Round 1-The Announcement

[Kirke]

peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one

When she awakens she immediately knows that something is wrong.

She stays still for a moment, assessing. She’s lying on her back somehow, and there’s something soft lying over top of her. She can hear voices nearby, but they’re soft, as if the sound is partly blocked out by something. She experimentally wiggles her fingers …

Wait. FINGERS?!

Kirke sits bolt upright, accidentally throwing off the down blanket that had been covering her. She reaches her arms out in front of her, staring at the hands that are now at the ends of them. The hands covered in soft, pinkish flesh that travels up her arms … and covers the rest of her body.

She feels at her face, discovering an oval shaped face with front facing eyes, a slender nose, a set of soft lips, and a long mane of wavy blonde hair.

She’s human.

She’s a freaking human.

Kirke sits for a moment, mind whirring. There’s only two explanations she can think of, and only one that really makes sense. The faeries … the faeries are up to something.

She’s heard about the tricks that faeries play of course - she’d heard the tales growing up, told to her as bedtime stories when she was a child. Sometimes the faeries are benevolent, other times, more than cruel. She wonders what the faery’s intention is in this case, but there’s no way to know. The faeries are all powerful and even if she were able to figure out this particular faery’s reasons, there’s nothing she could even begin to do about it. So she might as well slip into the role the faerie has given her and simply let whatever will be, be.

The sound of voices outside grows louder, and Kirke decides to investigate. She swings her legs off the bed and her feet brush against the wooden floor. She shudders at the sudden sensation. Soooo weird. She’s abruptly aware of the fact that her new ‘covering’ (this strange smooth, almost hairless skin) is not enough to protect her from the elements and and a shiver shoots through her body. She looks down at herself - she’s wearing a thin linen gown (she’s surprised to find that she knows what these things are, more faerie magic she suspects …) that is definitely not enough. She stands and walks over to an old chest on the floor. She opens it and looks inside - it’s full of worn dresses that look like they will fit her new body. She picks the one on top - a high necked grey wool concoction that’s decorated with fraying black lace. She slips into it as quickly as she can (she’s still not used to these fingers), yanks on a pair of black high heeled boots that sit by the door, and slips out into a hall, where she instantly stumbles (why the hell do humans wear boots like these?!). Once she’s righted herself, she follows the hallway to a another door, and opens it to the outside.

She pauses in the open doorway, taking in this new world that the faerie has plopped her in. Small stone and wood buildings line an empty cobblestone street, the smell of oil and filth lying thick upon the air. She’s surprised at the emptiness, but when she looks to her left she immediately spots the source of the voices she’d heard earlier. A massive crowd has gathered in the square at the end of the street. Curious, she approaches (stumbling still over the cobblestones, damn boots) and slips in through the back of the crowd. Shops and and people litter the square, everyone chattering amongst themselves with obvious excitement. Kirke moves from shop to shop, pretending to look through the wares, but really trying to find the source of the commotion. She stops at a tailor shop and is surprised to discover that she feels like she’s known the woman working there for years. But of course she knows her … she and Helen had grown up together, had gone to school together, had spent their days playing in the streets and whispering about their weddings in the far, far off future. And she remembers now what the hubbub is about - the royal family is making an announcement today, a most unusual event!

Kirke shakes her head suddenly, trying to get rid of the fog still floating about in her mind. Unbeknownst to her, the magic is finally fully taking hold. My goodness, she thinks to herself. That’d been quite the dream she’d had, to have confused her so. And to think, she’d thought she’d been a horse, even so much so that she’d forgotten how to use her fingers and walk in her own boots! How ridiculous! Perhaps she should pay a visit to Doctor Rankin later, just to make sure everything is alright. For now though she’s going to stick around - she’s just as curious as everyone else to see what all the fuss will be about!

Mumbling apologies to Helen she makes her way back into the crowd and towards the podium as the decreed hour is drawing near. As Kirke approaches the small stage a woman turns to her, an incredulous look on her face. “You would think we were rioting with all the police and royal guard present.” Kirke nods noncommittally before turning her face back to the podium. She understands the woman’s point (even agrees), but she’s far more interested in the announcement than getting into a political discussion.

After a short wait, a tall portly man dressed in the royal livery steps up to the podium and unfolds a letter. The whole crowed, Kirke included, leans forward slightly in anticipation. “By Royal Decree …”

Kirke listens with rapt attention as the herald describes the monarch’s contest, and before he’s even finished speaking she knows that she will enter.

For Kirke’s entire life, all she has ever wanted to do is make her father proud of her. Her father, Kirin, is a wonderful man - the leader of the good church of Khaos in their town. He is the patriarch of their extended family and, unfortunately for Kirke, her older half sister Aily is the apple of his eye. She’s lived in Aily’s shadow for her entire life and no matter how hard she tries, she can never seem to get out from under it.

But this … this could be her shot. This could be her chance to finally outshine Aily and gain her father’s approval and affection. After all, if she were to enter this contest and win, she would be queen of all Illea. Her father would have no choice but to be proud of her.

As the herald disappears into a group of royal soldiers and the crowd breaks up into small groups to discuss the announcement, Kirke remains frozen, thinking. Yes, she will do it. There will be a lot of risk involved, putting herself out there like this, but the possible gains … the possible gains are worth it.

