I'm waiting here, alone

In this castle wrought of stone,

And what aches the most is not

That you have left, but you forgot.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

On a morning when the dawn bloomed red and golden over the horizon of a kingdom by the sea, and ebony tendrils of night retreated to reveal one of the bluest skies man had ever known, a baby was born.

Many things had been predicted about her birth, from astonishing beauty to great prosperity across the entire land, but one thing was certain: she was born a much-anticipated princess, for she was the only child of the king and queen.

Overcome with joy, her exhausted mother noted with delight her rosy lips, inky curls, and soft skin, alabaster as the moon. But when the babe opened her creamy lids – ah! The queen beheld cerulean eyes: bluer than the sky, and deeper than the fathomless ocean just beyond the window. And after that, what else could she name the child but Cielle, drawing from the ancient language a word which literally means "sky beauty"? Thus was she called.

The queen beckoned over Lady Snow – queen mother to the king - even as the newborn cooed while violently tugging at her mother's hair. Her mother chuckled as she disentangled the tiny fingers from her locks; nothing could dampen her joy this day. Her grandmother smiled; but there was a concerned firmness about her blood-red mouth, and it did not reach her gentle eyes, which glanced out toward the sunrise.

The king was elated by the birth of his firstborn child; his excitement not dampened in the least by the fact that she was female. "She'll have her mother's spirit, and beauty as well!" he boasted, even as his wife blushed delicately and laughed. "You'll see."

But the queen wouldn't see, for her laugh turned into a blood-filled cough, and though she held desperately to life for several weeks, Fate and the unforgiving weather had already stretched her thread to the breaking point.

The kingdom mourned with their surviving ruler; the queen had been known widely for her sweet and gentle kindness. At the burial ceremony, quiet tears carved paths down the face set in stone under the crown, while little Cielle, in the arms of her nurse, cried to be fed by a mother whose heart would never beat in her breast again.

But this tragedy was soon set aside for more pressing matters, for there were rumors of war running the length of the land. When the princess was three years of age, the king left to travel and make allies of the surrounding kingdoms on the peninsula. By the time she reached her fifth birthday, her father was at the farthest border from the sea to help keep the enemies at bay.

The battles were mostly smaller skirmishes, but they were plentiful, and the invaders strategically attacked in places at random along the border. He stayed to encourage and spur on his men, or so was the general consensus. Word of mouth, however: in the bustle of the markets, and in the privacy of gatherings at homes, was quite varied. Some said that he couldn't bear to look into the eyes of his daughter anymore, so like her mother's and thus a reminder of his loss. Still others speculated that the king had died, but as there was no male predecessor yet, it was a well-kept secret until the captain of the guard could return, give the news personally, and aid in choosing a new ruler. There were more who thought the king was wearied of ruling, and crumbled under the burden of the throne after his wife passed. But whatever the king's reasonings or predicaments, he was gone for fourteen years.

In his absence, Lady Snow ruled with a steady hand. She was accustomed to it; after all, she had helped him after his father died and left him to rule at the young age of seventeen.

The old queen was herself a bit of a legend; renowned throughout the land for her riveting beauty. Of course, time fades all things, and wrinkles are destined to form their subtle rivulets in even the smoothest of skin. The younger generations who didn't know her story assumed her simple but unusual name was due to her pure white, luxurious mane of hair. But even in her age, Lady Snow still had a regal air of the utmost elegance; her inner loveliness shone through her red-lipped smile, and twinkled from her doe brown eyes.

The Lady's duties as regent kept her just busy enough that she was unable to truly observe how Cielle was growing up. In the times when the old queen visited in the evenings, her grandchild was as sweet and loving as could be, and they read stories or painted together. However, a subtle change came over the young princess: and it came with the unceasing flow of exclamations over her astonishing beauty, day after day, month after month; year after year. This would not have caused a problem, had Cielle's young and impressionable emotions been tempered and taught by a parent's gentle admonishment. But of course, Cielle had neither, and as the princess grew in both beauty and stature, so did her vanity. The latter manifested itself in poking fun and nitpicking at the servants, nobles, or any visiting guests. She giggled at the maids who served her, and told them condescendingly that she pitied their lot and soot-covered state. She advised a castle visitor to eat only Cook's fish soup and vegetables until he lost weight. And she wondered aloud, one day in the throne room, why the Earl of Dunworth would kiss Lady Tismat, when his own Countess wife was much prettier.

When Lady Snow caught wind of this nasty little habit, naturally she confronted the princess about it. Cielle gazed up at her with guileless blue eyes and replied, "But Grandmama – it's all true."

"Well, maybe so, darling, but there are many truths that are better kept to yourself than proclaimed out loud."

Cielle's red lower lip began a telltale tremble. "But it doesn't matter. They say I'm beautiful, and I'm also a princess. If you're pretty and powerful enough, no one cares what you say."

The lush coverlets on the bed puffed up around Lady Snow as she settled down into a spot beside where the princess lay. She stroked the midnight tendrils, so much like her own used to be, where they were tumbled across Cielle's pillow. "Oh sweet, that's not the way of it at all. As a future queen especially, you must care for your people; treat them how you want to be treated. Think of it this way: how would you like it if someone pointed out all your faults?"

"But Grandmama, I don't have any," the little princess returned, without batting a single long black eyelash.

And it was true. Cielle didn't have any faults, not to the immediate eye, anyway. Even her outrageous behavior could only be chalked up to the whimsy of youth. But the child's penchant for stating the truth as she saw it, combined with her streak of delighted cruelty, was a haunting reminder to Lady Snow of a long-departed, but never forgotten stepmother.

Concerned about Cielle's upbringing, despite all the servants' hasty reassurances, Lady Snow took extra time to watch over the learning and other activities of the princess. She was both pleased and disturbed at what she found. Cielle was quite good with her numbers, speaking skills, reading, writing, and was quite knowledgeable; her treatment of her tutors, however, was sadly lacking. In embroidering, she would stick her plump instructor with her needle when the unfortunate lady was not looking, and adored creating the most bloodily detailed scenes on her tapestries. The princess also took hoydenish delight in sketching in public; waiting for a brave soul to venture up and ask what she drew, only to show them the subject was an impishly-rendered caricature of themselves!

Cielle also painted, and had another sketchbook she scribbled away in when she was alone. But these skills no one observed outside of her tutoring times. She was seen, many times, in a remote corner or window, laboring away with either charcoal stick or brush. At times like these, she had a distinctively unapproachable air about her that no one dared intrude upon. She let no one see her work, and kept her finished paintings locked away in a little room adjoining her private chambers.

The years kept passing, and the princess continued to grow more beautiful; her wit more biting; her pride more terrible. The pride was accompanied by utter disdain for the flattery coming from lips only seeking favor for themselves. She would have, in fact, surpassed her grandmother's legendary beauty, except for one thing: the state of her heart. It was iced over, frozen by shards of bitterness and loneliness; started by the death of a mother she never had a chance to know, and cultivated by an absent father who was off fighting a war more important than her.

In no time at all, she had suitors seeking her hand in marriage. For who would not desire to marry the princess people were calling the fairest of all, and gain a kingdom practically without a king? But our fair one was, as expected by those who knew her, predictably unpredictable. As she mockingly refused one after another, scorning without mercy, and laughing at their stunned reactions, she came to be privately known as Princess Viper-Tongue.

And this is what the king returned home to after fourteen years of being away.

A/N: Virtual chocolate chip cookies (hot out of the oven, of course) and ice cream for anyone who guesses correctly what fairy tale this is based on! Though chances are you won't be able to make an educated guess until the next chapter or so.