《The fairytale of Rancid and Lucille》


 Intro

    The hubbub of the market place broke into the house as the door opened, only to be quieted again with the sound of the flimsy wooden door being forced into its ill fitting frame. A series of footsteps followed as the arrival came up the stairs and into the room proper. The girl who was brushing her hair at the battered vanity table acknowledged the entry without turning from the mirror.


    ¡°Why must you live in such a noisy place?¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t exactly my first choice¡± the shadowy figure replied, placing on the table, first his bow and then a bag. Its contents solid yet issued a soft thud as he set it down and it oozed some ruddy liquid that stained the bottom of the sack darker as it emitted a foul odour. The smell was tolerable, for the fact that outside, the vendors¡¯ stalls and street urchins smelled worse, the bustling activity of sweaty bodies and excrement from the carriage horses or even the poor. The raw meats and fish that the vendors sold, their juices running thick to mingle with the rotten fruits and vegetables to make into a very distinct and very unpleasant slurry. But to Lucille the girl, it was a part of the life here and a view of the world outside the Palace which she rather enjoyed and found exciting, a stark difference to the clean and pristine she was accustomed too. So she had no qualms with the smell of the raw meat that her accomplice brought, even though it did drown the scent of old oak from his furniture which she enjoyed. Despite all these alien sensations, smells and the colourful language filtering in from outside, she felt completely safe and at home here, as she had every other time she had run away and come here.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The man continued to unload various items and basic supplies. Once he was done he placed atop the pile a single rose. Vibrant, red and stunning as it was laid down in the ray of sunshine coming in from the window.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s beautiful!¡± Lucille said, seeing it in the mirror, she went to turn but stopped half way as her attention was caught elsewhere ¡°it¡¯s the exact same shade as¡­¡± she trailed off as she excitedly grabbed at some lip colouring and applied it, making exaggerated puckering faces into the mirror. The man watched contently from his vantage point, enjoying her company, there had been no need for formalities or explanations. She turned up while he was out and the elderly lady who ran the stall below had let her in, Lucille had waited for him to get home and now they found them selves here in mutual happiness.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± she asked turning and giving him a smile that showed off the new colour, her lips were resplendent in the red, the same shade as the rose, a perfect accompaniment to her pale face, framed by her luscious golden curls.


    The man stepped forward to admire Lucille. His face was heavily shrouded within his hood, but the sunlight caught something regardless. The gold beam with all the dust and particles so perfectly held to make a glistening spotlight. Reflected deep within his hood, glaringly off the clunky metal mask he wore. The steel a poor imitation of a human¡¯s features, making the tranquil serenity of the light a harsh beacon for his attentions in the mirror. There he stood, eyes cast between the delicate girl and his own reflection where even in the seclusion of his shadowy hood he could still make out the ruined flesh around his eyes. The silence in the room accentuated his heavy rasping breaths.


    The monster, Rancid stared down at the young girl and said ¡°Beautiful¡± before retreating into his dark room, his secluded sanctuary from the outside.

 Chapter 1

    Lucille woke gradually from her slumber, tucked away deep inside her plush duvet. She could hear the rain pattering on the window and it was all the encouragement she needed to stay in bed for a few extra minutes. She heard the help enter her room and sunk further into her bedding.


    There was the clatter as a silver tray with tea was laid on her bedside table then loud movements of the windows heavy latch being undone. The balcony doors themselves made no noise as they opened though she could hear the rain increase in volume and a few tell tale signs of the city, though too far away in her high castle room for any to be distinguishable.


    She gave in and surrendered to the fact she would have to get up. Lucille tried to extend a ¡®Good morning¡¯ to the maid which became more yawn and unrecognisable gargles. She stretched her limbs out and ruffled her already mess of hair, kicking her toes free of the covers and arms thrown out behind her. It was warm despite the weather, the wet balconies stone filling the room with a musky early morning smell as the raindrops slapped against its surface. It was a completely different type of tranquil to the house she had stayed in the night before; the experience of a morning in those slums was vastly different. While this was pleasant and comforting it simply failed to excite Lucille in the same way. She took her tea to her nose and breathed in the warming aroma, smiling as she caught scent of yesterday¡¯s adventure and activities amidst the fumes. The smell had clung to her skin and hair vehemently and she would need a good wash before she could present herself before her parents.


