The Gargoyle’s Heart

This ended up being unexpectedly large, and I put off writing it so long I don’t have time to chop it dramatically down to size, so I’m going to break it up into manageable chunks.

When the moon waxed full and bright, Soria’s heart began turning into stone. Each month she felt it harden, another piece, another cold inch of numbness in her chest.

The gargoyle curse, her grandmother told her, matter of fact. You’ll die eventually. It happens sometimes in our family, but it won’t happen very quickly.

Her grandmother did not have the gargoyle curse and neither had her deceased husband or her children, so she did not think about the fact that a slow death rather than a fast one is not necessarily a comfort for the person doing the dying.

Either way, there was too much to do in the way of eking out a life on the vast prairie land to be worrying about an orphaned granddaughter’s diseases. So Soria learned to keep quiet and help around the house and not bother people about the coldness creeping into her heart.

When the pain grew so great that she could not do her chores, she left, packing a small bag of provisions and gliding out into the sweet scented night to either find a cure or hasten death. She was a realistic girl; she figured it would be the latter, and the cold weight of a gun thumped repetitively at her hip, reminding her, with every step, what was coming next.

She walked for hours until she reached the river. There was no bridge. She sat down heavily in a patch of ferns and stared at the water as it rushed past, black and fast and filling her ears with an incessant roar. In a daze, she scooted down towards it till the water frothed up and reached the toes of her boots, lapping at them. So entranced was she that she almost didn’t hear the voice speaking behind her. “Young lady,” said the voice, “Young lady? Do pay attention, please.”

Soira turned around in surprise to see a well-dressed gentlewoman, quite elderly, standing behind her. The woman smiled sweetly as she met Soria’s gaze. “Ah, yes. I can’t seem to find a bridge. You look like a sturdy young thing. I would so appreciate it if you carried me across.”

Soria stared at her, mouth agape. Between the pain in her heart and the exhaustion from hours of walking, she felt there was very little left of her to be carrying anybody anywhere, much less across a deep river. But then, if all she was here to do was to die anyway…

Soria stood up. “Certainly, my lady. I hope you don’t mind getting a little wet.”

“Not at all.”

There were some awkward moments where Soria tried to figure out how to pick up a full grown person wearing a dress with a crinoline and carrying an umbrella. Eventually she found herself surrounded by floof, the umbrella dangling dangerously by her cheek, the gentlewoman perched on her back. Bemused by her strange companion, Soria started down the bank. “What is your name?” She asked as she skidded on a slick piece of moss and nearly dumped them both feet-first into the river.

“Lady Geraldine DuPontier.” Said the voice behind her head primly as Soria took her first step into the dark, rushing water. “Though you may refer to me as Lady Geraldine.”

Soria doubted she’d have time to refer to her as anything at all as the water closed over the top of her walking boot. But to her surprise, her foot did not simply descend into an abyss of dark water. It landed on a solid, sandy surface, so that the water only reached her knees. It dragged at her, sucking her long, heavy skirts downstream, but she forded across without once going underwater.

On the other side she lowered Lady Geraldine to the ground, trembling from exhaustion. Lady Geraldine saw her staring back over the river and said, “Now Soria dear, let’s not stare at that too long. Come help me to my house, and I’ll get you a dry skirt.”

Soria startled, turning away from the river. “I didn’t tell you my name!” She protested, hurrying after Geraldine, who was stumping through the trees with remarkable speed, using that umbrella as a kind of cane.

“Of course not, I don’t need to be told silly things like that.” Lady Geraldine retorted over her shoulder. “I know all about you. Your indifferent grandmother, your gargoyle heart—all of it. I’ve come to give you a job.”

“What is that job, Lady Geraldine?” Soria asked, hurrying after her. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted a job.

“I need someone to manage my house for me.”

“And why?”

“Because you have a gargoyle heart.” Lady Geraldine said. “You are dying.” She turned around and narrowed her eyes at Soria. “Do you not know how to get rid of a gargoyle heart?”

Soria felt a shiver of anger run deep inside her. “I won’t stand here and be mocked.” She said. “There is no cure for a gargoyle heart.”

“But there is!” Lady Geraldine said. She clasped her hands in front of her and for the first time she seemed a little unsure of herself. “I can’t explain. Please just come and give it a try… I’ll help you.”

“You’ll help me. With housework.”

“Yes.”

And again, Soria felt the cold weight of the gun hanging in the bag at her side, and couldn’t think of a reason why not.

#fairygodmother #fairytale #gargoyle

Part II >