Once upon a time, long ago in an aetherbubble far away, there lived a beautiful young princess. Her mother and father were King and Queen of a lovely kingdom and they loved the princess very much. However, one day, as the family sat in their throne room, as they did most every day to listen to their subjects, there was a curious visitor.

 "Lords and ladies, King and Queen, fair princess-" the visitor winked at the girl with this final remark and she found herself blushing, but not in a giddy way - no, rather, it left her tummy tight and her mind nervous, and so she watched, silently, as the audience unfolded.

 "Gentle folks, I come to you today with grave news," the visitor explained. He was dressed finely, clearly a noble from some far-distant land, with a glittering cloth-of-gold cape and upturned velvet shoes. His voice was soft and warm like milk and honey, but his eyes had the cold glint of icy sapphires. The girl squirmed in her seat. Something dark and apprehensive loomed over that chamber, though none knew it yet.

 "One of the Soulless-" 

 A horrified gasp rocked the crowd. The Soulless were merely myth and legend, but here came a man speaking of them as if they existed! Chatter leapt like madflies until the entire chamber buzzed, and the visitor was forced to raise his hands, trying to elicit silence, but to no avail. Frowning, the King rapped his sceptre on the ground and the crowd's uproar dwindled to excited whispers.

 "I'm not even at the bad part, yet," the man explained, eyes wide as he shook his head. "No, you see, one of the Soulless-"

 Again, the crowd gasped and began to frantically talk amongst themselves. The visitor sighed, turning to the King, who once again slammed his sceptre on the ground, demanding silence. Beside her father, the poor princess watched all this unfold, her tummy ache growing stronger as she felt the coming darkness loom larger. Still, she remained silent - it was not her place to object, not here, not now, and so the visitor continued.

 "One of the Soulless-" This time his voice barrelled onwards, over the gasps and uproar. "-has rampaged through my kingdom. I am but a noble - our king is held hostage! We need aid to help us fight back, so we come to you, we beseech you, most generous, most kind..."

 And so on and on the honorifics went, as did the debate which followed. The King conveyed a council session and the nobles debated as midnight came and went and the sky began to streak purple in false dawn - the princess listened from the hall, eyes wide with worry as her ears buzzed with things she would not understand for many, many years to come.

 Finally a decision was reached and within a fortnight a company assembled and equipped. The kingdom gathered to see them off, pennants cracking crisp in a stiff breeze as drums beat a solemn knell. The Queen was beautiful, in whites and silvers and velvets, which the princess wore soft pink silks - but the army, they wore battle-scarred armour and robes stiff with enchantments and spells. At the head of the parade marched the King, the princess's father, and her heart hurt to watch him wave farewell. She cried and could not look and regretted that forever after.

 

Every day, the princess would dash up the stairs to her room, the highest room in the tallest tower, eagerly looking out the window for hours and hours, waiting for dust clouds of tramping feet, the glint of sun off armour, the distant fanfare of triumphant trumpets, for some sign in the distance, but all was calm and clear and silent. Days turned to weeks turned to months, and her watch became weary, first lingering less long, then only every other day, then once a week and then, finally, when over a year had passed, hardly ever at all, falling away to merely half-remembered urges to watch the horizon.

 All through this, the strange noble remained behind, as an ambassador he said, but the girl watched carefully, her quiet eyes seeing many things, and she observed his rise through the palace's esteem. At first, it was only small things - a special seat at a banquet, an extended fanfare when he arrived at a ball, a brightening of his glitter and gems - but soon she saw his hands in everything sacred. 

 One day, they were to go riding. She dressed in furs and leathers and wool, wrapped tight and warm for a giddy gallop across the moors beyond the palace and sat atop her pony, awaiting her mother. A loud whinny reached her ears, and she turned, about to spring from her saddle in delight for that voice belonged to her most favorite horse in the entire kingdom.

 "Starleaper!" she exclaimed, cheeks flushed and happy, for Starleaper was her father's most loyal and beloved courser and she and him had gone for many rides together, the stallion's notoriously harsh temperment softened by only her and Dreamdancer, her fat little pony...and her father, of course. If Starleaper was back...

 But, oh, no, it was not right, she realized - that was Starleaper, but he was bucking and biting, teeth chomping down heavy on the air as he kicked wildly. Stablehands did their best to restrain him, calling out explanations to someone dressed all in gold, trying to explain the beast's nature and his loyalty to the king.