    ¡°Your father has requested to speak with you¡± the maid said, curtseying in the doorway


    ¡°Thank you that shall be all¡± Lucille said, putting on a noble tone and straightening her back. A fa?ade that disappeared the moment the door was closed ¡°Bollocks¡± she exclaimed, expressing her actual feeling on the matter, to some extent she knew she would not be able to keep her excursions into the city a secret from him forever. There is only so many times one can claim they had simply stayed hidden away in their room or got lost in the Palace grounds, let alone flashing her breasts to the guards so that they kept her comings and goings a secret. Also, very few chances Lucille imagined that she could continue pleading desperately after tear sodden arguments with her mother to give her another chance, before word eventually reached her father, The King.


    Lucille stood, returned the teacup to its tray and pulled off her night clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She basked in the breeze from the balcony naked for a few moments as she stretched out the rest of her stiff joints.


    There was a crackle of lightning over the city followed by a heavy thunder. Lucille looked out and pondered what her friend would be up to today.


    -


    Her footsteps made quiet patters, a mimicry of the rain upon her balcony, as she walked through the hallway. She despised how edict required that she wear boots traversing the castle, even for the short distance between her room and the bathing chamber. She reminisced of the times walking bare foot in her lovers¡¯ home and longed for the feel of the soft wooden floorboards beneath her feet, a familiar comfort, where the harsh beams were worn away from centuries of use and a thousand footfalls, leaving smooth inviting rivets among the planks to wander. In contrast the hallways of the Castle were tended weekly, any impurities in the wood sanded away and the pretty natural wooden floors were hidden beneath plush garish rugs. Lucille had come to hate such gaudy things in recent years, as her attentions had become stolen by the stark contrast of the city outside.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    As she entered the bathing chamber a warm plume of fragrant air struck her, the hand maidens she had instructed to prepare the bath were waiting either side of the large ceramic tub. Their sleeves rolled back, and a selection of delicate oils and balms were laid out on a table beside a plush towel. A stone chimney at the back of the small chamber held a wide cauldron, where more water was being heated by a small fire. This cauldron would have been used to fill the bath and now sat heating should Lucille require a soak and her bathwater re-warmed. For now, it stood, with pouches of lavender floating on the surface steaming the room and filing it with relaxing scents.


    ¡°That will be all, thank you¡± Lucille said, adopting her regal tone.


    The maidens remained at their stations for a moment, confused glances thrown between them as they tried to process the instruction.


    ¡°I shall bath myself, you are excused¡± Lucille re-iterated and stepped aside to direct them out of the chamber. With a bow they left, and Lucille bolted the door, glad for the privacy as she undressed. The royal privileges saw almost every daily task plagued by servants and to Lucille it felt more like coddling than a comfort or luxury.


    She descended a foot into the warm water, wincing at first as the contrast of hot and cold sent a shiver along the length of her leg. Once accustomed to the difference she submerged herself, dipping her head beneath the surface of the water briefly to embrace the welcoming heat of the bath. She sat there for some time immersed by billows of steam that eddied about the room from the cauldron and the sweet scents of the oils and lavender. She ran a hand across her body and images of the times her lover had bathed her played through her head. His home had no fancy dedicated bathing chamber, nor cauldron and scent pouches. But she had watched patiently as he cleared space in his living quarters and retrieved the washing basin, a small wooden thing that seeped water from its seams. She had to curl up and hold onto her knees to fit comfortably within. Once he had heated the water, making several trips between the flame and basin and using most of the fresh water he had stored within a barrel, she sat in the shallow warmth and he cupped water in his hands to pour over her back. There were no rich balms and oils, though he had a ball of hard wax which smelt of honey and said it would keep her skin smooth and clean as he worked it into her. That was the luxury Lucille wanted and craved over handmaidens and pampering. A genuine caring affection.


    Her hands continued to play over her skin as she recalled more times with her lover, finding the soft delicate places that made her elicit a soft moan and encouraged further touch. As she sat alone in the privacy of her warm bath, her mind was alive with fantasies of her other life, outside of the castle and in that quiet place, she could hear by her ear the heavy breathing of the man she loved. She delved deeper into her pleasure as her mind listened to his rasping breaths.

