The Blind Princess

At least that was what Johanna had told her.

Johanna had told her about a lot of things. In her ears—which had enhanced themselves as a compensation for her everlasting darkness—Johanna’s voice sounded like a cup of warm tea, with just the right amount of honey. She loved it. She could listen to that middle-aged woman talk for hours and would never think of interrupting, unless if the said interruption only prompted Johanna to say more.

Every morning, Johanna would lead Greta into her bathroom where she would take off her nightgown and bathe herself. It had been done ever since she didn’t know what a nightgown was, until she could almost paint a picture of her bathroom in her head. A ceramic maze that was damp and slippery. Johanna would sit beside the tub to hear her talk about her ‘dream’ last night, or lack thereof.

In her dream, she heard a sprinting horse, smelled an array of leaves after a night of heavy rain, or tasted the bread she had for breakfast. When she felt nothing but utter silence immersing her, Johanna would hear minutes of headache-centered complaints the next morning, and that meant more assistance. For her, taking a warm bath was like falling into a daydream—where nothing was presented, but she perceived everything ever so intensely.

Sometimes, she wished Johanna was her mother. Johanna was the first person who told her she had long and wavy auburn hair, in which the older lady had particular interest of braiding. Johanna also told her she had an oval face, a pair of arched brows, pointy nose, and thin lips. Her eyes were said to contain an alluring shade of hazel, and people around her loved to spend a little bit more time gazing at them. Greta had learned almost about everything from Johanna. How the uppermost strands of Johanna’s hair were at the same level as her chest, the correct altitude her hand must reach for her tongue to retrieve the saltiness of her porridge in the morning, and even the heroic tale of how her castle had come to be. She didn’t understand most of what Johanna had taught her, but every second they spent together was a delight. Johanna was someone she could hold on to even in the utmost absence of light.

Sometimes, she wished Johanna was her mother, but the amount of creases that were carved on Johanna’s skin as far as Greta’s fingers had traced them told the younger woman she had gone through a great deal of issues—enough to accelerate her age by few years. Besides, Johanna was already a mother to someone Greta dearly knew. Greta’s mother by blood, on the other hand, had departed the world not long after Greta’s entrance. She fell ill in the middle of her pregnancy and the only cure was her eventual demise. Greta took after her mother in terms of appearance and character.

At least that was what her father, King Jürgen, had told her. And that was the most she could learn from him.

When his mother told him to bring Greta a nice cup of tea, his face tightened. It took him more than five seconds to retrieve the porcelain tray his mother was holding. His hands were shaking, as if the fate of the whole kingdom lied in Greta’s beverage. Back then, he was just a thirteen year old boy who spent most of his time helping the adults working in the castle. He knew very well that his mother was given an exceptional duty of caring for the princess, who was his age. He didn’t know whether to be proud or sad.

Johanna used to care for both children until her son, Hans, decided he was ready to do things on his own as early as when he was seven. It did not come without a reason, though, since his late father had died protecting the castle from spiteful enemies. More or less, Hans felt the need to carry on his father’s legacy.

Johanna, Hans, and Greta had spent a lot of wonderful times together, not that the children remembered. Just like a planted seed, children grew and bloomed. As much as Hans was thrilled to catch a couple of fishes in the river or to gather up several pieces of woods from the forest, sometimes, his sole desire was to sit by the fireplace and have a good laugh with his mother and friend. Many questions had been asked and many answers had been given, but he was still unsatisfied. He had to see her with his own eyes. Alone.

Therefore, he walked up the spiraling stairs with each step being longer than the last. Then he arrived at her door and gave it a knock three times.

“Come in,” Greta answered.

Hans took a deep breath before stepping inside her room. She was lying on her bed facing her window while wearing her usual light brown dress—he watched as her wavy auburn hair fell behind her shoulder. It was mostly the same as the one he left behind three years ago, save for a certain amount of warmth that had been lost.

He crept towards her nightstand, as not to disturb her, and placed the tray on top of it. His intention was to be out of her radar by any means. Seeing her again was more than enough for him, but when he was about to leave, she sat up. She smelled a fusion of moistened grass, soil, smoke, and a pinch of cinnamon.

