The old wooden door squeaked upon its hinges as Fiona pushed it open and then stepped into the highest room of the tallest tower.
A somewhat musty smell greeted her. The sparse furnishings were covered with cloth blankets, apparently to protect them from the thin layer of dust that itself blanketed almost everything. But aside from such signs of current disuse, the room was much as Fiona remembered it. The walls were of plain, unpainted stone blocks. A tapestry hung beside the large window that she knew looked down upon the courtyard. The image woven into the tapestry was of a damsel looking out from the top tower of another castle, waving a handkerchief across the landscape to a knight riding towards her – a damsel in distress beckoning her rescuer.
Her parents had used this room as a sort of training ground for Fiona. After the agreement had been reached with the Fairy Godmother on how to break the enchantment, and a schedule set for when Fiona was to be transported to her new ‘home’ in Dragon’s castle, her parents had used this room to help condition their daughter to the upcoming experience, locking her here for progressively longer periods of time. They had feared that the loneliness or claustrophobia of the Godmother’s ‘solution’ might weigh too heavily on their child, and were prepared to opt out of the agreement if that were the case – or so she’d been told. However, their fears were unfounded. Fiona never did make close friends with her peers, who regarded her as odd the way she was forbidden either to see anyone after sunset or tell them the reason why. As for the claustrophobia, Fiona found she actually liked such close confines, finding them cozy, whether in a room like this or … much later in life … in a hovel in a swamp … her almost home …
Fiona forced her mind from that memory, so hopelessly lost. She looked about her. It appeared what use the room did have nowadays was for storage; there were dress racks and dummies stacked in a corner, most empty, some not. An empty painter’s easel sat along the wall near the tapestry. That made sense. With the view of the countryside from the windows here, Fiona imagined one could paint some impressive landscapes.
The princess closed the door behind her and walked over to a small side table. She dropped the bag of toadstools onto its cloth shroud. She stared down at the little bag for a few moments, wondering why she had brought it with her, and avoiding the answer that clawed at the edge of her consciousness. She then turned and wandered listlessly to the window beside the tapestry and looked down upon the courtyard. Workers were laying out a new bright red carpet and stringing partition ropes along either side of it in preparation for the ball tonight. Her ball. Fiona shuddered. If there was one thing she was not in the mood for, it was an extravagant royal ball where she was to be the centerpiece of attention. She and Shrek. Shrek. Oh, Shrek …
Her thoughts were interrupted with a start as the public
address system suddenly blared, “TESTING, ONE, TWO, THREE, TESTING, ONE,
TWO.” Fiona shook her head and lifted
her gaze from the courtyard up over the castle walls and to the outline of
Suicide.
Fiona slowly turned from the window, and her gaze settled upon the little sack of toadstools sitting so innocuously on the table at the opposite side of the room. After a few moments, she began walking towards it.
Fiona, what are you doing? It was the rational part of her mind again.
“I should think it would be obvious,” she muttered aloud. “There’s no point anymore. He’s gone. I killed him.”
You did no such
thing! Shrek
did what he did of his own accord.
Besides, he’s not dead!
“He is to me,” she said. “If he were literally dead, at least I could mourn him properly. But this …” She shook her head.
She was now standing before the table, looking down at the bag.
But Shrek needs you! the rational voice implored.
“No,” Fiona said. “Not any more. At least, not the way he did. Not as a person that loves him in a true, pure sense. True Love … that’s what’s dead. And that’s something that, now that I’ve tasted it, I can’t bear to live without.”
But you have your
memories. After all, it is better to
have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
“Bull,” Fiona said with a sneer. “Whoever said that must have never been in love. At least, not a love like mine.”
She reached for the bag.
Don’t do it! Don’t give up hope! Where there is life, there is hope!
“False hope, perhaps,” she muttered. Still, her hand paused just short of the bag.
No! There is no ‘false hope’. There is hope, or no hope.
“No hope, then.”
You don’t know
that! And besides, think of your
parents! Think of how they would feel.
“I’ve been dead to them for years anyway,” Fiona said. But still, she hesitated. Her hand hovered just over the bag. Then, it began to tremble. Whether this was due to her inner voice’s appeal to hope, or guilt over her parents, or fear of the act and … what might come afterwards, Fiona was not sure. But she couldn’t bring herself to take up the bag.
With an irritated moan of frustration, she turned from the table and strode away. She stood in the center of the room for several seconds, arms crossed. Fuming. Thinking. Debating.
