamstress referred to as “pomegranate”.

Upon first receiving the dress Ophelia was devastated. Here was a new dress, unlike any other in the kingdom, and rather than flout it before the lords and ladies of the court, she must sit in her room waiting for those lazy kitchen boys to finish their errand. However, her devastation soon turned to fury. How dare her father try and undermine her plot! Soon however, her fury turned to wavering and, upon seeing the sky painted a perfectly identical hue to her new gown, her wavering soon turned to resolution. She would head down to the court, for just a few moments, perhaps twirl a few times, and then quickly back to her vigil. Within an hour of the delivery of her gown, Ophelia sat before her looking-glass pinning up her flaxen tresses, all the while practicing the art of even-eyebrows.

It was at this moment a dark, swooping figure careened through her stone window and crashed into the back of Ophelia’s golden head. The almost-perfect princess tumbled to the floor with the impact, banging her crooked forehead on the edge of her dressing table. Tears blinding her, Ophelia whirled around, raising her hair brush in defense. Blinking through the watery veil, Ophelia inspected the dark shape before her. With a gasp, she realized that this ebony shadow before her was nothing more than a very large bird. The raven was massive—easily three times the size of a common-place raven. He stood upon the back of Ophelia’s settee, preening his frazzled feathers. However, when he noticed the princess gawking at him, the raven straightened himself and presented his right foot forward rather regally. Tied to his scrawny bird leg with a black ribbon was a parchment. Somewhat shocked and excited at the same time, Ophelia reached out with trembling fingers and loosened the ribbon. As soon as he was freed from his missive, the large raven hopped towards the stone window ledge, spread his ebony wings and tumbled out into the twilight sky.

Ophelia carefully unrolled the parchment and read the long, flowing script contained therein.

From the Writing Table of
Wynnehelia Nightstalker, Sorceress of Darkness

Dear Princess Ophelia,

I am writing in regards to the letter you sent to me via your errand boy. It is with regret that I must decline the proffered opportunity. As resident Sorceress of Darkness of all the kingdoms on this continent I unfortunately am unable to undertake any freelance work. Therefore, in regards to the curse you so “humbly” requested, I regret to inform you that I, myself, am indisposed.
I would like to remind you that if you or your family is ever in need of any actual diabolical assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Demonically Yours,
Wynnehelia Nightstalker

P.S. In regards to your messenger boy, if you would like to have him returned in one piece, please send one notarized scroll detailing the surrender of your first born child in exchange for the boy via certified raven. Request may take six to eight weeks to process.

Ophelia read the correspondence twice before throwing it to the floor and stomping it into the ground. When it suddenly burst into flames and maniacal laughter, the princess jumped back in amazement. It took only a moment for the scroll to disintegrate into nothing more than sizzled black ash.

Before Ophelia had a chance to register what had happened, another shape swooped in through the window. While this, too had wings, it certainly was no raven. Fluttering not three inches before her nose was a small envelope, no larger than the palm of her hand, with dragonfly wings growing out of its sides. It paused there as if waiting expectantly. The wax seal on envelope depicted a crescent moon. Ah ha! thought the princess. This response was from the head of the realms Wizarding Order. The princess grabbed the envelope out of the air and tore open the seal, oblivious in her excitement to the terrified shrieks of the tiny flying envelope. As soon as the seal was broken, a flood of pages in a rainbow of colors streamed out of the little envelope, scattering across the floor. A single white sheet of paper had shot straight up out of the envelope and now gently floated into her hands.

Dear Princess Ophelia,

I received your letter the other day. I must say that your request for a magic curse is quite intriguing (I can’t say I’ve ever heard of someone requesting a curse before). I immediately looked into the proper procedure for such a request, however, this procedure does not exist. Most unheard of indeed! In order to rectify this devastating oversight, I immediately sent out several correspondences to the members of the High Wizarding Council. After much deliberation we have decided to schedule an emergency hearing for you to plead your case before the council. At that time we will be able to assess the proper course of action. In order to be seen by the council you will need to fill out and return to us a number of surveys, questionnaires, and release forms. I have enclosed the necessary paperwork. Good day to you!

Magnanimously Yours,
Brumpgong the Magnanimous

p.s. The date for your hearing is precisely 33 years from next Tuesday. I do hope you have no prior engagements. See you then!

The princess glanced at the pink, blue, green, yellow and purple forms that were now piled up to her knees. With a little scream of rage, Ophelia grabbed the still spewing winged envelope. Wading through the mess of papers, she crossed to her bedroom window and flung the little envelope out. She watched, satisfied, as the envelope bounced off the cobblestone courtyard below and flew off dazedly into the west. Ophelia next set to kicking the flood of forms across her floor and started tossing them one by one into the fireplace. This took some time, but Ophelia found herself enjoying the tedious task as each page exploded with a little -POP- and a flash of color when it hit the flames.

