Chapter 45: Setting Forty-Five

Setting Forty-Five: Fairy Tale (Part 13)

“Death with eyes wide open” couldn’t even begin to cover a fraction of Shan Ziwei’s resentment. He even ignored the hand touching him, gripping the bars as if his very soul was bleeding: “Do you know what you’re doing?”

He’d accepted Snow White going after her “stepmother”—but why was Donkeyskin’s plot going off the rails too?!

In the face of his accusation, the princess’s lashes trembled, her gaze trailing over him like scattered threads.

“I know.” She murmured. “This is the only way you won’t abandon me.”

“How could I abandon you?” He cried out in protest. “I was about to take you away from here!”

“Then, after we leave here?”

Her soft counter-question struck him silent. He stared as she wore that nearly broken smile.

“After you take me away from here, you’ll leave, won’t you? Just like before—over and over, again and again, walking away from me.”

Her smile widened with downcast eyes, as if mocking her own wishful thinking.

“But what I want is forever.”

Forever? Forever what? Forever… not apart?

The words slipped out before he could think: “Why…”

That question, like a spark, ignited a powder keg. She recoiled as if burned, her face flushing crimson in an instant—a dreamlike rose color flooding the room, pulsing with an intoxicating fragrance that made his heart race.

Thump, thump.

He heard rapid heartbeats—probably hers—and his own quickened in response. He sensed something wrong and was about to break the strange mood when she looked at him, still blushing, but with unwavering resolve.

“Because I—I love you.”

The beautiful girl gripped the iron bars, gazing at the one inside as if the cage held her entire world. Her voice trembled at first—shy, halting—then grew steady, brimming with deep affection.

“I love you, Godmother.”

…What?

The words were so absurd that he heard them but didn’t process them. When his mind, against his wishes, fully understood their meaning, he thought he heard his own heart stop.

“You… wh-why would you—” He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. “—love me?”

Her face grew even redder; the air around them thickened like dripping honey. She averted her gaze shyly, the corners of her eyes tinted with moist pink—both delicate and alluring.

“It was love at first sight for me.”

Love at first sight.

First sight. Love.

The reason was so full of holes it was impossibly flawless. He had a thousand reasons to refute her absurd confession—but that one senseless phrase, in its simplicity, blocked every argument.

“How could you… fall for me at first sight?” He murmured, his soul in tatters. “That shouldn’t happen…”

Even if it were love at first sight, the princess should have fallen for the prince, not a passing magician—that was the core of fairy tales.

—Drip—

The sound of dripping water jolted his frayed nerves. He came back to himself—and what he saw shook him to his core.

The princess was crying.

Tears streamed down her flawless face like night rain dampening black jade. No matter how crystalline the tears, they couldn’t wash away the darkness in her eyes. His refusal to face reality had been too obvious; the flush on her cheeks had been washed clean by tears. She gripped the cold bars, her head leaning against the cage as if unable to bear its weight—like a black butterfly with drooping wings, on the verge of death.

“Shouldn’t… happen?” Though tears streaked her face, she still smiled—a heart-wrenching, desolate beauty. “If you didn’t want me to love you, then don’t attract me. Don’t… let me see you.”

Seeing a girl cry threw him into panic. He couldn’t stand it—he apologized without thinking: “I’m sorry—”

“It’s too late.” Tears clung to her lashes like shattered diamonds. She closed her eyes as if weighted down. “It’s already too late.”

As the diamonds fell, she slowly opened her lashes—and he fell, unresisting, into those pure black depths.

“I’ve already seen you.”

—One look, and I was yours from then on.

He stared at his own reflection in her eyes—so black, with nothing in them but him. His reflection looked so alone, as if he were equally alone in the outside world—with no one beside him, only darkness willing to embrace him.

He shuddered violently, wrenching himself free from that strange reverie.

“Are you cold?”

The princess frowned with concern. She wiped her tears and rose, heading out. “I’ll get you a brazier.”

His head was still foggy, numb from the shock of her confession. Only after she left did he sluggishly process his surroundings. He looked up at the cage’s ceiling—it was a medium-sized animal cage, but “medium” for a beast was far too small for him. He couldn’t even stand up straight, and even sitting, his head nearly touched the top.

