The Shadow Tale, Part 2: Brave Sir Galahadn't and Princess Nothing

once upon a fucking time
there was a Princess who who knew the rules well,
but clashed despite that with a knight,
softly and silently, without any words.

the kind of heartbreak-thing
where there are no rights
but not really any wrongs either,
mostly just sadness
and silence
in the end

Brave Sir Galahadn't was (self-proclaimed, not peer reviewed)
stronger than money
more intelligent than your average pop star
holding grudges tenderly like one holds a lover
but of the belief: no story is complete
      sans a villain.

timid after the anger passed,
the Princess became just a Girl,
   or worse, then became fallen, witchy, at Brave Sir Galahadn't's insistence;
   {she is bad, she is evil, I have proof 
a nobody-nowhere-nothing who preferred blank movie screens
so whatever happened on cursed thread
   was (by choice) not her concern -- a true witch

They say cowardice is in covering one's ears to the howls of the monster.
I say cowardice is the lies of the monster itself:
      I am brave
      I am brilliant
      You are nothing
      I will destroy you
      Do us a favour and just die
      I will fling you off a cliff
      I will cut you
      You are a violent liar!

      {hyperbole is all excusable,
            unless someone else is doing it 

the Nothing Witch was not wise, just avoidant, really
   accidental good luck that looked like wisdom
after the fury had subsided some
   after she was tired of monsters and wrongness and evil

she owned shoes that looked like
Dorothy was on her way to Vegas
   liked the power they gave her
then they went back into their box, too --
in the end, the littlest rage was exhausting and pointless

anger is a currency; all hers was spent

days were blank and quiet
and continued to be
   until Brave Sir Galahadn't showed up uninvited to the party

clanking in his rusted armor
his tin halo hanging on by a thin thread.
now came time to cast a dragon,
a witch wearing high heels.
   Had to be red high heels.

Brave Sir Galahadn't chose his old foe:
passive and compatible and blind,
wearing purple Chucks for the year
one who put her BLACK heels on only for special occasions
   (like hurling them at people now long forgiven
   like skipping through a sparkledarkness city barefoot with them in her hands)

Brave Sir Galahadn't created a witchform
a skeleton built form with lies, with bile, with bits of string
      and wearing high-heeled red shoes.
   Brave Sir Galahadn't, oh so brave
      so afraid
      burned her effigy proudly, for it could not talk back

Nothing Girl wore the ill-made witch suit
had her eyes bound by bloody hemp,
so that Brave Sir Galahadn't, own eyes unerred
could come at her with a blunted sword;
   her neck for the block.



in the sixteenth month
a switch was flung
   and ALL became nothing
   -- the Girl could have written stories about it --
      Brave Sir Galahadn't lost the kingdom he was fighting for
         so eventually lost interest, too

the timid princess
the pointless useless Nothing Girl
-- perhaps --
on top of being a witch
   could be a stepstone back into
      Brave Sir Galahadn't's exiled kingdom?
         she was a real Princess, again?
         maybe she wore sensible shoes?

plastic olive branches extended, grasped shyly
{friendship and love, as fragile as glass 

but still, the not-witch thought
Brave Sir Galahadn't a companion, thought him honest and true
   {he was a knight, after all, a KNIGHT 
until the truth, with its disgusting propensity to out,
      did so.

Princess Nothing gathered up her skirts and her words,
put on her purple Chucks,
   and ran, ran to where there were no Brave Sir anyones,
just broken nothing girls:
   possible princesses and possible witches and possibly magical girls
   applying a curious paste of wine and words
      to burns left by the supposedly righteous fearless ones.

Whispered words lost to the wind
   "there were no good guys in this story; you know I'm not a saint
      (I never had the right hair, the right skin
         I burned for revenge)
   but there were far less bad guys than you convinced me there were
      in fact, there was but one:
         he was you."

Princess Nothing kept running, running until there were holes in her shoes,
            then her feet,
                        then her soul.

SILENCE, long and contemplative

Princess Nothing spends her days quietly beneath
a tree that blossoms the same colour as her
                  real shoes,
in front of mazes of paperthin pleasures,
   reaching timorously towards friendship {and love ,
both confounding and joyous
   and with words
      speaks her magic.

Let go.
      Let go.
            Let go.

There are better things.
      There is truer love.
            Let go.

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