“You are not Johanna, are you?” Greta asked. “She has never been this quiet, and this is not her scent.”

Hans gulped. There was no chance of avoiding her. “Apologies, Princess. I, certainly, am not,” he replied as Greta turned her head in his direction. “I am her son, Hans.”

She frowned. His voice was like a burnt bread. A little crisp here and there on otherwise entirely soft substance. Her head moved slightly in different angles, as if rummaging through a series of memories. “Ah… Hans!” she cried. “How are you? How long has it been?”

That was where it all started. Conversations soon turned into moments, and it was like living their childhood all over again. Only this time, the happenings were more tangible and alive. As Johanna’s wrinkles increased in number, he found himself creating more memories with Greta. The responsibility had shifted itself from Johanna to Hans, one duty at a time, in a pace so leisurely he didn’t even notice. During his spare time, he would take her into a walk around the castle’s garden, where she told him she was glad to spend her time with him again.

Just like a planted seed, children grew and bloomed. So did his feelings.

In one afternoon, Hans was ordered to hunt down a deer together with his fellow comrades. Apparently, King Jürgen needed more meat on his table and more antlers on his walls. Hans had reached twenty seven years of age where he had grown into one fine, young man. He had round face, short brunette hair, straight eyebrows, a pair of blue hooded eyes, tall nose, and thick lips. His body was somewhat muscular from all the work he had been doing.

The forest was calm and neat as usual. There was a soft breeze that caressed the skin, which ran through the trees that stood unbothered. Some of its leaves fell to the ground as they brushed against the rugged surface of branches. He wiped his forehead from drops of sweat that began forming with the back of his hand. The sun beamed its ray at him, who was crouching behind a large tree. His colleagues were dispersed into various spots of the forest, leaving him with crusty and sharp noises his shoes made when they came in contact with pale brownish leaves that were about to wither.

As far as Hans’ eyes could capture, there was no deer in sight. Instead, he saw a glint of gold shimmering on the ground a few meters before him. He blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes to convince himself that his vision was indeed, intact. The gleam was still there, if not enhanced by the daylight. He knew for a fact he wouldn’t have a good night’s sleep later if he didn’t figure out what that peculiar sparkle truly was.

And so, he took cautious steps towards the golden mystery with an arrow ready to be released. He could not decipher anything about it until he saw its beak. It was a dove, completely dressed in gold. Hans’ eyes widened. Again, he blinked and rubbed, but the dove did not go anywhere. It stared at him with its hopeful, fully black round eyes as it attempted to move its wings. Only then did he realize the bird was injured on its left wing.

“Oh… what a poor creature!” he exclaimed. Then he kneeled down and took the dove in his hands. No matter how long he gazed at it, a part of him was still unable to comprehend what had happened. Nevertheless, everything was concrete. He stroke its feathers which delicacy reminded him of his mattress.

In the end, Hans did not bring a deer over his shoulder, but a dove inside his pocket.

To hide a rare breed of bird in a packed place such as a castle—where eyes would make contacts in a matter of split seconds—was proven to be such challenging task. Hans had to keep a safe distance from the castle’s firm interiors, ensure that he would not bump into anyone, and guard himself from everything that meant harm to his pocket all while securing the dove’s safety altogether. People in the castle thought he was cursed because of his jerky movements.

Never in a million years would Hans ever thought of finding such creature, let alone taking care of it. The least he could do for the dove was to keep a straight face about it. His intuition told him that no one, not even Greta nor Johanna, was to know about the bird. After stealing a sufficient piece of cloth and warm saltwater, he sneaked into his bedroom. His bedroom—just like the rest of the servants’—was dim. A black lantern being the single source of light which emphasized the room’s hard, rounded, gray walls and smooth yet textured dark brown furniture. Now that the dove was added into place, it gave Hans’ room a touch of golden shine. The kind of decoration he desperately craved.