 Chapter 2

    His Rasping breaths¡­.


    His rasping breath was made worse against the morning chill and each heaving exhalation caused mist to escape the grills of his mask and dissipate into the crowd. Rancid wore his thick cloak about him, hidden deep within the folds and recesses of cotton as he shuffled through the city. The streets were thick with people, a bustling crowd of commotion and general disregard for one another. People bashed shoulders and flung arms about as they debated with market traders and food peddlers. Horses were shoved into the fray and faces were flicked with dirty angry tails as the equines resisted their keepers and failed to find a path through the throng of bodies. All the while legs were gripped by hopeful beggars and crafty pickpockets abused the proximity to rummage through bags and cut at coin purses.


    Rancid despised it all.


    Once before Rancid had been chased from the city by its inhabitants, his burnt face terrifying locals into the belief he was a monster, he had since had a distrust of public spaces.


    The stories against him were fed by drunken louts and fanaticised origins of his injuries. Was one to spend a night in the public houses or inns of this city it was guaranteed by morning they would have heard more than one tale of the monster Rancid. For it was these tales from where he took his name. There was the version in which he was a troll that hid amongst the people of the city to feast on young children who disobeyed their parents. Other stories claimed he was a man, cursed by a witch for scorning her advances, and any who got close to him were damned to be childless. Whatever version of events was heard the stories always grew in their complexity and absurdity over time. Little did they all know however that his injuries were a result of protecting them all, many years before. But because of this he dared not be seen in public lest he be attacked again, and always hid as best he could, beneath cloaks and disguises.


    It cost him the last of his coin to procure his home and the mask he wore to conceal his face. Luckily, he was a skilled hunter and knew of secluded places outside the city where he could forage decent herbs, roots and vegetables, so was never want for food. When money was required for other necessities, he would sell some of the knickknacks from his previous life, a life of honour and stature. A life from inside the Castle.


    The crowd about him begun to murmur, some ruckus ahead forcing the crowd apart. Rancid stooped to better conceal himself and shuffled to the side, clutching the rabbit he had caught tightly within his cloak. Reluctantly the body of people split and, with great difficulty everyone was pressed to the side to allow a neat channel down the centre. A man atop a horse and his small entourage came through. Dressed in the finery of the Kings staff. Rancid was no stranger to this. There was going to be a Royal Decree announced in the town square. The pipers that followed shortly after confirmed this as their horns smothered all other sound with brass echoes. A portly man between them bellowed that all common folk were to follow the procession to the town centre and hear the words of the King. A discontent grumble followed as the crowd reluctantly turned and shuffled along. No fool, Rancid disappeared into the shadows and eased his way past towards his home. Best to avoid large crowds he had learnt and better yet, to always avoid the Kings men.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    -


    The door made its tell-tale squeak of resistance as he forced it shut. From outside the distant shouts of the Kings speaker was just audible and he was glad to muffle it as best he could with the closing of the door.


    The house was dark and markedly empty without the presence of the young Lucille. Rancid proceeded to put away his belongings in silence, the atmosphere of the place macabre and lacking without her joyous chuckles and mirth. He spared her a brief thought, but mentally berated himself for doing so. It did not do to dwell on things, he had learnt and when their romance first began, he concluded that it was doomed to end one day, better to proceed knowing this than live in hope and fantasy.


    When he was done, he prepared a small fire and placed a pot of water over it. He waited until the water was hot enough to fill with tea leaves and then sat down at the vanity table as it brewed. In the mirror he saw himself. The hood removed and only his mask to hide the horrors of his face. Delicately he removed the clasps that bound it to his head and pulled away the metal fa?ade. He had healed well over time, he had to admit. Though the site of his face continued to haunt him. His hair had grown back, for that he was grateful, the top of his head had taken the least of the burns. His black hair was wispy and thin, but he had a full head of it. It had been when he was still raw, bald and his skin still warped that he had been chased from the town. He looked different now, a stark contrast from those days, but still the monster. Still Rancid.


