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It was many years ago, in a kingdom so far you’d hardly recognize the name, and Calliope was a princess. And, much like many princesses in her time, she was stuck way up in a tall, tall tower. 

She sighed in that melodramatic way that only a princess could, slumping forward against her only window’s frame.. “My prince will surely come someday… won’t he?”

It was her 5475th day up in her tower. You can see how the prince would be preferable. 

In the distance, a speck began to approach, though unbeknownst to Calliope, who remained moping at the window. This was far before the advent of contact lenses, you see, and spectacles simply weren’t becoming of a lady such as herself. Or so her storybooks say, anyhow. Because of this, it was quite a shock when her white knight really did appear at the base of the tower.

“My lady!” The knight called up, his voice carried up by the wind. “I have slain your dragon!”

Calliope jumped, then braced herself on the ledge so she might lean further out. Her eyes were wild with equal-parts excitement and disbelief. “My dragon? So I am free?”

The knight steadied his horse and removed his helmet, shaking his flowing hair free and shooting her a dazzling smile. “We are to be married within the week!”

Oh, this is surely my prince… Calliope dreamily thought to herself.

The ride to her white knight’s kingdom was swift, and they were surrounded by his people in no time at all. Smiling, relieved faces crowded around his horse from the moment they entered the city walls, all clamoring to hear of his adventure… and to meet the fair maiden clinging to his waist. 

Calliope smiled widely. “Oh, my name is-“

“This is my beautiful bride-to-be!” boasted the prince, grinning with unearned bravado. “I have slain her dragon, and have thus won her hand in marriage.”

Calliope blinked. She had been talking aloud, hadn’t she? Well, perhaps he hadn’t heard me, she rationalized. After all, she hadn’t spoken to another soul in years, so it was entirely possible she had been too soft-spoken in her response. She smiled once more, nodding down at a few of the townspeople. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all, my name is-”

Across town, a large bell began to toll. The entire group gasped. 

“My lord!” one exclaimed. “You must be going, with haste!”

The haste, it would seem, was inspired directly by the food to be served in the dining hall, which of course is where Calliope found herself being ushered into. Before she could think to finish her sentence, she had already been placed into a chair, pushed against the table, and served a goblet of bubbling mead. 

She eyed the beverage cautiously. The last time she had this particular drink, she had broken out in these awful hives across her body, all itchy, splotchy and red. As much as she had disliked the tower, it was admittedly nice to have not been seen at all on that particular day. 

Her prince laughed and tipped his own glass back.

Calliope sank a little further into her seat. She wasn’t all that thirsty, she supposed.

Better not to drink such a beverage anyhow, not with the two pairs of eyes across the table boring holes straight through her. Their peculiar stare, intense in a way that Calliope couldn’t quite understand yet, lessened only when they turned to address the prince.

“You’ve done well for yourself, son,” said the aging king, nodding sagely. 

The queen smiled. “What do we call this young lady?”

Calliope’s heart quickened. Finally, it was her opportunity! “My name is-”

The prince, despite holding his gaze on his parents, held out his hand in front of her mouth in a move so surprising she couldn’t help but close it. “Princess Corai of the North.”

Instinctively, Calliope’s nose scrunched up. “No, it’s Calliope.”

Disbelief shot across the prince’s face. Then, when no apology came, the expression collapsed into unmistakable, white-hot rage. 

The king and queen exchanged a look. Their smiles had vanished, replaced with only a cold, emotionless affect. Suddenly, it felt almost as if the warmth had been sucked from the room by some malevolent spirit. She began to shiver. 

The queen leaned into the prince’s space, hovering above the tips of his ears. Now, Calliope was sure she wasn’t meant to hear this, not with how low she was speaking, but after spending well over a decade doing little but listening to birds, your ears get pretty well-honed, so she heard every syllable of what the queen whispered. “I’ll take care of it.” 

She had very nearly forgotten about the entire thing by the day’s end. Or, tried to, at least. The rest of the meal had gone pleasantly enough, though she hardly had the courage to make a peep, and had quickly been ushered off to bed in a lavish bedroom where she was allowed to bathe and brush her hair. Everything had seemed perfectly nice, except…

A tentative knock sounded at the door, which, when opened, revealed a small, visibly trembling servant. Her tray, which she was holding just below her shoulders, wobbled just as terribly, and her neck craned rather unnaturally downward so that she might plant her eyes firmly on the ground between them. “M-my lady! I’ve been instructed to bring these up to you.”

Calliope eyed the tray. On it, there was a singular vial in a rather peculiar shape – though the intricate design made it nearly impossible to see its contents – and a small cake with some cream. 

Shifting nervously, the servant continued, “A tradition, my lady. A sweetness on your wedding night.”

As was expected of her, Calliope accepted the gift with grace, offering the girl a few parting words and a polite smile as she closed the door. Once alone, however, she eyed the vial warily. Looking at it made her stomach hurt.