 "Break him, then," came the curt, chilly reply. The princess shivered, hearing the noble visitor's voice, and Dreamdancer shied beneath her, steps skittering sideways. The movement caught his eye, and the man looked past the stallion to her, a slow smile spreading on his face. "Use her," he commanded the servants, chin jerking upwards to indicate the young woman. Her face went pale.

 "The beast..." the noble's lip curled up in a sneer as he spat out the word. "The beast is tame to you, princess." His grin widened. "Help these fools teach him to accept his new master."

 "New...new master?" the girl echoed faintly, eyes widening. "That's my father's sta-"

 "Not anymore," the man bluntly corrected her, his piercing blue eyes meeting her's across the yard. "We have clung to the dusty past for far too long - the kingdom needs to move on. This...creature is just one of the many, many things we need to...improve." His voice lilted upwards as he smiled and the girl felt icy hands grip around her stomach as the man inclined his head to her, before turning on his heel to depart, his cloth-of-gold cape fluttering majestically behind him.

 She found her mother, later, and flung herself into her arms, tears in her eyes as she told her all that happened in the yard. The Queen stroked her hair, kissed her cheek and then smiled, eyes distant, as she told her daughter to be calm and happy, for all was well and the kingdom was becoming strong again. The girl blinked away her tears, staring at her mother in confusion, but all she saw in her face was the nobleman's smile. She fled, retreating to her room for days and days as she made herself sick with crying.

 

For nearly a week, she refused to leave, her door barred as she turned away every servant save to sneak out at night to quickly snag the meals left outside her room. Finally, as the seventh day dwindled down towards an eighth and the servants began to light hearthfires in the grand hall, a furious pounding came at her door. The girl shrank back, timid as a mouse as she hugged her pillow to her chest. She knew what lay behind the lock and she kept it closed, fearful. Muffled voices filled the corridor beyond, followed by a chilly laugh, and footsteps retreated.

 For two days, she was left in silence - no maids came with meals, no lamplighters to illuminate her dark chambers, and even her governess was gone, leaving her utterly alone, empty and shivering as she fretted over the changes. Still, even the saddest little princess must eat, so on the third day, when her stomach gnawed at her backbone, she slipped from her chambers, late, late at night to sneak down to the kitchens. She cloaked herself to hide, a wolf pelt snagged from her bed to sling around her shoulders, and she thought of the beast it came from. She and her father had caught him (well, along with half the army) after reports had come of the beast marauding through the countryside - it had been cleaned and skinned and turned into a lovely throw in memory of her first hunt. Bitter tears skittered down as she remembered this, suspended atop the fur like crystalline jewels.

 The kitchen was dark and empty, a single fire banked to smoulder softly and shed a dim, wavering glow. She crept through the dark chamber, feet bare and steps silent, until she came across a nearly-empty tray of leftover meat pies, half-eaten, pastry crumbled. Quick as a rabbit, she scooped up an armful and fled, footfalls pattering quietly as she dashed through the slumbering castle back to her own room, barring the door and flinging herself on the bed to hungrily gnaw on the cold, greasy leftovers. It was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.

 And so it went - the castle magically seemed to have decided that if the princess wished not to exist, she would no longer. No servants ever approached her door again and, gradually, marks of her presence began to find themselves replaced, just as her father had been eclipsed by the nobleman. The lanterns in her tower ceased to be lit, tailors stopped sending her clothing, and paintings were replaced, images of herself and her father replaced by proud new pieces of the Queen and the nobleman, happily standing hand in hand and smiling chilly blue-eyed smiles.

 The princess quietly adjusted to these changes, silently mourning her father and her old life, and took to wandering the castle at night, creeping down to the kitchens to pilfer enough food not to starve, but no more than that for she was frightened and worried she may take what others would need. After several of these trips, guilt gnawed at her, so she began to do what she could in thanks, stoking the fire and cleaning stray pots and pans, and soon rumours began to spread, awestruck and amused whispers about the kitchen's ghost. 

 None ever saw her, for the princess had learned to hide very well, but interest was piqued and every now and then she would nearly stumble into someone peering into the kitchens at night to try to catch a glimpse of the phantom. Quick as a hare flushed from undergrowth, she would flee back to her rooms, leaving only a sooty scatter on the hearth and a swirl of fur in her wake, the wolf pelt clutched tightly about her.

