The woman in my cell woke me.  She was singing, her voice scratchy and off-key.  I sat up and listened to the words she sang, looking into the cell beside us.  The man who had been struck down was now up and pacing his cell.  He stopped every so often to look at the woman, but she seemed to ignore him. 

                “Lock me away deep, deep in the darkest corner of hell, and I’ll smile at you and laugh at your foolishness.  You can dislodge my eyes, cut out my tongue and remove my ears.  I’ll still pity you for the fool you are.  You tell me that I’m wrong, but look at you.  How can you hurt a person who has done nothing, you fool?  So I sit here and sing, and I wait for my death.  But I know that I’ll never meet you in heaven.  Nope, you’re going to hell.”

                “Stop singing!” the man cried. 

                The woman blinked and smiled at him.  “What is the matter, Jon?  Are you afraid that my song will somehow curse you?”         

                “No, witch, I believe that your song is a lie,” he replied.  He sighed and sat against the wall, picking up the bone he had been hitting against it last night.  “I’m not going to die here,” he said bitterly and proceeded to hit the bone against the wall again.

                The woman cackled and sang along with his pounding.  The other man that I had seen crying was now staring at me with empty eyes.  I looked back at him, and he eventually looked away.  The guard began yelling at them to be quiet, and the dungeon fell into silence.  The woman with the disfigured face sighed and sat next to me on the hay. 

                “I will not be staying here much longer, dearie,” she told me, smiling.

                I stared at her.  “Why?”     

                She continued smiling and stared up at the ceiling.  “They are supposed to kill me tomorrow.”  She turned to me and placed a finger to her lips.  “But I’m not about to let them, oh no.  I have too much to live for right now.  I have lives to change for the better.  I refuse to be killed before I teach that child who just wronged me a lesson.”

                “Child…?” I whispered.

                “That girl who is to become queen,” the old woman said.  “I helped her and she betrayed me.”

                I stared at her in shock.  “Cindy…?”

                The air around me crackled as if it was alive.  My heart skipped a beat. 

                “Is that her name?” the woman asked.  “She agreed to give me her first born child in return for helping her win the heart of the man she sought.  She called me her fairy godmother, and then she had them lock me away here.  So, I’m placing a curse on her.  Her children will all be cursed.  The one who will become the most beloved in the land will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and die!  Bibbity…bobbity…boo!”  She cackled, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. 

                “Please, don’t!” I cried.  “Those children will be my nieces.  They never did anything wrong!  It was Cindy who-”

                “I tell you what,” the woman said, smirking.  “If you find a way to get me out of here, I won’t kill the child who will become the most beloved in the land.  Instead, I will merely put it…in a deep sleep that will only be broken by love’s first kiss.  How does that sound, dearie?”  She held out her dirty hand expectantly.

                I looked into her brown eyes and took her hand in mine in a handshake.  “You have my word.”

                She cackled again.  “Wonderful!  Spectacular!  You have one night to get me out of here, or I will curse you as well, dearie.”

                I nodded and fell back into silence.  I knew exactly how to get the woman out.  I didn’t know why I refused to acknowledge her for what she really was—a witch.  I supposed that I didn’t want to be more frightened than I already was.

                “What is your name, dearie?” she asked me.

                “Drusilla.”

                “Mine is Melina.  Remember it well.  I will help you if ever you need it—for a price, of course.”

                I nodded.  Somehow, I didn’t think that I would ever ask for her help.  We sat in silence until she startled me by shouting.

                “Oh!  I remember now where I heard your name: Minerva.  My friend Minerva mentioned you.  You’re the granddaughter of Agatha, are you not?”

                I nodded.

                “Agatha…such a sweet girl.  I heard that she died not long ago.  Her husband…now he was bad.  He came to me to try to kill that sweet girl.  And he wouldn’t pay me.  So, I turned him into a tree.”

                I stared at her.  “You…?”