So enraptured by the small fireworks display in her fireplace, Ophelia was unaware of the time. It was not until after she had tossed the last piece of “necessary paperwork” into the fireplace that she realized the sun had completely set. The princess was furious, her evening gown had gone completely unadmired. However, she noticed that the bruise on her forehead was turning a delightful shade of “pomegranate”. Perhaps she would be able to wear her dress tomorrow after all.

It was late the next morning when Princess Ophelia climbed out of her canopy bed. She had slept fitfully most of the night, tossing and turning from terrifying dreams of exploding envelopes and monstrous black birds pecking at her head. When she finally did open her eyes it was with a wince; her forehead ached. Remembering the bruise, she jumped out of bed to see if it had maintained its pleasant shade.

As she threw back the downy covers something clattered to the floor. Her curiosity piqued, Ophelia got down on her hands and knees to search the floor by her bed. A shimmer caught her eye. Under her bedside table was a small box, no larger than her thumb nail. Carefully lifting it into the light, Ophelia noticed a tiny, silver clasp on the pearly treasure chest. She clambered to her feet and raced to her dressing table. Using one of her hair pins, Ophelia undid the dainty clasp and opened the chest. A glittery shimmer rose like smoke from the depths of the little treasure and, as Ophelia watched in awe, took the form of a small, winged, woman. The translucent figure curtsied to Ophelia before it spoke. “No.” And with that, the image of Adyna the Tooth Fairy and the little treasure chest vanished completely.

Princess Ophelia stared at her empty palm, and for the second time in two days she was blinded by tears. “Why me?” she sobbed into her empty hands. “Is it too much to ask to be beautiful?”

“Absolutely.” A gritty voice answered her. Ophelia looked towards the sound of the voice, wiping away her tears. She gasped in horror and hid behind the bench of her dressing table.

Sitting on her window ledge was a disgusting creature. A bulbous stomach of the most putrid olive green jutted towards her. Lanky legs stuck out awkwardly from underneath it, sticking back behind the creature before bending at the knee to come forward into a wide three clawed foot. Folds of skin hung on the creature’s emaciated arms. Draped across the thing’s shoulders hung a patchwork coat which looked like it had been stitched together from the various skins of small woodland animals. A long, forked tail danced over the monster’s head like a snake. The wide, squashed head was cut horizontally by two rows of conical teeth. Glaring at her were two glowing disks, their albino surfaces broken only by a tall, thin pupil. The creature was hideous.

Ophelia tried to scream for help, but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, her mouth opened and closed beneath her wide eyed gaze.
“You look like a fish,” the creature remarked. Ophelia closed her mouth with a snap. She stood up full height and stammered in what she hoped was her most regal and haughty voice. “H . . . how . . . d . . . dare you come into my room like this! I shall have you beheaded for your insolence!”

“They’d have to find my neck first.” The creature hopped down out of the window. He was right. His flat head sat squarely on his ratty shoulders. Now that he was free from the stone window-frame, the princess noticed two bat-like wings protruding from the monster’s back.

“What are you?”

The creature turned a glowing eye in her direction and hopped up on her bed. “Sam'gar'oor.” Turning around once, he settled down into the down bedspread. Wiggling his olive hide he remarked. “Nice place ya got here princess.”

“What?” she fumed. “Get out of my bed this instant!”

The creature looked around at the gold trim and pink lace canopy. “Nah, ya know what? I think I’ll stay.”

“I say you shall not!” Ophelia stomped across the room, her first thought to strike the insolent beast, but as she got closer he looked quite a bit larger than she had first thought. Instead, Ophelia stamped her foot. “You . . . you get down this instant!”

Picking up his tail the creature used the tip of it to clean out the filth from beneath his finger nails. Occasionally, he would wipe his tail clean on the princess’ pillow. “Ask nicely.” The princess gawked at him wide-eyed. He met her gaze and went back to picking his nails clean.

Ophelia felt as if her head would explode with anger. She stormed off towards the door, but as she neared it, the door swung shut of its own accord. The princess tried the handle. It wasn’t locked for she could turn it easily, however, the door wouldn’t budge. “Let me out! Someone let me out of here! Save me!”

“They can’t hear you princess.” A grumbling noise emanated from the creature’s bulbous stomach. He opened his mouth and let out a tremendous belch, his purple tongue vibrating with the tremor.