 Ashskins, they began to call the ghost, a fond smile on their lips as they spoke of the benevolent poltergeist, and the princess heard the whispers as she slunk about the back passages and forgotten corridors of the castle. She had been forgotten, but that pleased her, so she began to roam further afield, venturing beyond the palace walls into dew-drenched fields bathed in moonlight, and she remembered how to hunt. Soon, gifts of game - fresh pheasants, delicate rabbit, even, once, a deer - began to appear, laid neatly atop the kitchen's long trestle table. The first time, the chef wept, for somehow, someway, the ghost had known the nobleman, by now king in all but name, was in a rage, demanding a feast but refusing to spare the hunters to find the food. Starleaper had not complied, no matter how hard they broke him, and along with the horse, hunts themselves had died, forbidden out of spite, leaving the poor kitchen staff unable to cope with the court's demands. The chef wept, for he knew the ghost had saved him and his head would remain attached to his body. The princess smiled when she heard whispers of this as she lurked down a dark passage and soon the cooks found themselves greeted nearly every morning with berries and fruit, flowers and beasts, picked and harvested and slain and tidily waiting to become stew or sauce or pies. 

 

One night, the moon swollen full and silver overhead, the girl wandered near the long-unused pastures far behind the castle. She was looking for a particularly sweet berry she distantly remembered her father showing her in a different life - the memory seemed hazed by time, leaving him sunlit and smiling and perfect as he happily pointed out the delicate wildflower. It was closer to a weed, she remembered, growing rampant in places where the forest reclaimed the land, and so she sought out the abandoned parts of the grounds: old hunting lodges fallen into disrepair, trails where saplings pushed high and free of treadfall, the old pastures neglected and overgrown with brambles. 

 A delicate pink blossom caught her eye, soft petals unfolding wide in the moonlight, and she bent to gather the small cluster of berries beneath the bloom, when she heard a faint, lonely noise, aching in how familiar and hurt it sounded. A cry slipped from her lips and she shot upwards, slipping beneath fences and past bracken, heedless of the gouges the thorns tore in her furs and the furrows it raked across her skin - driven by the sound itself and all it represented, she ran into the pasture, softly echoing the noise back into the empty, moonlit night.

 At first, all was still and silent - she had imagined it, she realized, and the constant, heavy crush of loneliness that she pretended did not exist threatened to loom into reality. She cried out again, a ragged and raw note in her voice...and this time her voice was answered, a clear and high whinny drifting towards her as dull hoofbeats pattered across the field, followed by a ghost, a wraith, a spirit, a mere slip of a pony, emaciated and weak, broken from neglect. The princess fell to her knees, guilt bringing hot tears to her eyes, but Dreamdancer loved her - despite her absence, despite the pony's pain, he loved her, and he cautiously approached and bent his head to give the girl a soft, tentative nuzzle as he let out a quiet, curious snort.

 The princess had no words - nor did she even properly recall how to speak, voice unused from her solitary life. She reached for the horse, in a daze, and wound her fingers through the tangled, matted mane. "Oh, love..." she breathed, biting back her tears as she ran her hands over half-starved ribs and withered flanks. "Oh, my sweet thing..." Dreamdancer merely sat, patient and silent and content, now that he had found his princess. All would be right, the pony knew, and he was not wrong.

 It took weeks to get him back to health. Every night, she would venture to the old, forgotten pastures, pilfered grains and bushels of sweetgrasses bundled in her arms. They would walk, slowly navigating the large field, and she learned how to use her voice again, quietly telling the pony all of her secrets and dreams. He would listen and snort and shake his head in a horsish huff of assent, and she remembered what hope felt like, the fearful spark slowly growing as she watched fat begin to build and muscle return, bones vanishing from their prominent display into a glossy sleek coat over strength and tone. 

 One day, they rode, and for a fleeting flashing moment she was a girl again, her life sunlit and special with her father galloping and laughing at her side - but her eyes opened, soon, and she found herself alone, limned in moonlight and dressed in rags in an abandoned, overgrown field, and so her joy turned to ash and she wept. Dreamdancer uncertainly nipped at her foot, and it was enough, for a time, to distract her.