With utmost care, he pulled the dove out of his pocket. Its bleeding seemed to had been reduced, albeit still flowing. Looking at the creature standing on top of his table was like staring at a shooting star, with his entire room being the night sky and his black lantern being the moonlight. Hans then washed its wound with his saltwater before pressing the piece of cloth over it gently. As he was waiting for the blood to stop coming out, he stared at the dove which blinked and leaned its head slightly in such stiffness that people might think it was put on pause and resume.

After what he perceived to be five minutes, he released the cloth to find that no other drop of blood was seen. He breathed a sigh of relief, and for the first time ever since their earliest encounter, the dove cooed. Hans smiled as he stroked its golden feathers once again, this time it was much less about enthrallment and much more about compassion. With each stroke, the coos became longer and higher.

While his heart was warm and delighted, his mind was busy thinking of ways in which he could purloin a good amount of fruits and grains.

For some reason, Hans found little to no disturbance in keeping the bird. Both as an animal and a secret. He built a simple nesting box out of the woods he had gathered from the forest, which he hung right outside his window. Inside the box was a handful of haystack, small cup of water, and a sprinkle of wheat seed. He also gave the dove warm baths. Every time King Jürgen commanded his servants to go outside of his castle, depending on the task, Hans would bring his newfound pet with him. Otherwise he would put it into its box. The very first thing he would do when he arrived back to the castle was to look inside of his nest. All of them resulted in a glorious avian which was safe and sound.

Aside from obvious increase in the amount of fruits and vegetables he took for his meals and his frequent needs to spend his time in his bedroom, he did not do anything else that could prompt Greta, Johanna, and his fellow servants to ask him questions he would lie his way to answer.

Until one day, the unavoidable happened. The golden dove was healed and both of its wings were completely functional. Hans could not deny that there was a sting in his heart. It was impossible not to expect some sort of attachment when one had come across an animal so sublime, he turned it into a part of his routine. In a warm afternoon, Hans went to the area of the forest in which he had discovered the bird a week ago. He took the dove in his one hand and caressed its head with another. There came the coos, which tugged at his heartstrings.

“Such a wonderful bird that can bring me fortune and happiness, but you never belong to me,” Hans said as he stretched out his arms, “therefore, I shall set you free.”

The golden dove flapped its wings and began levitating, but it did not fly away. It only flew above Hans’ palms. He frowned at the strange occurrence in front of him. His eyes widened when the dove suddenly spun, creating a medium-sized whirl that released specks of golden dust. He took a step backwards.

After several seconds, the whirl stopped spinning, followed by the falling of a golden dust curtain to the ground. His mouth opened upon the revealing of a beautiful fairy with golden attires being latched onto her fair skin. Her hair was wrapped in a neat bun which complemented her butterfly wings. Her eyes were large and black while her nose was small in size but tall in the bridge and sharp on the tip. Her puckered lips were strawberry red. Overall, her face exuded youthful and innocent aura like that of a child’s, but her arched brows made for a nice touch of wisdom. She was holding a golden, straight wand.

“Greetings, a humble servant!” she exclaimed. “Because of your kindness and purity, I am not in the hands of the greedy nor am I trapped in your captivity. As a reward, I shall give you what you desired most.”

“As a matter of fact, I do have something I desire from the bottom of my heart.” Hans said as he placed his right hand on top of his chest, after a period of contemplation. “I think I have fallen in love with my friend and surely I would of become the merriest if I were to marry her, but I am no more than a commoner while she is a noble.”

“My apologies, servant. I fear I cannot give you what you want just yet,” the fairy told him, her face turned grim, “for a golden heart shall only be met with another.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hans asked.

“Verily, you will find out soon enough,” the fairy replied. “Remember, you would call upon me when your heart commands, and when that time comes, I will once again be in your presence.”

Before Hans could utter a word, the fairy changed herself back into her bird form. This time, she soared high towards the sky and disappeared behind the clouds, as if her previous injury was merely an illusion. If anything, she had become more of a supreme avian than her regular counterparts.

As if his experience with a golden dove—which turned out to be an entirely different being—was not perplexing enough, that very same being told him something which raised questions he never thought of asking. With each and every step he took back to the castle, he wished all of it would vanish.

A wish only he himself could grant.