Princesses not woken by a kiss wake up as witches and run away into the forest.
She slept as the old tales say she should: in a high chamber, crowned, veiled, waiting. Seasons passed over the tower. The prince never came. In the end there was no one left to wake her but herself.
Waking alone is not like waking from a kiss. Something is lost in it, and something is gained. The hands that reached up through the long dark came back black and clawed. The bridal veil turned the colour of blood and was never lifted again. Only the crown stayed the same, now worn by someone the tale had not foreseen.
Now she stands at the edge of the lake at dusk, half dissolved in violet smoke. The forest behind her is hers. The days of witch hunts are over: now witches are hunting us.
"Magic is no more than the art of using invisible means, consciously, to produce real effects. Will, love and imagination are magical powers that everyone possesses; whoever learns to develop them is a magician."
— after W. Somerset Maugham
(Fine Art Photography. Created in June 2022.)