She still couldn’t bring herself to take up the bag.
Not yet.
Deciding to put such dark thoughts aside for a time, Fiona wandered over to one of the covered pieces of furniture whose outline she recognized as a loveseat. Loveseat. A wry smile played across her lips. She pulled the cloth dustcover off and dropped it to the side. The loveseat itself was in good shape, from its plush scarlet cushioning to its finely engraved cherrywood frame.
Fiona laid down on the loveseat. It was as comfortable as it was lovely. She closed her eyes, and then covered them with the back of her hand. She tried to put the day’s events out of her mind for a time. Instead, she turned her thoughts back to a much happier day, the day that she and Shrek had arrived at their gingerbread honeymoon cottage. She recalled the flickering images she would later see from the home movie they had made; particularly the images from where Shrek had literally swept her off her feet and prepared to carry her across the threshold. They had stared briefly back at the camera, and she recalled her own uneasy smile, contrasting with Shrek’s too broad, too forced grin. Both smiles, however, fronted a nervousness about the special intimacy that the two young, deeply in love newlyweds were about to experience for the first time. Fiona giggled as she remembered how Shrek had had to force their way through the non-ogre compatible threshold, taking chunks of the edible doorframe with them. Fiona’s smile then took on an entirely different hue and her breathing grew huskier as her mind replayed the events that followed the door shutting behind them.
With her thoughts tuned to such happier memories, Fiona drifted off to sleep. Her dreams were mercifully pleasant.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Several hours later Fiona was startled from her nap by a loud explosion in the air not far from the tower. She shrieked and tumbled off the loveseat and onto the cold stone floor, luckily without injury.
There were more explosions and occasional flashes from outside the windows. Fiona feared that the castle was under attack, but then she head a voice booming over the P.A. system: “WELL, THE ABS ARE FAB AND IT’S GLUTEUS TO THE MAXIMUS HERE AT TONIGHT’S FAR FAR AWAY ROYAL BALL BLOWOUT!”
Fireworks. The explosions and flashes were just fireworks, kicking off the celebration. Fiona moaned and pushed herself up off the floor as the excited announcer continued, “THE COACHES ARE LINED UP AS THE CREAM OF THE CROP POURS OUT OF THEM LIKE MISS MUFFET’S CURDS AND WHEY!”
The room was considerably darker than when she’d lain down. Fiona glanced out the nearer, westward-facing window. The sun hung large and low in the west, not very far above the horizon. The clouds around it had already started taking on their kaleidoscope of colors. She soaked the scene in for a while. It was beautiful. She wished Shrek were there to share it with her. Sunsets had become a particularly special time for them since the breaking of her enchantment, and she had only since then been able to appreciate their beauty. But now she sighed, remembering that Shrek now seemed to have trouble appreciating any beauty that wasn’t custom-designed.
Fiona wandered over to the other window, the one overlooking the courtyard. That courtyard was much more crowded now; throngs of cheering, goggle-eyed people lined either side of the rope-bordered red-carpeted runway as beaming, waving celebrities meandered down it from the carriage drop-off to the main castle doorway. There was indeed quite a line of coaches and carriages of impressive, glamorous design lined up waiting to drop off their equally impressive, glamorous passengers. The flow was suddenly disrupted, however, as one carriage floated down into the front of the line from the air. Fiona recognized it as the Fairy Godmother’s magical pink carriage, and for some odd reason she felt her blood chill.
The Godmother’s chauffeur – Kyle was his name, as if anyone could forget since it was literally written across the chest of his leotard-like outfit – deftly leapt from the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door with a flourish. The Godmother was standing there in her light-blue dress, a self-assured smile on her face. The crowd’s cheers and applause picked up appreciably at the sight of her. Basking in the adulation, she flitted into the air over the runway.
“Hello Far Far away!” the Godmother cried, causing the cheers and applause to increase even more. Obviously pleased, she laughed and then, carried away by the moment, she yelled, “Can I get a whoop-whoop?” pumping one arm in the air with each ‘whoop’ as she did so. She raised a hand to her ear in a listening gesture as the gleeful crowd responded accordingly. Satisfied with their response and with herself, the Godmother addressed them again. “May all your endings be happy, and … well, you know the rest!” With that, she theatrically turned her wand to herself and disappeared in a cascade of shimmering light.
Fiona shook her head. One thing about the Godmother, she was no shrinking violet.