Still. She was to be married tomorrow. Her prince had come for her. 

She took a tentative bite of the cake – despite the cream, it was terribly dry, and she found herself reaching for the vial without thinking. The liquid, a sickly sweet nectar, had breached her lips and gone down her throat before she could even think to stop herself.

—

On the morning of her wedding day, Calliope woke up with an ache in her bones and a terrible throbbing in her head, which, upon looking in the mirror upon the wall, proved to be a sizable bruise on her temple. And… had she slept on the floor?

Calliope grimaced and leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the blemished skin with great scrutiny. If anything were whine-worthy, surely this shiner would be, but… to her great surprise, when she opened her mouth to make the very princess-like noise, nothing came out.

She paused, then tried again. Still, nothing.

Her eyes grew wide. 

Later, much later, various servants would account that the princess had behaved very oddly that morning. She sped past most without even a nod in acknowledgment, running on her toes with wild eyes and even wilder hair flying in the wind behind her. Strangest of all, however, is how her mouth seemed to have been flung open in a terrible wail, yet no sound had escaped her lips. 

Pushing the wooden door with all of her weight, Calliope crashed into the kitchen, much to the horror of the staff inside. 

Shocked silence filled the room. All eyes were once more on her.

“M-my lady?” One particularly brave servant stepped forward. “Is… is there anything that you require of us?”

Calliope’s chest was still heaving, weighed down with breath. She pointed to her throat.

A general confusion settled over the room. Some girls blinked. Others tilted their heads, like an animal improving its vision. One girl, either brave or foolish, was so thrown off that she could not help but continue with a simple, “huh?”

Desperately, Calliope gestured to her throat again. Once, twice, thrice. 

Slowly, the first girl asked, “Are you thirsty, my lady?”

Now, at this time, it was generally understood that princesses were not to be seen crying. A child might be allowed to shed a few tears over a scraped knee, but a lady of her standing should never show such weakness to others. However, as this situation progressed, Calliope was feeling less and less like adhering to such strict standards.

“Oh my!” One girl rushed forward, touching her arm as if on instinct. Her eyes shined with sympathy. “My lady, are you alright?”

Ah, damn. There goes another tear. 

That was all it took for the servants to be upon her – within seconds, she was surrounded by a tornado of limbs and supportive noises, nudging and pushing until she had been hoisted into the kitchen’s only chair and supplied with a cup of tea, while the girls settled on the floor around her. 

“It’s lemon,” one of the smaller girls offered. “No honey.”

“It will work wonders for an ailing voice!” another exclaimed.

Calliope winced, and touched two fingers to her throat.

Too many lashes to count fluttered with concern. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head sadly.

Then, as she lifted her head, she noticed that her crowd of well-wishers had suddenly collapsed in on themselves, all crowding around a central figure. Furtive whispers filled the room.

Finally, the girl stepped forward, trembling nearly as hard as she had the night before. “My lady… the last time you were able to speak… was it to me?”

Calliope thought for a moment. Her eyes widened, fearful at last. 

“I knew she couldn’t be trusted,” she muttered. Then, turning back to face Calliope, she continued, “You’re right, something terrible has happened to you, but tea won’t mend it.” Her voice lowered almost conspiratorially as she leaned in closer. “They say the forest is dangerous because, at its very heart, dwells a terrible witch with great power. She’ll know.”

—

Just around the corner, the red-faced prince had begun stalking down the hallway. He muttered obscenities under his breath with every stomp, unable to stop himself from grumbling about every inconvenience he had dealt with on this particular morning. And, if you were to ask him, there were many! Heads were going to roll, mark his words.

And, as misfortune would have it, yet another inconvenience stumbled directly again into his path once again! He barely had enough time to stop in his tracks before colliding with the opening kitchen door.

“How dare you!” he exclaimed indignantly. 

Calliope’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. Unable to speak, she instead stared up at her betrothed with a frightened, doe-like expression. Her knees locked underneath her. 

“Oh. You.” The prince’s face fell as he took in her disheveled appearance, melting instead into something more akin to disgust. “Why are you doing out from your bedchambers? Have your ladies -in-waiting been yet to dress you?”

Slowly, Calliope shook her head.

The prince looked her up and down. Her skin was covered completely, so it was not as if her appearance was altogether scandalous, but her mussed hair and stale breath gave her away. “Hurry back. The wedding will take place just after sunset, and…” A sour expression curled across his features. “It seems you’ll need all the preparation time allotted.”

Calliope nodded shakily, then bowed her head to him. 

Instant approval swarmed the prince’s face, and the pit in her stomach grew larger. 

The moment the prince had disappeared around the corner – off to do something dreadfully important and awfully prince-ly, surely – Calliope made a run for it. She ran and ran, onlookers be damned. She ran through the gatehouse and across the courtyard and past the stables, until she had run for so far and so long that she arrived face-to-face with the entrance to a massive forest.

