Step-Sisters

This is another short story I wrote, inspired by Angela Carter's writing and how she beautifully warps fairytales. This story is slightly longer than the previous one so do bear with it and enjoy...

Step-Sisters

Once there lived a daughter of baron. She had a cruel mother who never loved her. Not once. Never. One day, the girl's mother dropped dead after accidentally and stupidly consuming the poison she had prepared for her daughter. It took them, both father and daughter, only a day to move on; a few minutes of mourning sufficed and the rest of the day was spent preparing and conducting the woman's funeral.

The next day, the baron married another to replace the dead wife.

The baron married a widow, a baroness, who had a daughter herself. The baroness' daughter was about the same age as the baron's. However one thing differed. The baroness' daughter was beautiful while the baron's was, well, ugly.

Despite everything, the girls grew to love one another like sisters should. The beautiful sister grew to love her step-father like her own father. The ugly sister grew to love her step-mother like her own mother, though not like her late mother, if you know what I mean. Everything was as perfect as perfect should be. It would be wonderful to end the tale here, but this was merely the beginning.

One fine day, a count and his family moved into town. The count had a son, a handsome youth, who was lonely and in need of, shall we say, companionship. So the daughters of the baron and the baroness made it their duty to be his friends and to show him around.

Soon, as expected, the count's son fell head over heals for the beautiful sister. They, of course, became quite an item. And the ugly sister, well, she could only watch in envy. She was happy for her beautiful sister. And she was happy for the youth. However, she wasn't happy for herself. She merely watched them being in love, like an ugly nightingale watching two white doves in their coy mating rituals. She watched silently.

Yet perfection always had bumps and flaws. The ideal couple soon had a major argument, like all couples do. And like all arguments of young couples, the source was never certain. Yet it was enough to do some serious damage. The beautiful sister vowed to never speak to the count's son ever again.

With no one else to turn to, he asked the ugly sister for help. He told her the every pain of his shattered heart. She listened, slowly falling for him. Sympathy always has a way of evolving to something more. And so she listened.

Can you persuade your beautiful sister to meet me tomorrow night, he asked the ugly sister. If she refuses, I'll kill myself, he added.

Like that would change my sister's mind, she thought to herself. I can't promise anything, she replied. But I shall try.

He thanked her, and then he left.

That night, she tried persuading her sister. I refuse to meet him, the beautiful sister said.

But he might kill himself, said ugly sister.

No. He can die for all I care, that son of a bitch, yelled the beautiful sister.

Afraid that the count's son meant exactly what he said, that his life meant little to him now, the ugly sister decided to seek help from a peculiar source.

At the break of dawn, the desperate girl went in search of the hag people often spoke about in whispers. Some called her a witch, others, the daughter and servant of Satan himself; though the old woman herself preferred the term, "herbal entrepreneur" for it sounded nicer. But everyone else agreed that she was not good, not good at all and that it was better to stay away from her. Yet, every now and then, a helpless soul would wander in search of her hut, in search of help.

The ugly sister knocked on the old woman's door. Who is it, a croaky voice asked from within the hut.

I am just a girl and I need help, replied the ugly sister.

Doesn't everyone, sighed the voice sarcastically. Come in, the door's unlocked. And so the girl, with just enough courage, entered.

The hut was unique, to put it nicely. Amulets hung on every wall. Bluish flames crackled as they boil a huge cauldron full of green thick liquid. A sickly fume filled the entire house, fusing with the stench of death and decay. The hag was herself stranger than her home; dressed in clothes and thick shawls that would put a gypsy medium to shame; jeweled with emerald necklaces and amulets and earrings the size of palm. So what do you want little girl, the old woman asked.

I wish to become my sister, said the girl, to look like her.

I have just the thing you need but have you the price to pay?

I have gold, said the ugly sister.

What do I need gold for, stupid girl, said the hag. Have you had sex before, child?

Stunned, and slightly offended, the girl asked what the old woman meant.

I meant, are you a virgin, answered the hag. The ugly sister nodded; embarrassed. Good, uttered the old woman with a glimmer in her eyes, I need a tiny bottle of your blood. Desperate, the ugly sister agreed to the cost.

The old woman took her knife and sliced open the girl's tender virgin palm and collected the blood in a phial. To call the experience unpleasant was indeed an understatement. This had better be worth it, thought the girl.

After the ordeal, the hag gave her a bottle of what looked like vomit. It is a potion, said the old woman. Drink a portion of it with a bit of your sister, instructed the hag, a strand of hair would do nicely. But remember child, come midnight, the witching hour, Satan's hour, my magic is useless, for mine is not of the black magic. The effects of potion will wear off, warned the old woman. Now leave, I'm busy, yelled the hag. And the girl left.

That very night, the ugly sister took a strand of hair from her sister's hairbrush. She then drank a tiny portion of the potion with it. It tasted like vomit too, she thought. For a few seconds, nothing happened. The stupid old woman cheated me, the girl thought to herself.

