This creative fiction piece presents a psychological reinterpretation of classic fairytale tropes, examining how parental grief and isolation shape a child's identity and self-worth. The narrative follows a princess kept hidden in the castle's lower chambers by a father unable to confront his wife's death. Forbidden mirrors and human contact leave her vulnerable to misinterpretation and self-loathing. When she finally glimpses her own reflection—scarred from a violent encounter—she concludes she is a monster. The story culminates in her meeting a witch who offers magical transformation and validates her rage, setting the stage for a vengeful reimagining of the fairest-of-them-all trope. The piece explores how absence of truth, combined with isolation and parental abandonment, can warp self-perception and fuel dark desires.
Once upon a time, a little princess was born into a declining kingdom. Her mother died in childbirth, and the only person left to care for her was tending to an uproarious nation. The King was aggrieved at the Queen's death, and when he looked upon the face of his daughter, all he saw was his wife. This caused the King much pain, so he decided to place the newborn into the care of a wet nurse who would care for the girl until she was of age to enter the court. The King, pleased with his plan, believed that by the time his daughter was of age, he would have the kingdom and his grief under control.
As the child grew, so did the love of the Nurse for her. Down in the belly of the castle was where they were kept—no windows around for the little one to look out of, no yard for her to play. She was taught the ways and languages of a lady, yet she never learned how to be a child. The princess became aware of her imprisonment by watching as the servants kept their eyes down when they brought meals. She also noticed that her father never came to visit.
On her fifteenth birthday, the princess asked if she was yet a full lady. The Nurse responded, "Not yet, my love, but you look more like one every day." That was when the princess realized that she had no idea what she looked like. She knew her hair was black because it would gleam in the candlelight, and her Nurse would sing about how black it was. She knew she had pale skin because she often heard her nurse pleading with another servant for her to be taken outside because she was nearly sickly. Yet there were no reflective surfaces within her rooms for her to know she had her mother's face.
Her father, however, did know. Many years passed since the kingdom quieted, and the King still kept the princess below. He required any servant who went down to the princess's chambers not to look upon her face, for when they came back with a report, he knew he would see the truth in their eyes. He wanted no chance of seeing her, so he removed every mirror from the lower levels in case he ventured down there. He could not stand the thought of seeing his daughter because of the reminder that his Queen was dead.
The princess began asking to see her father because she knew she was a lady now. Day after day she begged the Nurse to take her to her father, but was always quieted with a no. After months of the same question, the princess came to a realization: maybe she was ugly. Her Nurse told her countless stories of ugly witches who had to be killed. That was why her father did not want to see her! She was hideous! The dejected princess fell into a dark place, wallowing in her self-evident truth.
The deprivation of visual self-knowledge forced the princess to construct her identity from fragments—a servant's downcast eyes, her father's permanent absence, and stories of monstrous women punished for their appearance. With no mirror to contradict her, no father to reassure her, and no peers to offer comparison, she had only one source of interpretation: fear. The isolation that was meant to protect her became the mechanism of her psychological destruction.
A few months later, the princess was startled awake by a crash outside her room. She jumped out of bed and hurried to see what was wrong. The door opened to reveal a strange man hovering over the Nurse. As the princess's eyes adjusted, she saw an object in his hand covered in red. The man stepped towards her, and the Nurse remained motionless on the floor. Confused in her surroundings, the princess could do nothing but tremble in fear at the menacing figure approaching her.
When he was standing right in front of the princess and looked upon her, the King drew his knife and thrust it into the man's chest. To his knees the man sank, and all the princess knew was that she had to wake up the Nurse. The Nurse would not wake. The princess shouted, but the Nurse would not wake. She pushed, but the Nurse would not wake. Petrified, the princess ran for the open door and collided with a suit of cold armor, causing her to be crushed by its weight. Minutes dragged by until the princess struggled to her feet. Slowly, she made her way to some stairs, and at the top of the stairs, she was even more afraid of what she saw.
Having never seen a mirror, the princess did not know what the object was, but being an intelligent girl, she knew she was looking at herself. As she inched forward, she began to see streaks of red and ugly gashes along her face and arms. Her shoulders were misplaced, and nothing about her looked like the ladies in her Nurse's stories. This was why no one looked at her. This was why she was kept away from her father. She saw that she was truly a monster, and taking both hands into fists, the princess smashed against the unforgiving glass, shattering it into thousands of pieces. Ignoring the fire of pain, the princess found that there was a hole in the wall—well, it must be a window, she thought to herself—and climbed out onto a moist, lush field.
"A witch offers magic and validation for the princess's rage"
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