The princess continued watching other celebrities arriving and taking their vanity walks down the carpet amidst the cheering throng and flashing camera bulbs. She felt her depression return. Oh, how she wished she could be spending a quiet evening with –
Shrek! There he was, getting out of the carriage that they had ridden in earlier that day, and wearing the white-and-gold outfit. He had apparently decided not to wait for her. He made his way down the runway slowly, his stride and demeanor resembling a peacock. His progress was further slowed as every few steps he’d stop and wave at or throw kisses to the crowd, or pose for a camera.
That was when Fiona heard a knock at the door behind her. She didn’t feel like answering. She didn’t feel like doing anything. She simply continued staring down at the travesty below. After a moment, however, she heard the door swing open anyway.
“Darling?” asked an inquisitive voice, her father’s. “Ah, I thought I might find you here!” He sounded jovial. “How about a nice hot cup of tea before the ball?”
Fiona didn’t turn around. “I’m not going,” she stated.
“B-b-but the-the kingdom has turned out to celebrate your marriage!” Harold stammered indignantly, all trace of joviality vanished.
Fiona closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “There’s just one problem,” she began, reopening her eyes. Then she turned to face her father and, gesturing out the window to the scene below, continued, “That’s not my husband.”
Her father – who was indeed holding a tray with two teacups – looked briefly startled, then began wandering to the window to stand beside his daughter.
“I mean … look at him!” Fiona said with some exasperation, then turned again to watch Shrek’s slow, strutting trek down the runway.
Harold watched as well for just a moment, and then with an almost dismissive air said, “Yes, he is a bit different, but … um …” He sat the tray down on the window ledge, then continued, “People change for the one they love.” Then with a more serious, more consoling, and somewhat melancholy air he added, “You’d be surprised how much I changed for your mother.”
“Change?!” Fiona blurted, her frustration bubbling out. “He’s completely lost his mind!”
“Darling, why not come down to the ball and give him another chance?” Harold urged, patting her gently on the arm. “I mean,” he added, glancing briefly down at the posing prince before looking back at his daughter, “you might find you like this … new Shrek.”
Fiona had recovered her teetering composure. She looked at her father – at his hopeful but anxious face, his uneasy grin. If only she could make him understand. Her father had seen the ‘old’ Shrek as at worst a threat and at best an obstacle to her happiness. She wished she could make him see that the ‘old’ Shrek was her happiness, her joy, had become a part of her very being, and with that part gone she could no longer feel whole. There would always be an open, gaping wound where her ogre had been ripped away, and the existence of the pompous human that had taken his place would only make things worse by reminding her of what she had lost, and what he had done to himself for her.
“But it’s the old one I fell in love with, Dad,” she said, her voice firm in conviction, deep in sincerity, and fathomless in longing. There seemed to be a slight change in Harold’s expression. A softening. He suddenly seemed a touch more sympathetic than anxious. Perhaps she had at last conveyed a little of the extent of her feelings to him after all. Perhaps. She turned back to the window with a sigh. “I’d give anything to have him back,” she said from the depths of her soul, as much to whatever fates oversaw earthly fortunes as to her father.
There was a moment of silence. Harold didn’t attempt to either rebut or comfort her. Instead, from her peripheral vision Fiona saw him staring at her, his face cast in deep contemplation, as if he was finally considering what she said, how truly committed she had been to her new husband, and how crucial he had been to her happiness. But the moment passed. It was all moot now, anyway, she reflected painfully. Forcing her thoughts back to the here-and-now, she reached down for the nearest teacup on the tray.
“Uh, darling, that’s mine!” Harold suddenly said, snatching the cup away.
Fiona looked at him, surprised.
“Decaf,” he explained nervously. “Uh-otherwise I’m up all night.”
Fiona shook her head as she reached for the other cup. Truly, if there was one thing that her flighty father didn’t need, it was caffeine. She brought the cup to her lips, blew on the steaming liquid to cool it, then took a taste. Actually, it was good. “Mmm,” she said, turning to her father and managing to summon a small appreciative smile. “Thanks.”
Harold grinned back and gestured towards her with his cup. But the expression behind his grin had changed suddenly. He looked like a fortune teller who had just foreseen something tragic in the near future. Fiona stared at him as he absently tapped the rim of his cup with an index finger and his expression changed yet again, this time to worry. His eyes no longer seemed to be focusing on her – or focusing on anything – but rather staring off beyond the physical world at something else, something he seemed to dread.
