Lamentations of the Wood: A Sensual Retelling of Classic Fairy Tales

By Crystal Love

We all know the stories. We’ve all seen the movies. But as we grow older, fairy tales have a way of changing and reshaping themselves. Princesses can become heroes. Witches can become scapegoats. And the Big Bad Wolf can have a heart of gold. Lamentations of the Wood is a retelling of fairy tales based on seduction and love. Enter a world where sensuality has no bounds. Love comes in many forms and passion is just the beginning of the fairy tale. So step right in. Don’t be afraid. The wood and all its secret desires are waiting just for you...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312825420

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Lamentations of the Wood: A Sensual Retelling of Classic Fairy Tales

Lamentations of the Wood:

A Sensual Retelling of Classic Fairy Tales

by: Crystal Love

Editor: Lesley Carson Mountain

Crystal Love

2014

Copyright © 2014 by Crystal Love

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN: 978-1-312-79030-8

11815 SE 318th Place

Auburn, WA 98092

www.facebook.com/fairytaleretellings

Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, educators, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the above listed address.

U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers: Please contact Crystal Love Tel: [phone]; or email [e-mail].

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to my loving husband Nathan, who listened to all these stories and believed in me.

Contents

Forward

Dangerous Endeavour for the One Who Wears the Boots

No Glass Slippers to Run By

Angels in the Stars

Choices

You Know My Name

The Princess Who Walked at Midnight

Our Bleeding Souls

The Rape of Rapunzel

Inside the Rose Thorn Hedge

Gingerbread Forest

Heart in Iron

Blood Red Forest

Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank my mother, Deirdre, Jordan, and Mckayla who read chapters and gave their input; I love you guys. And also to my fabulous editor who put up with all my e-mails.

I would also like to thank Rob Carlos for his beautiful cover art. You’re the best.

Introduction:

The first thing I would like to say about Lamentations is if you haven’t read any fairy tales you should probably go and pick up a copy of the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Anderson right now! I say this because as a reader, I think it is important to know where these stories came from, and I assure you they were not penned by Walt Disney. That is not to say that I do not enjoy Disney’s take on classic fairy tales. On the contrary, I love Disney films, but what I want to make clear is that fairy tales, in their purest forms, were oral tales that were passed down from generation to generation and were commonly use to teach lessons and warnings to young children as well as adults. Therefore the stories were of a much darker nature. Murder, rape, and cannibalism were not uncommon themes in the telling of these tales.

As I started writing this book, I took a look at some classic fairy tales and the themes that seemed to be dominate and began writing stories from other character’s points of view. I asked myself tons of questions while I did this. What would Little Red Riding Hood do if she was older and was confronted by a wolf that was not what he seemed? What would happen to the inhabitants of the sleeping palace if the prince had failed to reach Sleeping Beauty in time? What was the Grandmother of the Little Match Girl like when she was alive? What exactly does Rumpelstiltskin want with the Queen’s baby? The answer to these questions surprised me and when I was finished I saw stories that I had read a hundred times over projected in a new light.

Some of the other stories I wrote with a very clear view in mind, but for some of the others I wrote with only the raw emotion of the soul rather than the body. All in all I hope that reading this book you will come away with something special and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Just remember, that when you take that step down the path there is sometimes no trail and only the author has what it takes to lead you safely through the wood to where Grandmother’s house awaits.

-         Crystal Love

Dangerous Endeavour for the One Who Wears the Boots

Moving to this village, that’s when all my troubles began. You would think that the people of this town had gone mad with their ravings of witches and sorcerers in our sleepy little town of Salem, but I and my sisters knew the truth of it.

Maybe it was the way we looked at each other that caused the town gossip to spread like wildfire. Maybe it was the way we would sneak off together when our husbands were asleep. Maybe it was the way I lacked my feminine duties, or because my body refused to produce children that made me a target for their gossip. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t long before gossip turned to accusation and all but two of my brood were arrested on charges of witchcraft and taken away. When I heard the news of their imprisonment I thought about Abigail and wished with my whole being that I had gone with her when she had fled our village on her broomstick. Before she left she had said that death was coming for us all if we stayed in this town, and I wished I had believed her then. But it was too late now. 

Presiding over the trials of my fellow sisters was a great ogre of a man with a puffy wig and billowing robes, who was called to our small village to eradicate all the witches that he could find within our community. The trials he issued were brief and final and the next day Martha, Christina, and Melody’s bodies were left to rot under the trees branches. Their dead weight swinging back and forth as the wind gently pushed at their lifeless frames.

After that I had hoped that the danger had passed, but I was a fool for ever thinking such a thing. Seeing the so-called unrighteous being punished for their crimes had given the God-fearing women in this town a taste for blood. It wasn’t long before Sarah, who had already begun casting glances at my husband, called me out and I was pulled roughly from my home and taken to the prisons.

For many days and nights I was held within a foul-smelling cell, but refused to confess. How could I? Why would I betray the women who I had danced, laughed, and worked magic with to their deaths?

On the fourth day of my imprisonment, Hannah, the last of our band finally came to join me. I was terrified to see her there, but elated that I could be by her side once more. We held each other’s hands and cried long into the night.

I stand trial for the second time today and it is just as horrid as it was the first time. The courtroom is packed to the ceiling with people. In their black clothes they look like a flock of ravenous birds eagerly awaiting the slaughter so they can fly down and pick the flesh off my flayed carcass. The ogerish judge berates me with questions that I refuse to answer on the grounds that they are ridiculous and obscene.