The princess had locked him up like a pet—no, worse than a pet. In her eyes, he was probably a wild animal she wanted to keep but couldn’t tame.

He crawled a few steps and peered out. This was apparently a castle basement—grey stone walls, no windows, lit by torches, filled with various equipment. He saw the sky-colored dress on a mannequin, with a similarly human-shaped dark silhouette behind it. Before he could see clearly, the princess returned with a stone basin full of burning charcoal.

He hadn’t expected her back so quickly—less than a minute, as if the brazier had been ready outside and she’d just brought it in.

Seeing him facing the dress, she set down the basin and walked over.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She pushed the dress mannequin aside, then dragged the human-shaped shadow toward him.

The firelight pushed back the shadows, revealing the figure. He stared—first with confusion and alarm, then, when he realized what it was, his pupils contracted in sheer terror.

“Look, Godmother.” The black-haired girl smiled shyly. “This is the ‘donkey skin’ you told me to ask for.”

“This isn’t… the king…” His voice trembled. He didn’t want to look at that abominable thing, but his eyes wouldn’t move. Beside the princess stood a remarkably lifelike wax statue of the king—his hair and skin looked so soft, so vivid, he could have been alive. Shan Ziwei knew it was wax because a patch of skin on the left side of its face had peeled away, revealing the white plaster beneath.

When he saw that gap, for a moment he thought the skin had been peeled off to reveal flesh—because it was that lifelike.

—Why was it so lifelike?

He stared at the peeled skin, his voice barely a sob: “…skin?”

—Because it used the king’s own skin.

“Yes, this is Father’s skin.” The princess tilted her head, puzzled by his reaction. “In the rumors, our kingdom has a ‘donkey’ that brings great wealth—that’s a metaphor for Father.”

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He was completely undone by this plot twist. Seeing him stare silently at the statue’s left cheek, she misunderstood, and shyly covered it.

“It’s my first time skinning—I’m not experienced.” She gazed at him with burning intensity. “I won’t make the same mistake with you, Godmother.”

His already addled brain took another blow. He stared in disbelief at the beautiful girl beyond the cage, feeling he’d never truly known the species called “princess.”

“You—you want to make me—into that?”

Following his gaze to the “father” beside her, her blood-red lips curved into an obsessive smile under her black hair.

“Yes.”

She reached out to straighten the statue’s clothes, as innocent as a girl playing house.

“I like Father like this. He won’t force me, won’t hurt me anymore—and neither will you. Only death can make you obey me.”

She walked slowly back to the cage, her skirt swaying with morbid pleasure. She bent over the cage as if embracing it, her straight black hair falling in strands, forming prison bars of even deeper despair.

“I love you, Godmother. From the moment I first saw you, I loved you.”

That confession, brewed from dark, twisted emotion, seeped into him like it would melt his eardrums. He stiffly looked up, wide-eyed, meeting her gaze through the bars.

“I know this is wrong.”

The silver gleam of a blade grew larger in his eyes. Her fragile voice began to tremble—he couldn’t tell if from fear or excitement.

“But… I can’t hold back anymore…”

—

Shan Ziwei kicked the door open with a grim expression. He flapped his wings and charged through the liquid film, leaving the basement that felt soaked in blood behind him.

…Only to tumble out again, nearly crashing into the sleeping Princess Rose.

He caught himself just in time. The girl’s flawless face was within arm’s reach, her eyes peacefully closed, her brows curved in a serene arc—as if she’d dozed off after a hearty lunch. But the overgrown brambles and tattered cotton around her told a different story.

After all, a hundred years had passed.

Seeing that unforgettable face, he nearly exploded. After Snow White’s bloodletting and Donkeyskin’s skinning, he felt it was only a matter of time before Rose wanted to pick his bones!

Was this some “Radish Squat” game among princesses?! Snow White went crazy, then Donkeyskin went crazy—and now Rose? There had to be something wrong with this picture!

Fury drove him to reach out and grab Princess Rose by the collar—and yank it down.

What he saw was skin so pale it was translucent, like fine mutton-fat jade. His gaze locked onto it—not out of perversion, but sheer, soul-shattering shock.

That smooth, flat chest showed the witch, without a doubt—

Despite their beautiful, radiant exteriors, every princess he’d encountered was actually a boy.