Beauty Sleep

By Olivia Hibbitt

She waited. 

Images from outside rolled across the mirror embedded in the ceiling.

The man climbed as they always did, huffing and haughty, blood dripping from palms shredded by the field of thorns. This one had a particularly dazed and pious look on his face. But his flesh seemed young and supple enough. 

Her insides were hollowed out. Aching. How long since the fairy had sent the last one? She knew the remains lay as bones now. She couldn’t move her head to see, but the smell had dissipated long ago. That only happened once flesh had rotted and shining bones were all that remained. 

Still the man climbed. This one was slow. Pausing every step to examine the way forward like he was mapping a continent. Was he simple? That would explain the dozy expression on his face. And the cape, how had she not noticed the cape? Gold and red, flying out behind him to snag on thorns. Or was the fairy struggling to find men stupid enough to attempt a rescue?

Had she slumbered so long that people were getting dumber? Or was the fairy struggling to find men stupid enough to attempt a rescue?

Her stomach rumbled as the oaf finally cleared the thorns. 

Not long now. 

The old one had built handholds to make the ascent easy, even for these idiots. 

Her skin tingled as the man placed his hands on the tower and climbed. 

***

He heaved himself over the lip of the casement and lay, panting in the dim light of the chamber. His hands burned from the thousand scratches he’d gotten through those cursed thorns. The damn things had shredded his cape. The spun gold hung in tatters. 

His breathing slowed and his eyes adjusted to the light. He stared at a ceiling adorned with a mirror and… what was he looking at? Strange symbols around the outside of the limpid circle. They were painted in an oddly disturbing colour and the mirror in the centre glittered menacingly. 

His stomach wobbled, but he clenched his fists, ignoring the blood that oozed between his fingers. No, he must not fear. She had been held prisoner here too long. He was her only hope. 

He sat, adjusted his cape and raised his eyes. Breath froze in his lungs. There she was. Even more beautiful and tragic than the old fairy had described. 

Her skin was carved from the palest marble. Hair, a midnight curtain cascading over the edge of the narrow bed. It pooled on the floor, an ocean of black velvet. He sighed when he saw her lips. A blood red rose in the middle of the perfect face. It made his heart ache. 

‘It’s OK, my love,’ he whispered into the heavy silence. 

He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I am here. One kiss and all of this will be over.’ 

He approached the bed, laid the back of his hand on her ice-cold cheek, leaned in and froze. What was that, in the corner. A pile of… 

He reared back, finally taking in the rest of the room. 

Bones, bones and bones lay in broken piles all about him. 

***

The spell freezing her in place lifted as he’d crossed the threshold.

She smiled. 

Lips drew back from the gaping maw. A festering horror lined with serrated teeth. 

The movement made a creaking sound and his eyes snapped back to her. 

This was her favourite bit. 

To look in their eyes when they realised the old fairy’s lie. 

The delicious scent of betrayal as she drained their life.

***

Outside, fresh roses bloomed where blood had spilt.

About the Author

Liv Hibbitt lives on the Northern Beaches of Sydney where she spends her spare time writing speculative fiction for children and adults.

She is an emerging writer who has written a middle grade novel about aliens and promises she’s almost finished the middle-grade fantasy, horror set during the gold rush in Arrowtown, Aotearoa. 

Liv’s not sure why all her stories end up kind of dark, one day she’ll get that seen to!