    His nose was mostly lost to the fire, though he could still, just about pick up strong scents; what was left were two almond shaped holes and a small jut of skin where the top of his nose would have been. The skin around the eyes had swollen and puffed and where the eyelashes had burnt off, he could no longer properly close his lids, his eyes were sore but accustomed to this.


    Lucille was yet to see his face, he was insistent on wearing the mask when she was around.


    He inhaled deep, the air against his bare face was both a welcoming comfort and a brutal reminder. He used the mirror of the vanity table to look around the room. Each corner was concealed in dark shadows as the suns position let little light in through his windows.


    While alone, Rancid saw little point in lighting the candle sconces about the walls. Though Lucille would insist upon it making the house comforting and warmed with her presence and the amber light of flames about the place. Her smell was distinctive, but she had been gone from the cold dark room too long for it to remain on the air, and as Rancid inhaled he caught only the smell of old wood furniture and his brewing tea.


    He let out a sigh and moved his chair beside the window, gathered a clay mug, filled it with tea and sat down. With her gone, he had little to pass the time and often took to staring out over the horizon, getting lost in fantasies of a normal life. His house had a good view of the woodlands outside the city walls from its raised position. He watched as birds sauntered between treetops and froliced amongst themselves.


    So lost in this bird dance was he, that Rancid almost missed the flags and banners that came into view, just beyond the treeline following the path towards the city gates. Once he noticed and focused on the white banner, emblazoned with a golden stag he rose from his chair, fists gripping the window edge with anger and fought to control his breathing.


    The anger brought about harsh rapid breaths that hurt his lungs. But Rancid struggled to tame it, as he stared at the banner of the neighbouring Realm, the banner of Aeddan.


    The banner, of the man who burnt his face.

 Chapter 3

    Lucille¡¯s head swam, her vision was blurred as the weight of what she had just been told robbed her of her senses. Voices were heard, but she could not decipher them. About the room councilmen and advisors were shuffling awkwardly, but she could see nought but smudges of colour.


    Before her stood her father. The King stood stalwart where the others around her turned their heads and edged away.


    Lucille drew in a series of sharp breaths to refocus. Her father was a large man, the physique of a once proud warrior to whom age was unkind. He stood, back straight and proud, though a slight hump had begun to curve his neck. He looked down on his daughter.


    ¡°You did what?¡± Lucille demanded, her voice wavering, the intended strength she tried to muster falling flat, the question little more than a whisper.


    A mumble went across the chamber as the advisors cleared throats and tried to simultaneously have their presence known and ignored.


    The King coughed, the noise resonating against the stone walls ¡°I have arranged for your marriage¡± He said the words again, as curtly as the first time, words unwavering and without refute. The pain struck Lucille as hard as the first time, she staggered back ¡°I refuse¡± She said, it was an empty statement against such a dominant man, she said it again, emboldened with her frustration and near shouted the words.


    ¡°You do not get a say in this¡± The King said, Darius looked down on his daughter. There may have been a hint of pity and regret within his tone, but the steely gaze reflected none of it. Instead all Lucille saw as she looked up at the man who raised her was a deep-set coldness and absence. There was nothing in those eyes.


    An elderly advisor shuffled forward and raised a gnarled finger ¡°Marriages for someone of you status are often arranged like this young lady¡± he pulled back his hand as Lucille shot him a deadly stare, but feebly wetted his lips to continue regardless ¡°The importance of politics often escape the confines of a child¡¯s mind, where they are want of wanderlust and adventure. But you must soon understand that this marriage is required.¡±


    Lucille beat her fists against her side and bellowed ¡°marriage should be for love!¡±


    Several people about the room issued a short burst of laughter, her father was one of them and the young girl deflated as her reasoning fell further onto deaf ears.


    ¡°Our realm cannot survive another war¡± Darius began, he placed a large hand on Lucille¡¯s shoulder, though no comfort was felt from its presence ¡°To survive we need to ally ourselves with Theranok. We have nothing they could not take if they desired, and yet their Prince, Aeddan is yet unwed. None other than a princess could suffice, and no other asset do we have that is more valuable.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The names her father spoke brought back some vague recollections, Theranok had been taught to her during her schooling years, the neighbouring realm had frequently clashed with their own and while she could not recall it, she knew there had been a war when she was but an infant, whereupon Theranok almost won. The general in charge of the attack she remembered now, was Aeddan. The man she was to wed.