Sarah, the covetous wench, who called me out, gets her chance to add to my misery when her dramatic dictation of my supposed crimes cause many in the court room to gasp.

Eventually I am forced to sit back down when I refuse to acknowledge Sarah’s ravings and am gagged and bound to be sure that I cannot cast my spells while here in this holy place. Then Hannah is placed upon the stand and I want to weep as she is berated with the same outlandish questions that were put to me with an additional accusation of perversion.

The judge rises from his chair like a dark shadow and with a sinister leer he asks Hannah if she and I have ever engaged in sexual relations with one another.

The courtroom goes very still, but Hannah does not waver. She denies any such claim and my heart breaks to hear her say it. But, she continues in a voice as sweet as song, I will not deny the fact that I have wanted to make love to her. That I have felt such feelings of love for her stir within me that no man is an equal to her in my heart.

I hear the gasps of my neighbors at her confession, and the sound of it makes me want to scream.

So, you admit it then, the ogre roars triumphantly. You have had such liaisons with this woman who sits before you.

No, Hannah replies, but I have had thoughts.

And what about her? the judge continues, his leer stretched so far now that I can see the yellow of his teeth. Does she return your feelings?

I try to catch Hannah’s eye and beg her not to do this, but she does not look at me.

No, your Honor. I am the only one who has committed the sin in my heart.

I feel the tears break free from my eyes and I am drug out of the courtroom before I have time to hear her sentencing. Before I am shoved roughly out of the door I catch my husband’s eye and my heart only breaks further when he turns away in disgust.

Hannah is brought to that hanging tree the next day and from my cell I can see nothing but the blue shade of her dress and the bright red color of her hair as she mounts the little stool under the branches and dies without begging for her life. She is as beautiful as ever, even after the rope is pulled taught.

That night I am lying on my filthy cot when suddenly I hear a noise, like a door somewhere being opened. I turn and start for a moment, for on the other side of my bars is a cat. But such a cat I have never seen in my whole life, his eyes glow green from under a feathered hat and he is wearing boots that clink merrily as he walks toward me.

Do not be afraid, he says, by way of greeting. I have come to help you.

I do not believe him at first and demand to know if he is sent by the very forces for which I have been imprisoned.

No, my lady, he replies formally. I am not the one you need fear, but I know you have been dealt a great deal of pain these last few days and have no reason to trust anyone.

When I am silent he continues.

If you come with me I can help you escape from here and you will not face the same fate as Hannah.

I look at him sharply at the mention of her name. Who are you? I ask, but he shakes his head dismissively.

That is not important, what is important is your freedom.

He sticks a paw through the bars and I stare at it for several moments, wondering if I should take it, but finally, seeing no other way out of my predicament I take his paw in my hand. There is a sound, like wind rushing past my ears, and suddenly I find myself standing on the other side of my prison.

Shocked, but more amazed than anything else, I turn to my rescuer to ask what has happened, but he presses one paw to his muzzle and says, There isn’t enough time for questions, my lady, they’ll be time enough for that later. Take this shawl, for the night is cold and meet me in the woods by the largest ash tree you can find, but be sure to keep out of sight. And do not fear, I shall join you very soon.

I take the dark brown shawl and cover my shoulders and, just as he instructs me, I leave though the prison doors as silently and swiftly as I can. Never once daring to look back.

The woman flees the town just as I told her to and my ears twitch as the sound of her footsteps on the crunching leaves falls away. Now I am alone and I can attend to my ulterior motive.

I leave the prison and maneuver through the tightly built houses until I come to one that is still burning with light from the inside. I do not have to rap on the door, but pass through it just as I had the prison bars and there, sitting by a table that is covered with gold, is the ogre in his true skin. His puffy white wig and black clothes have been abandoned and he is slumped over his pile of precious, counting them with one long bony finger. He looks up when I enter the room.

Who goes there? he bellows out in a voice that is dripping with saliva and growls like boulders being struck together.

A visitor, I answer with candid grace.

I do not recall asking you to enter small one, but I will give you the chance to tell me what you are doing here before you become my next meal.

I doff my hat and make the lowest of bows that my boots will allow me. Please forgive my intrusion, your Grace. My name is Puss and I was just passing through and saw your light and very much wanted to meet you.

And why would you wish to do that? the ogre asked suspiciously.

My dear sir, I say, my tone suggesting nothing but the deepest surprise, the whole other world is talking about it.

And what is it that they are saying about me?

His tone is bored, but I can see the hungry gleam in his eyes. He wants to know as badly as I wish to tell him. Only that you have mastered the art of disguising yourself as a human and have been the sole cause of the mass witch hunts that have been running rampant throughout the land.

That is only half true, replies the ogre, a lecherous grin pulling at the corners of his monstrous mouth. You’d be surprised how eager they all are to pick themselves off one by one by letting their jealously and hatred get the better of them. I do very little in fact, but as you can see the rewards of even just the slightest effort on my part are great.

I eye the stacks of gold on the table and nod my agreement. Yes, it seems as if the humans are more than willing to pay you for your services as a renowned Witch Hunter. But tell me, how is it that you managed to shift yourself into human form? I imagine you’re size alone wouldn’t be very comfortable to squeeze into such a meager human body.

Do you doubt my power, pussycat? the ogre all but roars.

Not at all, I interject smoothly. However, I feel a demonstration is needed to prove once and for all that you are the creature I have heard so much about. Surely you would not object to a test?

The ogre studies me a moment and I can see the slow processes as his brain tries to figure out