Mangled branches curled menacingly in on themselves. Trees stretched far into the heavens, yet the canopy remained so thick that not a ray of the day’s sunshine could pierce through. A thorny bramble patch surrounded the forest for as far as one could see.

Her eyes grew large. She would have whimpered, if she could.

Could she really do this? I mean, if she were an adventurer, sure, but she was a princess! And a princess who had spent the majority of her life locked away! Had she been foolish in running? Oh, why had she made such a rash, impulsive decision like that? The prince had been cruel, and his family cold and unwelcoming, but what other life was waiting for her outside of those castle walls? What was she, but a princess? Was this even a step she could take?

Then, she thought of her stolen voice, and she took the step. 

The journey was frightening, of course. Even in the face of initial bravery, Calliope still cowered at every turn. Twigs snapped underneath her feet, and she flinched. Nearby animals called out to one another, and she held herself tight. The wind, now icy cold, whispered eerily around her, and she found it nigh impossible not to shiver. 

The time passed anyway.

She expected the witch’s home to be frightening. A woman dealing in such dark arts should have an equally dark home, after all. Instead, she found herself stepping into a lush, green clearing warmed by the quiet glimmer of sunshine that filtered through the tree’s leaves. And, at the center of it all lay a quaint, ivy-covered cottage with a beautiful young woman sipping tea in the garden. 

The witch looked up, then set her cup down. “You’re a long way from the castle, princess.”

Oh, how she wished she had thought to bring some parchment and ink to explain her dilemma! She could gesture to her throat, certainly, but this witch did not live inside the castle walls as those servants did. How could she understand?

She moved forward to try, however, and the witch held up a hand to still the princess, gesturing to the seat beside her. “You’re very brave to have made it this far. Please, come sit.”

And sit Calliope did. The walking had caused her feet to ache greatly – her poulaines, though very fashionable at the time, were not designed for particularly long treks – so she was grateful for the opportunity to rest. Strangely, though, was how the witch’s hands immediately began to hover above her, travelling slowly up her arm until she had reached her throat.

A flicker of pain flashed across the witch’s face. “Can you speak?”

Calliope shook her head.

The witch sighed, and returned her hands to her lap. “I’ve seen this curse before. It won’t be a pleasant fix, I’m afraid, but… you do want your voice back, don’t you?”

Calliope thought for a moment, then nodded.

Closing her eyes, the witch rested both of her hands atop Calliope’s forearm, warming the exposed skin. Just underneath her breath, she began to murmur in a strange, foreign language. “Dimitte eam a peccatis hominis, et redde vocem eius. Iuno, audi me.”

Something bubbled low in Calliope’s stomach. Then, her mouth began to salivate as the sensation moved upward, slowly crawling through her chest and into her throat. Was this how magic felt? Was the curse lifting from her body?

A wave of dizziness came over her, and suddenly the princess was keeled over and vomiting up what little she had managed to eat the night before. The spilling substance, however, was pure white, steaming and glistening against the cool forest ground. 

Even as she pushed herself back up into her seat, her throat burned. Calliope couldn’t help but groan. “Was that meant to happen?”

The witch smiled. “It seems you’ve been cured, princess.”

Calliope blushed. It was very unbecoming of a lady to become ill in front of another person, and she was so sure that her breath smelled absolutely vile, and yet, as she lifted her gaze to properly look at this witch, she somehow felt safe. “Can I ask… who was it that put that terrible curse on me?”

The witch’s smile faltered. “Do you really wish to know?”

Calliope nodded. “I do.”

The witch sighed quietly. “Well…” She placed her hands on the table, interlocking her fingers together. “This kingdom’s queen was the one to gather the ingredients necessary, but it was your betrothed who spoke the curse into existence, I’m afraid.”

For a moment, the two women sat in silence. Calliope, thinking of this profound betrayal, prayed she would not become ill again. She thought again of her prince’s rage. “Would I be foolish to return?”

“I’ve seen this story play out many times before,” the witch admitted. Something dark and deeply melancholic sunk into her expression. “Not once has it ended well.”

A now-familiar pain rumbled in Calliope’s gut, and she hugged herself tightly. “What other choice do I have? We’re to be married by sundown.” The pain deepened, causing the entire abdomen to cramp, and she could not help but wince. “He may already be out searching for me.”

“You want my advice?” the witch asked.

Calliope nodded.

“Run.” The softness that earlier painted her features had been replaced entirely with an unwavering seriousness. “Leave, and never return to this place.”

But how could she leave? She was a princess. He was her prince. What else was there?

The thoughts must have been entirely transparent on her face, for the witch’s hands had begun to grip tighter and tighter atop the little table. Her knuckles were turning white. “He is no white knight, princess,” she said, her voice pained. “He’s hardly a man. Any man who would resort to silencing a woman is no man at all.”

Calliope’s gaze settled into the distance, turning her back to the rotten prince’s castle. Instead, she looked to the north, and she thought of her old home. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.