 Her thoughts returned to that moment many times as weeks passed - for a heartbeat, she had flown, soaring happy and secure, and she realized she longed for what her life might have been. She mulled over this each day as she crept around the castle, tidying up here and stoking fires there. The typical trappings of her ghostly life - leaving a blanket for a lonely rookie guardsman pulling his first midnight sentry, keeping the pots stirred for morning porridge, pilfering a trinket to unite lovers too shy too share their hearts - no longer brought her joy; instead, each person she helped only made her more keenly realize what she had become and it was as if she watched the entire world behind a pane of glass, for all her wandering still trapped in a room to watch lives and loves and emotion through a tiny, lonely window.

 And so, as she and Dreamdancer began to roam further afield, her thoughts turned to change and the future. Her father was gone, she came to accept, despite all of her longing memories - but she still had a mother who had loved her, once.

 

Perhaps her thoughts were stronger than she knew, for soon after this an excited buzz and chatter swept through the palace - the Queen was hosting a royal ball. Arch stares were exchanged and knowing nods made, for it was commonly assumed she would be announcing her marriage to the nobleman, for he all but ruled the kingdom in name at this point. The princess slowly processed this news in silence, slinking back deeper into the shadows of the darkened back corridor as she heard the whispers, and found a slow, quiet anger gradually building in her. The nobleman had taken everything from her and destroyed so much she saw as precious, but to fully replace her father? She realized she could remain a ghost no longer.

 The princess returned to her room, feet heavy as they wound their way up the tall tower, and sat at her window for hours, night turning to day to night again as she watched the horizon and thought. Finally, as sleep pulled her under, she made a wish, a desperate, quiet plea to the stars to help her, somehow. She slipped away, dreaming troubled dreams, as the first day of the ball dawned.

 Something soft and ticklish awoke her, her nose twitching as a sudden sneeze built, and her eyes fluttered open.

 "Ooohhh," a chorus of soft voices squeaked. The girl found herself staring at a dozen wide cookie eyes and shrank back in fear. The creatures simply swarmed closer, curiously tugging her garments and plucking at her hair. Small as a mouse, each one moved in delicate, scampering leaps and skips on spindly limbs of spun-sugar as candyfloss hair fluttered happily about them. Gumdrops studded their clothing like gems, while pastry faces beamed brightly in wide smiles filled with white chocolate teeth. They seemed harmless - or at least small enough to eat in a few quick bites - and the girl slowly relaxed, fear turning to interest as they continued to eagerly acquaint themselves with her.

 She had read of the sugar-fae, of course, but had assumed it only a children's tale like those her father had read of, akin to the spirit in the moon and the magical hunting wolves of imaginary woodland warriors, smart as a man and bonded with a chosen companion. She sat for a span, awkward and confused how to address living mythology, and finally settled on a quiet, "Hello."

 "Oooohhh," the fae breathed in unison, eyes widening again until crumbs showed at the corners as they collectively stared at her. This was followed by a quick turning of heads and eager chatter, voices soft and foreign and reminsecent of the first eager, curious bite into a new dessert. Her tummy began to rumble and she shifted her weight with a cough, apprehensive of offending her visitors. They did not seem to notice - back and forth their chitter chatter went, lollipop fingers gesticulating wildly as they debated something of great import, before they finally quieted, apparently arriving at a conclusion. In unison, the sugar-fae turned back to her, beaming happily. She smiled tenatively back.

 "Oooohhh!!!" they cried out in excitement, words melting into laughter as they shimmered away, leaving behind only clouds of sugar and sweetness. The girl sneezed, waving a hand before her face to clear the air of the glittering trail, but found the shimmers shifting to her instead, sticking to hands and cheeks and hair in a rapidly brightening sparkle. She stared down at her own fingers, panic warring with wonder, and then gasped in amazement as the shimmers branched out, questing towards each other in gleaming lattices of light. Like a nascent rainbow, the glimmers knit together in a dazzling bright burst, and when her vision cleared she found herself transformed, rags and ashes and furs somehow now silks and satins, a beautiful ballgown with a star-scattered veil to cover her face. She smelled of cookies and candy and happy memories of her childhood when her mother had taken her to the kitchens to laughingly pilfer cake from the cooks. She smiled, heart swelling, and rose. The ball had begun.

 She slipped in from the terrace, sliding into the thick of the crowd as astronished giggles bubbled up and out of her from behind her veil - the ghost walked among them, yet they danced and drank and spoke and laughed, ignorant of her secret. She felt like she was floating, steps tripping happily over moonbeams, and she swirled through the room, unknowingly enchanting everyone she met. As the night drew to a close, she found herself dancing near the throne - her skirts swirled out as she twisted in a lithe circle, delighted, and she hear a faint murmur from the dais. Through her veil, she watched the Queen, her mother, shift her weight, one hand lifting pensively to her lip as if trying to catch the taste of a long-forgotten dream that has woken from slumber for the briefest heartbeat. The dancing continued and she swirled away and the first day of the ball ended.

