ORIGINS: The mouth of the sixth character in the original series made us think of two bridges. One over the sea and the other over the sky. We began to wonder where that would leave the clouds and, before we knew it, those castles had already taken root.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. You are wrong. I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. The air is no place for castles. Dreams belong in my mouth, where I can taste them. They belong behind my sharp teeth, where nobody but me will ever fulfill them. But I am still a child, I will give you that. I am afraid of the dark. I am the princess of this castle, but the Night thinks that she has a rightful claim to my dreams. I put my blood and my words into them every day, and there is a reason I keep my dragon well fed. I sleep in a bed of flames, hoarding my treasures close to my chest. Nobody tells me what to live for. And my dragon makes sure that the Night doesn’t sneak her stars, her crumbs and her pity, into my eyes. I have no use for gift-wrapped constellations. The Night can keep her puppet strings. Because this castle is mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. And I refuse to choke on anything else.
Godspeed, my knight. Don’t sulk, it doesn’t become you. I am sure that there is a beautiful castle waiting for you beyond the horizon. A dream you can protect. Something you can be proud of. Something that will fulfill you. This is where we say goodbye, for now, and I don’t want to lie to you. I can’t tell you that I am sorry because I like my sharp teeth. When my dream crumbled, the only thing left in my mouth was the bitter taste of disappointment. It almost buried me alive, and I learned that hope isn’t something I have in me. What I rebuilt was no longer a dream, but it has taught me many useful things. Other people’s weaknesses. Where to bite, which words to use, to make their castles crumble just like mine did. So, don’t sulk, my knight. Ride beyond the horizon. Find your castle. One day we will meet again, and I expect you to do your best to protect it against me.
For me? Thank you. But I am afraid that I have lived a sheltered life and I don’t know my birds as well as I should. Are they crows? I think I read somewhere that magpies are black too. Is that what they are? Connoisseurs of shiny things? What? Why wouldn’t I be grateful? I already told you thank you, and I don’t make a habit of taking my words back. Here, I will open my mouth wide. I will let those birds feed on my castle. My dreams might have hurt me once or twice, but I have faith in myself. I know that I have been taking good care of them. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t polish them. And I have nothing to fear. Nothing at all. Because if my dreams had already turned black with rot, you would have had no reason to bring me a gift. Right? Hahaha. Right.
Why would I trade places with you? If I wanted flowers, I would pick them myself. I don’t like to be given things. It makes my teeth ache with the need to bite and tear off every last piece of flesh, until there are only bare bones at my feet. The castle where I grew up was a nightmare, not a dream. It was in the heart of a dark forest, and all its gnarled trees looked as if they were trying to clutch at the stars, at everything good and bright I kept in my heart. So, I let it rot into the night. Because no flower can escape its fate, and trying to preserve starlight only leads to futile pain. Believe me, life is easier when you are empty inside, when you just take and keep replacing the things you crush in your grip.
I was bored. You would be too, if you lived trapped inside four walls. I tried growing flowers, but it didn’t take me long to get one in each color of the sunrise. And I should have known that what I was looking for can’t be found in a short-lived flower, but I was young. They rotted on my windowsill, letting the Night in to tell me that black is the one true color of Forever. And for a day or two I was depressed. But somehow my king was able to tell the difference, and he bought me a pet. Now I have a dragon on my windowsill. It only breathes fire on my command. That’s love. And the Night doesn’t weigh on me anymore. It brings out the yellows and the reds of my dragon’s fire, and I can blame the smoke on Forever.
Why would I hoard gold coins in my heart? I live for compliments. A long time ago, a princess told me that I was the sea. That all rivers flowed into me. She said that I had nothing to fear because the sea would never run out of rivers. That I should burn all the knights that came to my castle’s gate to a crisp. That I should show them the respect they deserved, without holding back, because I had been blessed with countless rivals in my life to better myself and keep my fire bright. That’s the best compliment I have ever been given. But it’s been too long, too many heartbeats, and the shine has almost worn off. You wouldn’t happen to have some shiny new words for me, would you?
Poor knight. He tried to do good. He tried to make the world a brighter place for somebody else. But this is real life, where most shades of grey side with black, and he was doomed to fail from the start. But at least someone was kind enough to reward his efforts. I saw a murder of crows gorge on his corpse. Not a single crumb, not a single drop of blood fell from their beaks. Only white bones were left on the ground. And who knows, maybe some of the bad luck of those crows will rub off on his soul, and the next time around he will lead a smarter, happier life. A grey closer to black, like the rest of us winners.
No, no, no. You are mistaken. These crows don’t regret anything, and neither do I. They raised a princess that had been left in a tower to rot. They fed her carrion and blood. There were no lies. No sugar. Only real life. They never expected her to be grateful or repay any debts. The crows wanted her to have a life outside that tower, and that is what I did. I gouged out their eyes because I wasn’t born with wings, and I needed them to pave my way out.
My kingdom for a bubble of silence. I am ready to give up my dreams. I have finally accepted that dreams are too delicate, and they deserve better than to be forced to take root in the real world, where everything withers away in the ugliest way possible. Nothing lasts. Noise wins. And I am not a fool. That is why I am only asking for a bubble.
My kingdom for my missing star. The closest I have come to being happy is when I closed my eyes. But I am not a child anymore, and I am struggling to keep my dreams upright. I can feel it in my bones. My castle is about to crumble, and I don’t have the strength to rebuild it. I can only try to change myself. I have seen others walk through the rubble, picking crumbs off the ground and calling them happiness. But I wasn’t born with that spark in my brain. Dreaming didn’t work. And now I am willing to pay, any price, for the star that holds the key to my happiness.
My kingdom for something worth dying for. I have spent my life protecting my dreams. But that has only left air inside me. Something I can’t touch. Something that crushes my heart a little bit more every day. Soon, there won’t be anything left of me. And I need to touch something real, something good, before that day comes.
My kingdom for one, just one, grateful tear. I dreamt my childhood away because I didn’t like my life. Like a carrion bird, I got rid of the ugly and the bad, leaving only bones I could dress up in beautiful lies. But I don’t want to keep hating the world. I need to wake up to the rot. I need to leave those bones to it. And find something I can, not love, just be grateful for.