Just a little suggestion, he said.

It’ll be fun, he said.

You’ll fall asleep and I’ll kiss you awake like when we first met, then we can start again.

That’s what he said.

Why, then, did I just wake up alonedustyreally bloody hungry in a really bloody cold industrial freezer?

“Fool me once, fool me twice, all that shit,” I mutter bitterly, clenching and unclenching my fists to get the blood circulating.

I switch to working on my feet, then legs. I’m half-naked, of course, but that had been the plan, hadn’t it? The first kiss woke me up from the Big Bad Witch’s spell, then Mum and Dad gave their pre-ordained blessing, then it took a whole week to get into bed together. This time we planned to go straight from kiss to more.

Of course, men who go around kissing sleeping princesses because they consider their kisses the best in the land (plus if they wake up the chick they’ll score cash and a title) are probably not the best husband material.

Shoulda seen that one coming, Fairy Godmother.

To be fair, I tried to keep it together. But after two months and his three affairs (with housekeeping girls, so clichéd), we decided to separate. I spent another month of awful nights partying with friends, pretending everything was fine while he danced with other princesses and pretended it was royal duty. One that ended in the royal chambers.

I didn’t tell anyone, but it wasn’t a secret. We were married only in name.

All because of that contract. The one that threatened Frog Therianthropy if we split up. Again, another slip from my Fairy Godmother.

Or was it?

Let’s give it one more try, he’d urged me that night. Then he’d called her in, and it turned out my Fairy Godmother was his too. Surprise! Then she waved her charms in a hypnotic circle with that sweet voice urging me to sleep, just sleep, soon I would wake to his kiss and we’d be in love and…

Eugh. Just thinking about it makes me sick. And I don’t think my stomach has held food for a hundred years.

Circulation returned, I stumble from the gurney. The floor is ice and my teeth are chattering so loudly I’m surprised no-one’s come to investigate. The door swings open easily—no-one expected this ice maiden to wake up—and I step into another freezer, this one filled with dangling, mutilated carcasses.

Great. I’ve been stowed away in a secret room in a meat hold. Again I gag, feeling like a mummy who’s been filled with embalming fluid. I check. No scars, so I’ve at least escaped that fate.

Finally I reach the end of the freezer. This door is harder to open. I push with all my puny might until eventually I tumble out, straight into a knife-wielding butcher. I look up.

“Oh hi,” I say, grabbing the weapon. “Can I borrow this?”

Image: Winter Rose by Gabriele Lässer from Pixabay
Header Image: Hypnosis clock by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

A little late for my post this week, sorry. I’ve been working on a 6,000 word short story for an anthology competition, which has taken up most of my writing — and editing — time. Submitting that at the end of the week, so fingers crossed! I should be back with a new blog post next Monday am Aussie time. Hope you are all doing well in these crazy times.

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