    Her silence led her father to embrace her fully, an unusual show of affection for the King to bestow whilst before his council. But the sentiment was lost on the young girl, this was not the embrace Lucille wanted, these were not the arms of a person who cared. She pushed off her father and ran from the room.


    -


    With no where to go Lucille had found herself in her bed chamber. There was an understandable commotion among the staff that had eluded Lucille before, as preparations were underway to receive the Prince.


    A handmaiden came to advise Lucille that a dinner was to be held that night and attendance was required. The maid was met with a few, curt and choice words.


    Shortly after another came by to present Lucille with a dress. The garment she was to present herself to the Prince in. Lucille refused to raise her face from her pillow for the exchange and when she heard the latch of the door close behind her she began to weep.


    Eventually her sorrow descended her into a slumber.


    -


    A fanfare of pipes and trumpets woke her, she couldn¡¯t discern how much time had passed, though the light of the day was muted now and the bright golden rays of the morning that shone through the window were replaced with the cold grey atmosphere of the late afternoon.


    Rubbing sleep from her eyes Lucille went to her balcony to see what was occurring, forgetting for a moment the preceding elements of the day. From her balcony she could see the courtyard. A royal procession was coming in through the gates and a host of dignitaries and advisors were lined up to meet the arrival. She could see her father at the head of the crowd.


    Through the gates poured a parade, White banners adorned with golden stags were carried by soldiers in ceremonial attire. Drummers kept the lines moving with precision and several high-ranking men rode on horseback through the centre.


    She expected to see a carriage, some great big ornate thing, gaudy and rich for this Prince to sit in. But Aeddan came through the gate on horseback, too far away to discern any features, he was noticeable only by the surrounding guards that enshrouded him.


    Lucille looked form the parade to the dress her maid brought in earlier. It was an ugly thing, unlike any of the dresses she had worn prior, shaped to her figure and adorned with jewels. It looked very much to Lucille as though the intention of the dress was to abandon her childhood and take the first steps into being an adult.


    She dwelled on what that meant for her, if her father and the advisors were right, is marriage just a political thing, could she continue her pursuit of love and simply sacrifice part of her life for the sake of peace. Or was this a prison from which she would be doomed to spend her life.


    She didn¡¯t want to find out, and heading for the door of her room Lucille decided she wasn¡¯t going to.

 Chapter 4

    Lucille wiped a tear, caused by the chill wind from her eye as she slowly walked through the town streets. The initial haste brought about by her excitement of running away for good had dissipated once she breached the walls of the castle.


    She left the way she always did, through the small servant gate in the back of the gardens. But there had been more than the usual flutter in her heart and skip in her step as she fled this time. A sense of wanderlust almost as the uncertainty of her future was now a tangible thing, by running away she was entirely alone, independent of her parents wishes and so too their protection.


    Picking at a small roll of bread Lucille nibbled slightly before sprinkling the crumbs to her side. Everything had been done spare of the moment and she left home without her coat or normal cloak and disguise, but she had made sure to grab her walking boots and some bread from the kitchen. Though now as she casually sauntered through the dark streets she wondered if her desire to simply be gone had addled her rational mind. Bread seemed like a sensible thing to run away with, but she wasn¡¯t hungry, and it wasn¡¯t going to keep. Besides, Rancid would have all she needed. Surely.


    It was a pleasant night but for a slightly crisp chill in the air. Lucille pulled herself in tight, arms pressed to her side and folded for some warm respite, though she berated herself for the lack of appropriate clothing, she was still able to enjoy the serenity of night. The cobbled streets smooth surfaces were reflecting the moonlight, each stone warn away through years of footfall in its own unique way, with each indent and divot catching the moons glow differently creating a mosaic of the pathway ahead. Small bugs circled the lanterns that hung from doorways in a mesmerizing dance blissfully filling the quiet night with gentle buzzing and chirps.


    Lucille herself shone very clearly against the dark stones and impossibly black alleyways, resplendent in her white blouse and the clean riding trousers, anathema to her surroundings. She was oblivious to the grumbles of confused voices from the streets few residents of the dark hours.