The king’s demeanor confused Fiona. She really didn’t know how to read him; it was as if there was a kettle of thoughts and emotions boiling underneath his surface, and he was trying to keep the lid clamped shut and the contents unseen. He continued staring off into space for several seconds, one index finger still tapping idly on the teacup.
He was starting to frighten her. She thought it was best to try to pull him back. She asked, “Aren’t you going to try some?”
Harold seemed to snap back to the present and looked at her quizzically. “What’s that, darling?”
Fiona gestured with her teacup towards his own.
“Oh!” he said. “Right! Um … ah … cheers!” He tipped the cup towards his daughter, then brought it near his lips. Suddenly the cup slipped from his hands. Some of the contents spilled onto his tunic; the rest splashed onto the floor along with the teacup itself, which shattered on the stone. For just a moment Fiona thought she saw wisps of pink smoke drift up from the little pool of liquid. They disappeared quickly, and Fiona convinced herself it must have been a trick of the eye, a ray of fading sunlight filtering through the steam.
“Blast!” Harold said, looking down at the splotch of liquid that darkened and matted the greenish-blue material of his tunic. He looked up at Fiona, smiled timidly, and said, “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a klutz.”
“Here, let me help,” Fiona said, setting down her teacup. She then kneeled and reached for one of the larger shards from her father’s cup.
“NO!” Harold said, startling her. “You might cut yourself, and then some of the tea might …” He quickly pressed his lips shut.
Fiona, confused, looked up at Harold. “Might what, Dad?” she asked.
“Miiiight … cause an infection!” Harold said, grabbing the tray and kneeling himself. “You know what they say, the smallest cut might cause an infection!” He began quickly picking up shards and dropping them onto the tray. Fiona looked at her peculiar father, shook her head, and smiled.
When he’d finished, Harold took the tray and stood back up, Fiona rising as well. “There!” the king said, looking over the shards on the tray and then casting one last glance at the floor below to make sure he’d gotten them all. “No harm done.” His glance then chanced again upon his stained tunic. “I’m afraid I’ll have to find something else to wear to the ball tonight, though.” At the mention of the ball, his expression again changed. This time he looked even more grievous than he had before.
Fiona sighed. She decided to relent. “Very well, Dad. I’ll come down to the ball tonight.”
“What?” Harold said, looking up at her again, but not quite focusing at first. A moment later, “Oh. Very well, if you wish.”
Fiona didn’t understand. The way he was acting, it was as if her being at the ball, which was so very imperative a couple of minutes before, had suddenly lost its significance. So very odd. Still, she’d indicated she’d attend, and goodness knew that he might well change his mind over its import yet again.
“It won’t be until late, though,” the princess added. She wanted to spend as little time there as
possible. “An
appearance towards the end. Eleven-thirty. No …
Harold nodded. “Very good,” he said listlessly. “Oh, your dress has been delivered. It’s laid out on the bed in your room. When you’re ready, send a page to fetch me so that I can escort you down to Shrek. That’s … court protocol.” He smiled ruefully. “Appearances are important, you know.”
“Sure, Dad,” Fiona said. She was becoming concerned over the sudden depression that had come over him.
Harold nodded and then headed back to the door, his pace slow, his shoulders slumped. He paused at the doorway and looked back at her. His large brown eyes were sad and glistening, his wide mouth downturned morosely. “Darling,” he said, “you do know that I love you.”
“Of course, Dad,” Fiona said, not sure where he was going with this.
“And everything I’ve done … the dragon’s castle and all that … the idea was, in the end, it would all work out so that you would be happy.”
“Yes, I … I understand.”
“Please understand that … sometimes I had to make some compromises, do things I might have better avoided had I been wiser, but it was all –” Harold paused. He saw in her face that he was confusing her. He sighed resignedly, then said, “I just want you to know, should anything happen, that whatever you learn about me, I love you. Please, whatever else you may remember about me, remember that.”
“Dad,” Fiona said, starting to become truly concerned, “what’s going on?”
Harold paused, then sighed, and a rueful smile played at his lips. “You’ll probably find out tonight at the ball,” he said. “If not then … well, soon enough.” A distracted look then came upon his features, and he turned and headed out the doorway. “Yes, soon enough,” Fiona heard him mumble absently as he wandered down the hallway, having left the door open behind him.