Just as the thought came, it happened. It burned. Her skin burned. Her hands burned. Her feet burned. Her body burned. Her face burned. But most of all, her heart burned. However, her heart, it burned not because of the potion's effect. Instead, it burned because she realized that to be loved, or even anything remotely close to being loved, she had to be someone else, someone beautiful, someone like her sister, someone she was not. And that burned and hurt much more than any pain the potion could put her through.

Slowly, her skin melted into that of her sister. Her dark hair started to shine like the golden hair of her sister. The mirror showed her not her face anymore, but a mask, that of her sister. And so with haste, she donned her sister's garments, jewels, perfume, but most importantly, her sister's shoes; her own were far too big for her new, far daintier, feet. She was her sister now.

She then went to see the count's son. The lovesick youth was simply glad to see the divine image of the beautiful sister. They talked long. The ugly sister's love for the youth grew. Soon midnight neared and she had to leave.

Meet me again tomorrow night, requested the count's son. The girl agreed with a simple nod.

The next night, the ugly sister took the potion again and it burned her again. She then met him again that very night, and the night after that and the one after that. It went on for quite some time, remarkably, unnoticed. Even the beautiful sister noticed nothing of their trysts. The ugly sister's love for the count's son grew even more. They spoke of many things beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.

But one night, one fateful night, fate frowned upon the girl's actions. Why did they have to talk too long? Why did she not notice that midnight neared and came? Oh, but the ugly sister did realize it, only that it was a second after midnight then; it was too late. She felt it, like she did every night she took the potion, she felt herself changing back to her skin so familiar. She felt it, and she knew she had to leave.

She ran without a word, leaving the puzzled youth chasing her. She ran as fast as her sister's dress allowed her to. She even tripped and fell along the way and one of her sister's velvet slippers came off. She was forced to leave it behind. She did not care about it anyways; it was too uncomfortable to walk in, what more run, now that her feet were hers. They were just hindrances. She ran home as fast as she could.

Only in her own home, in her own room, in her own bed, in complete darkness, in her own body, did she finally breathe properly. She was alone and she could breathe properly then. I'm safe now, she breathed those words to herself, I'm safe.

The next day, the desperate youth visited the baron's house uninvited. He appeared with a velvet shoe in his hand. Shocked, the beautiful sister asked, what on earth is the meaning of this?

Here, in my hand is the slipper that caressed the dainty feet of the woman I love and I cannot live my life without her living it with me, spoke the youth. His voice rang through the halls of the baron's home. Without you, without love, there would be no life at all.

The beautiful sister was clearly moved for she teared at these words. Will you be my wife, my love, he then asked her.

And in a voice, gentler than a whisper and sweeter and more beautiful than a flute singing, she merely said yes; never had a single word been uttered more musically and its affect on the youth was extraordinary.

While the couple excitedly went to inform the baron and baroness, the ugly sister vanished silently into the kitchen, where she wept silently. Why the heck am I crying, she asked herself, he wasn't even in love with me, never mine to love.

She saw a dead wolf her father had just killed in his recent hunt. She saw it hanging on the kitchen wall among dead stags, deer, and foxes. Her heart whispered to her, you have to leave, escape, for I, your weeping heart can take the pain no longer. End it please. Yes, her heart told her that; it really did.

So she took out her potion and plucked a strand of the wolf's fur. She drank this new concoction. And the burning began yet again. Her lips grew into enormous jaws. Her hands distorted into massive paws. Her bones broke and twisted and contorted into a wild bestial form so strange. Her hair grew longer on her body until she was covered in sleek black fur. She even had a tail. She slipped off her dress. She was beautiful now.

She thought, I'll run away, somewhere far and when I return to my true form, I'll find someone who'll take me in and pity a helpless, naked and ugly girl. I'll start a new life now, she breathed.

Moving in her new form was easier than expected. She ran out of the kitchen. She had to find a way out. Her paws, she noticed, were not made for opening the front door.

It was then that she heard a scream; her sister's. She was screaming something about a wolf in the house. It must be magic or it wouldn't have been able to get in, she yelled, it must be a witch.

The ugly sister tried to calm her sibling down but only a deafening howl was produced. It only made her sister more terrified.

And so, with the love for his lover as his strength, the gallant of the beautiful sister grabbed one of the baron's hunting guns off the wall, to defend his hysterical maiden.

No it's me, the wolf howled. No. Stop.

One deafening shot reverberated through the house. And one painful howl accompanied it. One bullet to the heart of the animal ended everything. They were safe, they breathed to themselves, they were safe. The baron and the baroness, who were hiding and watching from behind the banister, were proud of their to-be-son-in-law's courage.

The entire family must have agreed with the beautiful sister's idea that the wolf was a witch, for they quickly burned the corpse afterwards. Maybe, they feared it might reanimate itself. But surely it could not.

Since the corpse was completely reduced to ashes long before midnight came, it never returned to its true form. So no one knew what happened to the ugly sister. Maybe she ran away, they thought. Why she did so, they never knew. However, like what we have already established at the very beginning of this tale, the family was fairly good at moving on. After just a day, it was as if they never had another daughter. The beautiful sister and the handsome count's son grew old together, happy, and had many children.