Roses and Vipers
- 1 day ago
- 18 min read
A short story by Veronique Veritas
This story contains: her and her, queer, trans, fantasy, star crossed lovers, cunnilingus, blowjob
I.
I am not in a good state. My head spins as I wonder for the thousandth time if I could be with child by the peasant I had lain with one night, but I dare not tell my twin sister, Ophelia, as she walks beside me on the way to draw water at the village well. Where might I find pennyroyal? Will my father disown me?
I stumble into the back of a finely adorned noble woman.
She turns around and smiles.
“Excuse me, might you be able to fetch me some water?” she asks.
I swear black bile bubbled up into my throat to match my rage. Who was she to interrupt my reverie?
“Do you not have your own handmaidens to do so? Leave me be!” I spout. Immediately, my sister apologizes for my rudeness and retrieves a cup.
Before our eyes, the fine lady transforms into a wild fairy clad only in a spray of autumn leaves. She bares her pointed teeth.
“Your rudeness is without equal,” the fairy pronounces. “I bestow unto your sweet sister a gift: each time she speaks, she will form jewels and flowers that will fall from her lips with no discomfort. But for you—what curse would fit an ill-mannered brat?”
The fairy’s velvety fingertips brush against my lips and I cannot help but shiver at her icy breath. I recall the Church’s teachings about fairies and how for each boon they promise, they always—always—add on a curse, like the veiled promises of Satan himself.
“Each time you speak, deadly vipers and wart-riddled toads will issue from your throat! Unlike your sister, you will feel them writhe and thrash as they leave you,” the fairy says.
My stomach turns as she walks away.
“No!” I hear Ophelia exclaim, and watch a tear fall along with the diamond that glitters from her lips.
The fairy stops and takes stock of us: me in my misery and Ophelia risking her own gift to protest my plight.
“Your sister’s care for you is admirable, hussy. On her intercession, I leave you only one release—in the unlikely event that you find someone else willing to love a selfish wretch like yourself, then and only then will the curse break.”
Then she disappears, leaving nothing but her laughter ringing in the air like blasphemous church bells.
My heart drops at this ghastly eighteenth birthday gift, numb with a nebulous terror.
“Sister, we must be going,” Ophelia says, catching the shining gems and delicate flowers in her apron with joy and surprise. “Besides, surely she would not be so cruel. . .”
But I know that, just as Ophelia’s words produce wonders, so will mine produce horrors, possibly forever.
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