 

The next day's sunset came, and the princess waited in her room, staring wistfully out over the castle's approach. Like a bevy of fireflies, the nobles swarmed the courtyard for a second day of feasts and celebration, their gowns encrusted with gold and gems to glitter bright beneath lantern-light. Her tummy hurt, hungry and nervous, and she found herself unable to watch, turning away to seek solace in her tiny, weak hearth fire as her heart made another quiet, forlorn wish. Her eyes slowly closed, the dying flames soporific and soothing, and so she could not say, exactly, how or when the spice-fae appeared. They simply were not there and then they were, hair little twists of fire above dreamy eyes and saffron skin and peppery smiles, curls of incense snaking behind the gaggle to haze the room.

 "Hmmm..." they murmured in a low chorus, eyes taking in the girl before they began to rapidly whisper to each other. They must be arguing, the princess realized, for their hair ebbed and flowed like a fire's dance, rising high as whispers grew heated and rippling in amusement each time eyes crinkled in delight. Delicate wings of smoke and dreams fluttered excitedly, churning up a cloud of paprika pixie dust, and before the princess knew what was happening, she began to sneeze.

 Each snort brought a change. The cloud boiled up around her, spicy and cloying, and she sneezed her rags into another gown, this one streaked all the beautiful brilliant shades of a sizzling fire. The dust scattered from her breath and then reformed, cinnanmon and nutmeg choking her into another coughing snort and she sneezed her hair into an elaborate arrangement, piled atop her head and flowing down her back, mecurial and floating like the sinuous twine of smoke in the wind. A third time a cloud enveloped her and this time she sneezed a frothy scarlet veil over her face, familiar features shrouded in featherweight gossamer of silk and spice, the scent a delicate murmur hinting at a long-ago moment when the young princess had found a gift her father was intended for the Queen and, childishly, had instead poured the perfume over her mother's gown to see what would happen.

 She smiled, recalling how her mother had hugged her close and taught her about gifts and kindness and helping others instead of hurting them, and then smoothed down her veil and crept off for the ball.

 If she had been a star the first visit, tonight she was the moon, eclipsing all else at the ball with her generous laugh, her light steps, her kind murmurs as she quietly watched in wonder. Again, her steps spun her closer to the thrones, the exotic spicy scent wafting towards the Queen as she sat silent and cold upon her throne. Again, the Queen sat back as if dazed and murmured quietly as if a long-sleeping part of her had awoken. Behind her veil, the princess saw this and smiled, and then blushed, vanishing into the crowd in fear as the Queen lifted her head to scan the ballroom. Footfalls silent, the girl fled the party, retreating to her tower bedroom to ponder. 

 

There was one more day left for the celebrations and the princess knew if she wanted to save her mother she had to quickly act. At the dawn of the next night, as the nobles lined up like proud peacocks, glittering and bright and drowning in perfume, the princess gathered her skins and furs about her, staring down at her soot-stained feet, and wished as hard as her heart could bear.

 They came from the shadows, bobbing and lurching in seasick gaits, each the shade of her own pale skin and shaped queer and curious, limbs too long and mouths too wide and eyes simply sightless indentations - the flesh-fae. With a guttural murmur, they greeted her, ethereal fingers, soft-sharp claws and oversized pudgy hands reaching out to tenderly stroke her cheek and caress her hand. She smiled softly, nervously reaching for them, her last fae guardians and they hugged in close, comforting her as they pressed their distorted and deformed bodies against her skin. 

 Their pale flesh skimmed hers, soft and fragile like a drop of water atop a meniscus, before the separation blurred, little bodies diminishing as her own skin rippled and merged with theirs, their bodies subsumed into hers in a gentle, loving meld. Something, somewhere deep inside cried out, first in terror at the strangeness, then in pain as a long empty absence she never knew she had suddenly screamed in agony, and then in joy as the loss found what it was missing. She lifted her hands in amazement, watching fingers elongate and dissipate into star-strung streamers as she felt her face rearranging itself into something new, something unknown and fiercely beautiful. Her rags themselves twisted and tumbled down, unfolding into skin-soft leather skirts and elegant fur accents, a glorious formal hunting costume fit for a proud woodland queen, while her hair came alive, snaking about her head to twist into an ornate, writhing knot, a crown of breathing braids studded with gem-like teeth. Her feet, her little soot-streaked feet, these were most glorious of all, the ash and dirt melting into liquid shadows to leave shimmering dreamote footprints as she passed. 

