#fracturedfairytale — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #fracturedfairytale, aggregated by home.social.
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Elaina: The Ashen Match Girl
#Fanfic WanderingWitch #TheLittleMatchGirl
#Wss366 #Rummy“Matches. Matches for sale.”
A girl with ashen hair blowing in the freezing winter wind stood on the corner. A semi-circle of trampled snow and random tracks left by passersby surrounded her. Her eyes and lips were matching shades of blue. Finally, in her trembling hands, was a tray.
Who was this waif, this forlorn seller of matches? Not I, certainly. Not Elaina the Ashen Witch. No, no, no, this was a poor, starving match girl.
“Buy my matches, dear sir? How about you, madam? I have a few magic matches today, only a gold piece each.” That was what this poor girl cried to the unfeeling people of the city. How was she supposed to afford bread and a room to sleep in if no one bought her matches?
“Hey you! You girl!” A man bellowed.
The match seller looked towards the voice. Drat, she thought. It was two burly thugs bundled in furs like northern barbarians and the scrawny woman she had chased off this corner. How was I to know her “daddy” would be a pair of toughs, not some old #rummy?.
“Matches! Matches for sale,” the girl called.
By then, the three intruders had reached the poor waif, and the biggest of them was shouting in her face, wafting it with a cloud of garlic sausage fumes. “Matches! We doe want no stinking matches! We want dis corner, and if yer smart n want to stay alive, yee givin it ta us.”
The girl behind them stuck her tongue out at the besieged woman.
“Sir, she gave me this spot willingly. I said to her, ‘Please, I’m starving. Would you lend me your place for an evening? I would be so grateful.’”
“Didn’t!” the original match seller snarled. “She threatened me!”
“I see. You’d like yer hed smushed in,” the second thug said, waving a cudgel.
“Oh, no, sir. Would you like to buy some magic matches? For your kindness, I will sell you one each for only two gold pieces total…”
The match girl lowered her voice. “...Or I could turn you into frogs for free.”
With that, she opened her coat slightly to reveal a silver witch’s star. That’s right, this match seller was a witch, too. The highest rank of magic users. Indeed, she was a clever woman who had fallen on hard times.
The two thugs stepped back.
“Well, smash her,” their companion said.
“Yee be daft? She be a witch!” the big man said, boxing the girl upside the head.
By now the witch had drawn her wand… Oh, heck, “I!” I had pulled out my wand. It’s true, the woman was none other than me, Elaina the Ashen Witch, flat purse and all, itching for a plate of those sausages I could smell every time the behemoth in front of me bellowed.
“Just two golds and I’ll throw in a box of regular matches for free,” I shouted after them.
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Elaina: The Ashen Match Girl
#Fanfic WanderingWitch #TheLittleMatchGirl
#Wss366 #Rummy“Matches. Matches for sale.”
A girl with ashen hair blowing in the freezing winter wind stood on the corner. A semi-circle of trampled snow and random tracks left by passersby surrounded her. Her eyes and lips were matching shades of blue. Finally, in her trembling hands, was a tray.
Who was this waif, this forlorn seller of matches? Not I, certainly. Not Elaina the Ashen Witch. No, no, no, this was a poor, starving match girl.
“Buy my matches, dear sir? How about you, madam? I have a few magic matches today, only a gold piece each.” That was what this poor girl cried to the unfeeling people of the city. How was she supposed to afford bread and a room to sleep in if no one bought her matches?
“Hey you! You girl!” A man bellowed.
The match seller looked towards the voice. Drat, she thought. It was two burly thugs bundled in furs like northern barbarians and the scrawny woman she had chased off this corner. How was I to know her “daddy” would be a pair of toughs, not some old #rummy?.
“Matches! Matches for sale,” the girl called.
By then, the three intruders had reached the poor waif, and the biggest of them was shouting in her face, wafting it with a cloud of garlic sausage fumes. “Matches! We doe want no stinking matches! We want dis corner, and if yer smart n want to stay alive, yee givin it ta us.”
The girl behind them stuck her tongue out at the besieged woman.
“Sir, she gave me this spot willingly. I said to her, ‘Please, I’m starving. Would you lend me your place for an evening? I would be so grateful.’”
“Didn’t!” the original match seller snarled. “She threatened me!”
“I see. You’d like yer hed smushed in,” the second thug said, waving a cudgel.
“Oh, no, sir. Would you like to buy some magic matches? For your kindness, I will sell you one each for only two gold pieces total…”
The match girl lowered her voice. “...Or I could turn you into frogs for free.”
With that, she opened her coat slightly to reveal a silver witch’s star. That’s right, this match seller was a witch, too. The highest rank of magic users. Indeed, she was a clever woman who had fallen on hard times.
The two thugs stepped back.
“Well, smash her,” their companion said.
“Yee be daft? She be a witch!” the big man said, boxing the girl upside the head.
By now the witch had drawn her wand… Oh, heck, “I!” I had pulled out my wand. It’s true, the woman was none other than me, Elaina the Ashen Witch, flat purse and all, itching for a plate of those sausages I could smell every time the behemoth in front of me bellowed.
“Just two golds and I’ll throw in a box of regular matches for free,” I shouted after them.