Fiona stared at the open doorway for a few seconds. She began to wonder seriously if her father was entirely sane. If Shrek had completely lost his mind, then her father too seemed to be on the verge at taking an extra step past his wits’ end.
She wondered how much of that was her fault as well.
Fiona turned again to the window and looked down in time to see Shrek, standing at the castle door threshold, raise a hand to his lips and throw one last theatrical kiss out to the cheering crowd just before he turned and strode into the castle itself and, Fiona presumed, to the ball.
She sighed. It was all just a stupid mistake. He should never have rescued her from that tower in the first place. He should have just left her there, found a different swamp, and lived his own life in his own way. He should have found a proper ogress to marry, not some enchanted halfling who’d end up ruining him in an attempt to fulfill some naďve, self-centered fantasy of her ‘happily-ever-after’. She should have just been left in that tower to rot. But then, if left there, then even more knights would have come to try to rescue her, and Dragon would have killed them, and Fiona would thus be indirectly responsible for even more deaths than she was already. She shuddered as she reflected on the destruction she had inadvertently wrought. Strangers’ lives, Shrek’s soul, and perhaps her father’s sanity. Plus, she’d very nearly gotten that dark-haired stranger killed as well in his battle to rescue her. And she was young, yet; how much more devastation might surround her should she live the many remaining lonely years of her increasingly accursed life?
Fiona went over and closed the door that her father had left open, then wandered to the room’s other window, the one facing westward. As she reached it, she saw the last part of the sun’s disk slip beneath the horizon, as if even it wished to retreat from her lest some misfortune befall it as well. The moment of sunset. The beauty of the colorful clouds that painted the western sky was briefly lost on Fiona as she sucked in an involuntary breath, then looked down at herself. No, there were no shimmering lights, and she felt no pain, not even a tingling. For the first time she could remember – for the first time in her life, she now knew – she was facing nighttime hours as a human being. As if she needed any further confirmation, she now realized that the ogress – which she had so long prayed to banish from her being during the years in Dragon’s castle – was indeed gone. Prayers answered. Congratulations.
Fiona reached inside the front of her dress and pulled out the picture. She looked down upon the happy, smiling ogres one more time. As she did so, a tear welled in one eye, and then dropped down upon the picture. It landed upon the ogress’s cheek. Fiona chuckled ruefully at the irony. Then she slowly reached her hand holding the photo out of the window … and released the picture. She placed her hands on the window sill and leaned forward. She watched the picture flutter back and forth and sideways, almost as if the ogres trapped within the image were dancing together as they descended in the fading light. Eventually she lost sight of the picture as it disappeared in the shadows of the castle far below. As she continued staring down, Fiona felt a strong urge to follow it, to hurl herself out the window and end all this. Who knew; if the picture was still fluttering, she might reach the ground before it did. First one to the bottom’s a broken egg! Fiona started to laugh, but then checked herself. If she gave in to such laughter now, she wasn’t sure if she could ever stop, and if she did, if she would be sane herself afterwards.
A while later Fiona sighed and leaned back into the room. She then turned and looked at the little sack of toadstools still sitting so innocently on the table, waiting patiently. She wondered briefly which would be the more fittingly ironic end; eating toadstools that were a delicacy for ogres but poisonous for humans, or throwing herself out the window of the highest room of the tallest tower. Either one would make a wonderful romantic tragedy. Too bad she wouldn’t be around to read it.
Stop it! It was her rational voice again. You’re
giving up hope again! There’s ALWAYS
hope!
“Whatever,” Fiona mumbled dismissively. The rational voice was getting smaller … and less convincing.
Still, she had promised her father she’d appear at the ball tonight. And so she would. Then, after the ball, she would return here and … well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Speaking of bridges, her ears just then caught the distant clinking and clattering sound of the large chains pulling the drawbridge up. She and the other castle denizens were now safe and secure behind high stone walls and watery moat. Another rueful smile played at the corner of Fiona’s mouth. Intruders from the outside … that was the last thing she was concerned about this night. Of course, if such intruders were out to assassinate her personally, that was something else again. In fact, it would simplify matters considerably. Mulling the unlikely scenario over, Fiona said wistfully, “Just let them come.”
Fiona soon dismissed the thoughts and lay back down on the loveseat. She had a few hours yet before she had to make her appearance, and so had time enough for another nap. A short sleep. A chance to dream of things that were and might have been. “Oh, Shrek,” Fiona sighed as she drifted off once more into her last refuge.