                “Turned him into a tree,” she repeated, smiling fondly.  “All I said was, “A tree you’ll be…forever more,” and he turned into a tree—an ugly tree.  He was supposed to be an apple tree and be of use to people, but he produced sour apples that held worms.  Last I heard of him, some woodsman had cut him down and sold the wood to feed his family.  That was a happy ending to a horrible man.  But I do feel terrible for that sweet girl.”

                “You must’ve lived for a long time then,” I said thoughtfully.   

                “Longer than you can imagine,” she replied.  “And I’ll continue living long after you’re gone, dearie.”

                I laughed, and she joined me with her cackle.  I was surprised that I could laugh.  As soon as I thought about that, I was suddenly crying.  Melina placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

                “You’ll be alright,” she declared.

                How could she say such a thing?  When I was about to voice my question, there was a clinking sound at our cell door. 

                “You have a visitor,” the guard gruffly growled. 

                The door opened, and Penelope entered.  She didn’t look happy, and I could tell that she was about to bring me bad news.  Her eyes took in the cell with dread, and she looked as if she was about to cry.  A rat scurried by, and she shrank back momentarily before she continued to me.  Once in front of me, she knelt and hugged me.  She began sobbing.

                “They’re going to kill you!” she cried, clinging to me.  “They say that they will take you to the pillory to make you suffer for the afternoon.  Tomorrow morning, they will place you on trial.  These idiots think that they are so wise and righteous, yet they know nothing.  I don’t know what to do…”

                “There is nothing you can do,” I replied.

                She sniffled and released me, looking at my face.  “I hate for you to be down here.  I know that you didn’t kill Alex.  You couldn’t because…” she trailed off.  “They are idiots!  Last night Peter went after Cinderella.  He placed the shoe on her foot and declared that she would marry him and become queen.  She accepted, and now it seems as though she was never betrothed to Alexander.”

                “Alex…” I whispered, my mood suddenly dampening once more.  Why did I keep thinking that he was still alive?

                “He’s in a glass casket.  He’s lying in Mother’s flower garden.  You know, the one with the roses and the fountain?” she began to cry again.  “Everyone but Mother is staying away from him, though.  It’s as if they’re afraid that if they visit him and see him, they, too, will end up dead.  Mother has been sitting by his casket all morning.  I think…she has been destroyed by his death.  Father announced that Peter would succeed the throne today.  Peter and Cinderella are to marry within a week.  Strange, to have a celebration so soon after a funeral, it makes it seem as though the funeral never existed.” 

                “That’s why it’s called Exultia.  The people must remain happy.”  Why did my voice sound so hollow?

                “Drusilla!  Please, don’t give up!” Penelope exclaimed.  “I’m begging you!  Alexander wouldn’t want you to give up!”

                “How would you know what he wants?” I demanded.  “Did you know that he hired an assassin to kill himself?!?”

                She started to cry again.  “Yes,” she whispered.  “I was there when he hired Aras.”

                Melina’s attention piqued at the name.  “Aras?  The best assassin in all the lands?”

                Penelope nodded.  “The very same.”

                I looked between the two.  What was so great about this assassin?  What was so interesting about him?  From what I saw and heard, there was nothing that made him extraordinary.

                “I’ll find some way to get you out,” Penelope said softly, her attention back on me.  “I promise.”

                “Why?” I returned.  “If I die, then I’ll see him again.”

                “Don’t say things like that,” she whispered.  She looked as if she wanted to say something.  Finally, she said, “Alexander wanted you to live.  He died so that you could live.  Don’t let his death be in vain.”

                “Princess!” the guard shouted.  “You’ve spent enough time with the prisoner.”

                Penelope hugged me once more before she left the cell.  She mouthed “I promise” before the guard once again shut the door and locked it.  Then, she was gone from my sight. 

                I spent the remainder of the morning talking with Melina and Jon.  The man who had been crying refused to speak, and nobody knew his name.  Lunch consisted of some strange porridge that tasted as if the people who made it had purposefully forgotten to flavor it.  It left a rancid taste in my mouth, and the texture was thick and gloppy in some places and thin and watery in others. 