Ophelia rounded on the creature. “You get down off my bed this instant!”

The creature began picking dirt and lint from between his clawed toes. “I said ‘ask nicely’.”

Pacing in a circle and taking a deep calming breath, Ophelia gritted through clenched teeth “monster, I would be ever so grateful if you would come down off my bed.”

The monster ceased his toilet a moment and looked at the princess as if considering her plea. “How about . . . no.”

“WHAT?” The princess threw her hands up into the air. “I asked you nicely, just as you requested!”

“Well, first of all my name isn’t ‘monster’. It’s Sam'gar'oor. And furthermore, you did not say ‘please’.”

“I am a princess.” Ophelia crossed her arms before her chest. “Princesses do not say please.”

The monster blew his nose in the bed sheets. “I suggest you learn.”

The princess wanted to cry, however, she stopped herself. She refused to show this monster how much he was upsetting her. Princess Ophelia gave a glittering smile and a docile curtsey. “I would be ever so indebted to you if you would please climb down from my bed and take a seat by the hearth, dear Smaguh-- . . . Smrughra—“

Showing the multitude of conical teeth lining his mouth, the monster smiled and hopped down from the bed. He held out a hand to the princess. “Sam. Call me Sam, princess.”

The princess did not take his hand. “I am Princess Ophelia.” She sighed, quite relieved.

Sam waddled over to the hearth and looked at the cold fireplace. He raise a bushy eyebrow in the princess’ direction. “I take it you do not know how to stoke a fireplace, Princess Ophelia.”

“No. Not at all. That is my hand-maiden’s duty.” Sam nodded and began making a fire. Princess Ophelia watched him curiously. “Where did you come from . . . Mr. Sam.”

“Ixilia the Witch.”

Princess Ophelia sank down onto her hearth rug and stared at her hands in despair. “I take it then that you’ve come not just to torment me but to give me some reason that the witch can not curse me.”

“No. I am your curse.”

She looked at the green creature before her. “I beg your pardon Mr. Sam.”

Sam sat down on the hearth stones, a warm, glowing fire dancing cheerily behind him. “You wrote to Mistress Ixilia that you needed a curse so that some handsome knight would come and rescue you. Well,” Sam spread his wings and posed, presenting himself. “Here I am.”

“But . . . but I only needed a pretend curse! Not a real one! She gone and made a mistake! She’s misunderstood me!”

Sam smiled at her. “Not at all, princess. Mistress Ixilia understood your letter perfectly and she did exactly what she meant to.” Sam climbed to his feet and put his hands where his hips should have been. “You see, Princess Ophelia, everyone knows you quite well for kingdoms far and wide. You are pretty infamous, your highness.”

Ophelia pouted. “Of course I am. I have these wretched eyebrows.”

“What?” It was Sam’s turn to be puzzled.

“My eyebrows.” Ophelia pointed to each in turn. “They are crooked.” She cringed as Sam leaned in for a closer inspection.

“Princess, those eyebrows are as straight as an arrow!”

She looked at him puzzled. Getting to her feet Ophelia crossed to her dressing table. She leaned in close to her looking-glass. “No look! They are! They are quite crooked!” She stomped her foot. “Oh, how cruel you are to play such games with me!”

Sam waddled up behind her. “Princess, look again. Except this time don’t tilt your head so much.”
“But tilting my head just so makes the light catch in my hair.” Ophelia looked in the mirror again, her head perfectly straight. She frowned a bit because the sparkle had fallen out of her hair, but then she noticed. “Oh they really are! They are straight!” She giggled with joy. It was then that a thought occurred to her. “But why, then, don’t I have a suitor!” She gasped. “It must be because they all know how poor my father really is. How scandalous! Oh how unfair life is!”

“Are you really that daft, child! Or are you just feigning ignorance?” Sam eyed her carefully. When he realized the sincerity of Ophelia’s bewilderment he was a bit taken aback. Scratching his olive green forehead, Sam paced the room several times before plopping himself back on the hearth stones. “I don’t mean this to be hurtful Princess Ophelia, but the truth is it’s because you’re a spoiled, selfish, rude and conceited brat! Everyone knows it. That’s why the princes just aren’t interested.”

Ophelia stared at him dumbfounded. “You . . . you aren’t serious are you!” Sam nodded solemnly. “But if no one is interested in me at all, however will I break the curse?”