She doesn’t head for the town hall immediately, instead turning in the direction of home. She pretends to not to see Helen’s frantic gestures to join her back in the tailor shop. Helen will just want to discuss the news and make fun of the potential applicants. She doesn’t understand - Helen is the only child of an infertile couple, a miracle in the eyes of her parents. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be desperate for a parent’s approval.

Once she’s out of Helen’s line of sight she changes her path, slipping down an alley way in the direction of the town hall. There’s no point in waiting, her mind is already made up.

She reaches the town hall quickly, and joins the already present line of women waiting to to apply. Kirke can’t help but snort at some of the faces she sees in line - many of them are spinsters, desperate women grasping at this last thread of hope. The heir won’t give them a second glance. But a few, a few are likely to be competition.

After some time, it’s finally her turn to apply and she stands at the desk with her pen poised over the piece of paper. What can she say about herself, to make herself appealing? She’s the same as many other women in this hole of a town, with the exception of the church she belongs to. And that she won’t be mentioning. Not yet anyhow. Many of the people in her town falsely think of her family and church as a cult, and create cruel and baseless rumours that they spread amongst the townspeople. She will have to be honest about her origins at some point of course, but there’s no need to mention it now and ruin her chances before she’s even begun.

Instead she paints the picture of a good and honest peasant, an innocent young woman well skilled at sewing and needlework, and a love of all animals. And to create a little more interest, a little more mystery, she mentions something else - her skills in self defence. Unusual in a young lady to be sure, but she can think of nothing else to make herself stand out above the rest beyond her appearance, which the court artist that had been left behind manages to capture quite nicely (though he can’t replicate the deep purple of her eyes with his pencil).

When she finally does leave her heart is in her throat. She’s never wanted anything so badly in her life. She just knows that, if she could just get selected, if she could just win her father would be so, so proud of her.

She spends the next two weeks praying desperately to Khaos. If he could just help her, if could just give her this one wish …

In the end, her prayers are answered. For when the herald returns with his list two weeks later, her name is one of the few that is called. She’s filled with elation at the news and when she returns home to let her family know, she doesn’t miss the pang of jealousy that crosses Aily’s face, nor the look of open pride on her father’s face.

He sees her off at the station the next morning (Aily is ‘mysteriously’ absent) and as she steps onto the train she’s almost overcome with nerves. What if it all goes wrong? What if she fails? What if the prince hates her at first sight?

She gives herself a good shake before moving to find a seat. There’s no use worrying about it. She will give it her best shot, and whatever will be, will be.

Hours later she is picked up at the final train station by a horse and carriage that will take her on to the palace. It’s possibly the most extravagant thing she’s ever ridden in, all gold and rich cherrywood, pulled by the most magnificent specimen of a horse she’s ever seen. She can just imagine Aily going bright red with envy. At least, even if she fails in the end, she’ll have stories to make her half-sister’s head spin.

The trip to the palace from the station is relatively short, and in half an hour she’s finally there. She’s aware that she’s tired from the trip, but at the same time it’s all she do to remain seated and wait for the footman to open the carriage door. When he does, she nearly launches herself down the carriage steps and instantly freezes at the sight in front of her.

The palace is everything she’d ever imagined and more. A wide cobbled path, lined with stone walls and beautifully carved statues, winds it’s way towards the most beautiful building she’s ever seen. Well maintained yellowed walls rise up into towers and high spired roofs - she hopes that, while she’s here, she’ll get the chance to see the view from one of those towers. The place is a bustle of activity though, and she’s given no time to ogle. She’s quickly ushered away from the main pathway (it’s only for foreign dignitaries the footman explains) and towards a smaller path, and smaller door off to the side. But, even though this is a side door, she’s still blown away by what she finds inside. The hall is painted in a soft green, and trimmed everywhere in gold. Beautiful, detailed paintings line the walls. She peers in at the closest one, a massive depiction of a great battle scene. Her fingers lift to brush at one of the horses …

“Don’t touch that please!” A maid pops up beside her and immediately begins to take charge. She gives Kirke a little prod, pushing her forward along the hall into another extravagant room, and then another beautiful hallway, then another dazzling room, and another yet another hallway …

The rooms become a blur of red, gold and expensive woods, and by the time they stop at thick wooden door, Kirke is beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. “This will be your room.” The maid gives the door a shove and they both step inside. The room is just as stunning as everything else she’s seen, with a thick carpet underfoot, a magnificent white and gold fireplace, and a tall red and gold four poster bed. In front of the fireplace sits a little table and chair, and atop the table a silver tray of what appears to be food. The maid gives her a patient smile. “You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Eat up, and get some sleep.” Then she turns and slips out, closing the heavy door behind her.

Kirke walks over to the bed and sits down with a thump, ignoring the steaming tray of food. She’s too tired and overwhelmed to even think about eating now. She slips off her boots and leans back on the bed, intending to only rest just a little bit. But, almost instantly her eyelids begin to feel heavy. And, as she drifts off to sleep, she can’t help but wonder what the competition will have in store for her tomorrow.

kirke