                “You get used to the food,” Jon informed me, laughing at my reaction.

                I wondered how a person could become accustomed to eating this.  Melina turned to me and held out her hand.  I looked at her curiously.

                “That fancy jewelry of yours won’t stay on that pretty body if you’re going to the pillory, dearie,” she said, giving me a grin and showing the gaps in her rotting teeth.  “Townsfolk aren’t as innocent and pure as you imagine them to be.”

                I hesitated to remove my possessions.  If I gave them to another, they would cease to exist for me. 

                “I’ll give them back to you when you return,” she said, frowning.  “You have nothing to fear from me, dearie.  You have done nothing to incur my wrath.”

                I sighed and nodded, proceeding to remove Nanny’s necklace and combs.  I took the pristine white handkerchief, now somewhat dirty from the dungeon, out of the pocket of my gown and deposited the jewelry in it. 

                Melina cleared her throat and looked at my wrist. 

                Papa’s bracelet: I smiled at it through my tears and unclasped it.  I placed it, too, in my handkerchief.  I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at my handkerchief, but a clang from the door prompted me to place it in Melina’s hand.  I stared at her as the guard came in and tied my hands behind my back once more.  She hid my handkerchief behind her back and nodded at me.  Her word was final.  I’d get my precious belongings back. 

                The guard frowned down at me as he dragged me down the hall of the dungeon.  “Such a shame to be wearing so pretty a dress,” he remarked.

                I was too afraid to ask him why he would say such a thing.

                We proceeded through a route that I did not recall, and we encountered no people.  When we finally exited the castle, I blinked against the sunlight.  The guard threw me into the back of a wagon, securing a lock on the outside of it.  Bars surrounded me, and the driver of the wagon shouted for his horses to move. 

                I was not on the road for long before we reached a town.  Exult was within walking distance of Nasarette.  It was this town where people were often on display for public humiliation.  The stocks were a favorite for out-of-control drunks.  For worse crimes, it was the pillory.  Any time I visited town, I looked away from the public humiliation stand, but I was not ignorant as to what it was.  People would purchase rotten vegetables and fruits and throw them at the prisoner.  They tended to do horrible things to the people who were trapped there.  I shuddered at the thought of some of those things.

                The wagon stopped, and keys jingled as a man unlocked my cage and pulled me out. 

                “Yer the fers missus we ‘ad  at the p’llory,” he said, grinning.

                I hung my head, refusing to look at him.  For some reason, I believed that if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t really happening.  Perhaps this would all be some dream, and I would wake up. 

                He dragged me to the pillory, which was a pole with a wooden slab at the top, cut into three holes: one for the head, and two for the hands.  Often a person’s feet were chained to the ground.  They were forced to stand there until the sun fell.  Only at dusk were they allowed to return to the dungeon.

                As my footsteps fell in the dirt, I closed my eyes, willing myself to think of something, anything besides what was about to happen.  A first-hand experience reported more than just fruit thrown.  A man had lost everything he had in his pockets.  His clothes and shoes were taken.  Even more unspeakable things were done to him.

                I was pushed forward and forced to lean on the slab of wood as the man untied my hands and brought the other half of wood down.  Still, I refused to open my eyes.  A jingle of keys once again sounded, and a lock slammed shut.  I heard voices.  Why were there so many voices? 

                “Behold,” a man began, “this is the woman who killed our beloved Prince Alexander, soon to be king.”

                I heard gasps.  Then, there was an angry buzzing sound as people began to shout in outrage. 

                “May God have mercy on her soul,” he said.  “And may we help her understand the wrong she has committed—not just to the royal family, but to us all.”

                My eyes shot open at his words, and I saw the crowd that had gathered in front of me.  It seemed as if more people than just the townsfolk of Exult were standing in the square.  None of them looked sympathetic—in fact, all of them looked murderous and bloodthirsty.  I closed my eyes again.

                Townsfolk aren’t as innocent and pure as you imagine them to be.

                Fear gripped my heart: it was a terror unlike any I had ever before felt.  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t…breathe…