“Well, ya see Princess Ophelia, this isn’t your run of the mill curse. I’ve only heard of one other like it, but Mistress Ixilia . . . well she’s a bit more creative. Always looking to up the ante so to speak . . . .” Sam noticed the tense look in Ophelia’s eyes. “Now don’t get your tiara all in a bundle! Patience. That’s one of the first things ya have to learn. Now, your curse, princess, is ingenious. Most curses . . . well they make the prince fall in love with the princess. Look at Sleeping Beauty, she falls under a curse, a prince comes and breaks it, they fall in love, get married and live happily every after. Now this curse, this is really something quite different. Ya see, you have to break the curse yourself.”

“And how am I to do that? I’m not a prince.”

“Of course you’re not. You’re missing the point.” Sam stood up and started pacing. “The way this curse works is that in order to break it, you have to get married. Once that happens, the curse is broken.”

The princess took a few moments to think. “So, what you’re telling me is in order to get rid of you, I have to get a prince to marry me?”

“Exactly! Now we’re getting somewhere! And the only way to get a prince to marry you is to stop being such a brat.”

“But, but how ever can I change the content of my character! To make oneself beautiful is one thing, but to change the way I really am . . . . It’s impossible!”
Sam scratched his olive green brow again and narrowed his luminous eyes while Princess Ophelia wallowed in her doom. The two sat in silence for a long while. Suddenly, Sam jumped up into the air and spread his fleshy wings. “That’s it!”



A month later, invitations flooded out the palace gates. This time, however, they were in the hands of the King’s fastest horseman.

You are cordially invited to
Princess Ophelia’s coming of age gala.
Free food and ale will be served.

Ophelia wasn’t so sure about the last line, but Sam seemed to think it necessary if their plan were to succeed. The party was scheduled for the night of Ophelia’s birthday which was less than a month away. While her father the king set about making arrangements for the party, Ophelia spent the days locked in her room. Whispers started to pass between the servants of the castle. They were so used to the princess’ tantrums that the sudden silence was uncanny. The longer she stayed away the farther the rumors spread. Some said she was with child. Others said she had developed a hunchback from spending so much time before the looking-glass. Some even whispered that she had grown another head. All stories were speculation; the only true thing was that everyone wanted to know why the princess had locked herself away.

In the secret confines of her bedchamber, Princess Ophelia was quite glad that no one could see her. Sam had set about changing Ophelia from pompous, self-obsessed, brat that she was to the gracious, charitable, flower who would be able to win the heart of a handsome prince. Her first task was to write “thank-you” correspondences to Wynnehelia Nightstalker, Brumpgong the Magnanimous, and Adyna the Tooth Fairy for their “gracious consideration”. Ixilia the Witch was sent a fruit basket and a shrubbery. Next, she was set to peruse “Lady Cottington’s Book of Ettiquette”, “The Little Book of Charity” and “100 Party Tricks to Amaze Your Friends”. Ophelia had never been so bored in her life. But perhaps the most grueling part of the process was Sam’s experiments in patience. If Ophelia was caught gazing in her looking-glass, Sam would sneeze green-goo upon its surface. While Ophelia sat studying, Sam would set about making a phenomenal racket. Before the sun was even up, Sam would jump up and down on the foot of Ophelia’s bed to rouse her. Through all this Ophelia was to hold her tongue, maintain her poise and, most importantly, keep her temper. After a month of good intentioned abuse at Sam’s hands, the creature assured Princess Ophelia that her character was “as good as can be expected”.

Finally, the day of the party dawned. Carriages began to stream through the palace gates. One after another, the guests poured in. The palace had never seen such a turn out for one of Ophelia’s parties. As a matter of face, Ophelia hadn’t had anyone show up for any of her parties in the last ten years. The rumors of the princess’ seclusion and free ale had piqued the interest of princes and princesses far and wide. Some of the guests had not even received an invitation. The King, however, ordered the servants to let them in anyway and, grumblingly set about ordering more food. Several hours later the ball room was filled. Guests had overflowed into the gardens and onto the veranda. They had trampled the petunias, left broken crockery lying in pools of ale along the palace halls, and one or two less-parched guests had even hung a pair of the king’s skivvies out of one of the highest turrets.

Finally, to the relief of the King, the hour of Ophelia’s grand entrance had come. The gardens and halls were abandoned as all the palace’s guests and servants had crowded into the ball room. Even the sun seemed to linger on the horizon, peering over the distant mountains for a glimpse of the truant princess. Suddenly, trumpets reverberated through the palace and the massive, double doors at the head of the hall swung slowly open.

Escorted by her father the King, Princess Ophelia stepped out onto the dais, gazing down at the ballroom. Dressed in a gown the shade of ripe pomegranates she looked splendid in the twilight hour. Her hair rippled down over her shoulders in golden waves. The guests began to murmur.

“She doesn’t look pregnant to me . . . .”