 She was more beautiful that she had ever dared imagine she could be and so she descended her tower, stately and slow, to walk through the main corridors and passages towards the celebrations. In her wake she left dazzled guards and spellbound servants, a susserence of "..Ashskins..." murmured reverently as she passed, for she was, truly, her own ghost embodied that night. People parted as she approached, sweeping into curtsies and bows, until she stood, heart racing yet somehow as serene as the long-forgotten forest pool she and Dreamdancer had stumbled upon one midnight ride. Like the waters, something lurked in her depths, her stomach clenching in a familiar fear, but this time she felt stronger, bolstered and brave, and boldly strode to the top of the stairs, looking down at the gathered crowd in the ballroom below.

 "Ashskins..." the royal page murmured, too awe-struck to properly announce her, but it was not needed. Every eye was on the princess, every breath held, and as she slowly descended the stairs, they waited and watched. Silence reigned as she crossed the ballroom, the crowd quietly falling away to create a path towards the thrones, and she continued on, approaching the dais. The nobleman, after all these years, had finally sat upon her father's seat, and she lifted her chin, staring at him.

 The man regarded her, frowning, and shifted his weight in discomfort. He looked over at the queen, his nervousness rising as he noticed a dawning light in her cold stare, and his attention turned back to the living ghost before him. "Who are you!" he thundered, fury rising as he stood, pounding her father's sceptre to demand an unneeded silence. "Who dares invade my party and accuse me so!" The princess had said nothing. Her gaze locked on his, eyes swirling bright and silver as they met his piercing cold blue, and then she smiled.

 Inside, deep inside, the flesh-fae embraced her and loved her and whispered secrets and stories, guiding her onwards as she softly began to speak, addressing the man who had stolen her father for the first time in a decade, helping her find the words to speak.

 "Once upon a time..." Her voice was soft and gentle, her mother's voice from a lifetime ago, and unbidden she found herself reciting her earliest memory, the words her mother had softly told her as they snuggled close for sleep now spilling out, quiet but sparkling, like the clear cold waters of a mountain stream. Beside the noble, the Queen drew in a surprised soft gasp, blinking slowly. The princess's story continued, voice lilting and light, and as she spoke, she felt the flesh-fae helping her, peeling away parts of herself she had forgotten and hidden, opening long-locked doors of dreams she had not dared to dream, finding new realities, better realities than the one this cruel, cold man had created. On the tale went as the princess saw every path glittering like moonbeam trails, laid out before her by the kindly flesh-fae, and she picked one, the most beautiful one, and pulled it closer, weaving it into the world like a new strand of yarn added to knitwork. 

 Her smile widened, sweet and bright, as her voice softened into the most gentle, tender whisper, and her eyes whirled silver as starlight, stare boring deep into the would-be-king's usurping ambitions. His mouth dropped open, unable to tear his own gaze away, and he began to scream, thin and high and reedy, hands lifting to claw at his cheeks. The noise bubbled, burbled, folded in on itself to become a sob and then laughter, manic and shrill, as madness claimed him.

 At his side, the queen stirred, roused from her memories to blink again, looking about her in disbelief. Her stare settled on the princess, an unspoken question in her eyes, and the girl smiled, stepping closer to kneel at her mother's feet. Gently, the woman tilted the other's chin up, staring at the unfamiliar features as they melted and shifted, smoothing away into a blank flat plane. For a moment, she was simply blank flesh before a nose began to blossom, rising upwards to be flanked by flesh-birthed eyes as a mouth yawned into existence, smiling serenely. As gentle as a night-blooming rose opening itself for the moon, her true features swam back upon her face. "Mother," she murmured, finally, after all these years, seen, truly seen by the Queen.

 "Oh, my sweet dearheart..." the Queen whispered back, and then no more words were needed. The spell was broken and they embraced, their kingdom saved by the silent ghost and her new, wonderful friends. The king would never return, they realized, but they had each other, and that would be. Together, they rebuilt what the noble had done to their kingdom, and lived happily and in peace until the end of their days.