    A dishevelled figure emerged from one of the alleys before her. Hunched over and seemingly cradling something in its arms. The figure was wearing a dirtied garb, some torn and tattered dress with a shawl covering her head and features. In agonising hobbled steps, it approached Lucille who drew in a sharp breath and waited.


    Seeing Lucille stop her walk the figure hastened its staggered steps and proffered a gnarled, twisted hand towards the princess


    ¡°help, please¡± implored the figure in long drawn out rasps, they reiterated the please with each step, wincing as they did so. The figure raised its head from beneath the shawl to reveal the features of an old lady to Lucille.


    ¡°Oh, you poor thing!¡± the princess started, missing the snort of derisive laughter from a shadowy figure beneath a nearby canopy ¡°You must be starving, I have some bread if you would like?¡±


    She handed the remnants of her roll to the old beggar who snatched it up greedily and in hungry mouthfuls consumed the whole thing, making a series of noises in doing so that were alien and repulsive to the castle raised Lucille.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.When the old lady was finished, she turned again to the Princess, this time with a scowl replacing the imploring pleading eyes of before


    ¡°anything else?¡± the crone demanded. Before Lucille could muster words through her gobsmacked expression the old hag grabbed her by the wrist and was inspecting a gold bangle she wore by pressing her face as close as possible. Lucille could feel the hot breath of the old woman on her hand and the calloused fingers of the beggar were rough and scrapped at the soft flesh of Lucille¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Give us that, don¡¯t ya mind¡± the old lady demanded, bearing a growl at Lucille with her few thin teeth, like those of a rodent.


    ¡°Get off me!¡± Lucille demanded, pulling herself away, but the grip of the old lady was strong and practiced, this time Lucille heard the laughter from the onlooker, who clearly had no intention of helping. ¡°unhand me at once¡±


    ¡°Oh please¡± the old lady began, attempting again to adopt her practised pleading tone, it was a whiny high pitched thing that Lucille now saw as an act ¡°I¡¯m old and poor, and I have children to feed don¡¯t know you. What good does it do a pretty young thing like you¡­¡±


    The hag continued to ramble through a rehearsed line of begging and pleading all the while tightening her grip on Lucille¡¯s arm and trying with renewed vigour to remove the bangle by force. Where the Princess held her fist firm preventing the jewellery from slipping off her arm the old lady dug her sharpened fingernails in the soft skin by her thumb eliciting a shriek from Lucille but failing to weaken the young girl¡¯s resistance.


    ¡°Give it to me! Give it¡± The older woman demanded, spittle flying from her cracked lips as all premise of helpless old lady reliant on charity was forgotten. She growled and hissed and spat at Lucille, whose hand now bled. But the Princess, confused still resisted.


    ¡°Enough¡± yelled Lucille and she threw out her hand, striking the old lady across the cheek, partly intentionally though the reaction had been instinctive. The beggar woman shirked away and tended her face as though she had just been the victim of some great and atrocious afront. She dabbed at the struck area and inspected her hand, curling up her face in anger and disgust as though her hand had returned blood from the wound.


    ¡°You dare hit me you little bitch!¡± the woman near roared and rose up, the hunched over ruse now completely dismissed the woman pulled her hand back ready to strike Lucille but was stopped when a figure from behind the Princess intervened.


    ¡°Stop This!¡± The voice rang out, Lucille looked back and saw only a silhouette of a man approaching rapidly, he was reaching into the confines of his cape she noticed before she looked back to the old hag who was rapidly retreating into the alleyway she emerged from. Hunched over once again as though the fa?ade had never stopped.


    Lucille drew in a few sharp breaths but the hurried boot falls behind her kept her adrenaline high, she heard a sword being drawn from its scabbard as she was turning to say her thanks and as the man shouted ¡°Come here you¡± she suddenly realised it may not have been the old woman that he was after. She bolted from the spot. Fear gripping her and though she was tired and warn out, with each sharp inhalation causing pain in her lungs and chest she kept running. Running away from the danger and men with swords, as quickly as she could to the one safe haven she had in the town. Straight to Rancid¡¯s house.


    She knew she may find comfort there, but the peace and tranquillity of the night and the serenity of the town with all the mystery and allure it held for her were all gone now. Victims of the night.