“She doesn’t have two heads! Eustice, you owe me twenty silver pieces . . . .”

“I thought she had a hunchback. Who told me she had a hunchback?”

The King stepped to the edge of the dais. “Distinguished guests, I present to you my daughter, the light of my eyes and my most prized possession. Princess Ophelia!”

Riotous applause exploded from the ladies and lords that filled the ballroom; the servants whispered amongst themselves. Ophelia stepped forward.

Behind her shuffled a smaller figure—perhaps an old servant woman. The hunchbacked figure escorted Ophelia to the golden staircase that descended down to the ballroom floor. Here the princess paused, a smile gracing her voluptuous lips. She stepped forward with a slender, slippered foot.

And tumbled, head over feet, down the decorated staircase.

She landed with a graceless –THUD- at the bottom of the staircase. The entire room held its breath. After much wriggling and fuming Ophelia got to her feet. Whipping around Ophelia glared at the short, hunchbacked figure at the top of the staircase. “SAM YOU NO GOOD, WORTHLESS, UGLY, VILE MONSTROSITY!” Seeing the princess uninjured and back to her old, venomous self, the servants began to laugh. The sound throbbed in Ophelia’s ears like the bruise on her behind. She turned back to the crowd, looking for the culprits. “How dare you! Stop it! Stop it immediately!” She stamped her foot, slipped on the ripped hem of her gown and fell flat on her rear end. At this, the room exploded into hysterics. Tears filled the princess’ eyes, but these quickly burned away. “SAM!” she bellowed and, climbing to her feet, rushed up the stairs after the little serving woman, who had shuffled back through the tall, double doors. Laughter chased them down the palace hallways.



“How dare you!” screamed the princess when the bedroom door had closed behind her. Sam stood in the center of the room, pulling off the serving woman’s dress. “You insolent, little troll! To embarrass me in front of the entire assembly! After all your promises to help me!” She crossed the room and struck him across his ugly, green face.

Sam turned his luminous gaze on the princess. She froze, her hand raised for a second blow. “It is not my fault that you failed, princess.”

Ophelia stamped her foot. “Not your fault! You tripped me!”

Sam gave her a smirk. “And you lost your temper.” He hopped up onto her canopy bed. “Stamping your foot on the ground like a childish, spoiled brat. You’re the one who embarrassed yourself, princess. Not me. You were tested, and you failed.”

The princess stared at him for a moment. Then she sank down onto the floor in tears. “Oh, you’re right, you’re right! I’ve blown my last chance!” She snuffled into the sleeve of her bruise-colored gown. “And now I’m saddled with you forever!”

Sam looked at the princess and then hopped down from the bed. He shuffled over, sat down beside her on the floor and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Is that really so bad princess?”

Ophelia looked up at the green face near hers. “W . . . what do you mean? I’m cursed. Who wants to be cursed their whole life?”

“I do.”

The princess eyed the monster. “Why would you ever want to be stuck with me . . . unless you mean to continue tormenting me for the rest of my life. Or perhaps you just like living in the palace and my soft, warm bed.”

“Not at all princess.” Sam smiled up at the princess. “I meant it when I said Ixilia really is quite brilliant. You see, I used to be a prince.”

Ophelia eyed the green monster warily. “If you think I’m gonna kiss you then you are sadly mistaken.”

Sam laughed. “Princess, even if you could break my curse that way, don’t flatter yourself to think that I’d let you.” He winked at her. “I, too, asked to be cursed. And I’ve never been happier.”

“Don’t you miss having people fawn all over you?”

Sam jumped up to his feet and danced around the room. “Not at all! No big parties. No rooms full of people to impress.” He turned to face the princess. ”No one expects me to be courteous, or pleasant, or kind. I get to just be me—good old Sam. Absolute freedom, Ophelia. I can get my nails dirty, belch in public, and sleep out under the stars. There’s nothing like it!” He looked around the bedchamber. “I don’t miss this life at all, princess. Not at all.” He sighed. “But I guess I’m stuck here. You won’t get a husband now, not after that episode.” Sam crossed the room to gaze out the window. The stars were beginning to peak out from the sky.

Ophelia stared at his bat-like wings. She could still hear laughter echoing in her heart. Walking over to the window, she stared out at the starry sky. Tentatively, Ophelia placed a lithe hand on his green head. “Sam, what’s it like to sleep outside?”

Sam looked up at the princess. A smile crossed his face. “I can show you.” He hopped up on the stone window ledge and reached a hand down to Ophelia. The princess looked around her fluffy, pink, bedchamber once more and took his hands. Sam spread his wings and leapt into the night.