《The Faedemon's Housemaid: The Firerose Forest》


 The Unfortunate Reality of Situational Immortality

    It was a miraculously sunny day in the Firerose Forest as Corabelle began her morning chores. There hadn¡¯t been a day this pleasant for years now.


    As she emerged from her cobblestone cottage, hand woven basket in hand, she was thankful to take her first breath of clear air in seven winters. It had been several decades now since she¡¯d woken up trapped in the labyrinth of scorching flowers that made up what she not-so-affectionately referred to as the Firerose Forest. Of course, she could only approximate how long she¡¯d been here. It was hard to keep count when one was unable to age. The unnatural forest kept everything young. She¡¯d been friends with the same baby birds and poor old turtle for at least 50 years now. They were trapped here too. Either wandered in or had been unfortunately born here. She was the only human.


    At the least the curse didn¡¯t stop the adult birds from laying eggs and the singular goat from producing milk, or she would have starved. The plants, thankfully, didn¡¯t seem as affected by the curse as the creatures. The apple trees and berry bushes still produced fruit and new trees grew up, though nothing ever died. Unfortunately, this meant she had to be diligent about making sure stray vines didn¡¯t tear apart her little home.


    She got to work on the weeds first, ripping the tendrils of the Fireroses away from her hard earned, painstakingly homemade house, while the vines did scorch and shred her hands, they were nothing compared to the blooms. The vine burns healed quickly, but the flower burns never did. That''s why she had to be sure to clear away the vines before anything could sprout. She had a nasty burn on the side of her ribs from the only time she¡¯d mistakenly bumped a rose. The raw, barely scabbed burns were still there, so many years later.


    She tucked the withering vines into the small inlet in her house that kept it warm on cold nights. The vines burned hot as they died and took several weeks to burn out. The main bodies of the towering rose hedges weren''t close enough to her home to keep it warm.


    Once that task was completed, she rounded her house to the small pond where she could often find Neve, her goat friend.


    ¡°Good morning, Neve!¡± She called to the small white goat who was grazing lazily on some watercress.


    Neve raised her head slowly, bleating a short greeting before returning to her breakfast.


    Corabelle headed to the water''s edge, scooping up a Bubble Lily so she could milk Neve. She sliced off the top of the spherical bloom with her flint knife she carried in her basket and poured the sickeningly sweet sap out. While delicious, it would make one violently sick in large quantities. This information was unfortunately learned firsthand in her early days in this grove.


    She tucked the blade back into her basket and approached Neve, ¡°I just want a little milk, okay?¡± She said soothingly as Neve backed off.


    They¡¯d come a far way from Neve charging Corabelle violently whenever she got close but this didn¡¯t stop Neve from hating being milked and trying to run off.


    Corabelle grabbed the new collar made of woven grass she¡¯d affixed to Neve a week ago. She had to replace it frequently, and it was already beginning to wear thin. She held it firmly with one hand while setting the Bubble Lily beneath the struggling goat. She reached into her bag and pulled out a scrap of fabric from the dress she¡¯d arrived in that she now used for a leash. She didn¡¯t wear that dress anymore. It had fallen to shreds ages ago. Regardless, there were no other people here so there was no reason to wear anything in the warm months. In the colder months, she wrapped herself in large leaves insulated with molted feathers and tended to stay closer to the roses when she dared to leave the house.


    She wrapped the scrap around Neve¡¯s collar and stepped on the other end so she could get to milking. As usual Neve sprinted off the moment as she was untethered, almost knocking over the small basin of milk Corabelle had collected.


    Once she¡¯d put the top on the Bubble Lily and tucked both it and the leash back into her basket, Corabelle went in search of some eggs and fruit. The air was beginning to get cooler and the days shorter, soon, the berries would be gone for the year and she''d have to go without them. So today she¡¯d have to begin the tedious process of preparing her yearly preserves. She didn¡¯t much like this time of year. It kept her cooped up in her home for a solid week, and this was such a lovely day. Nothing too big and been singed by the labyrinth of fire and pain that kept her trapped. The air didn¡¯t smell like death, for once. Many years ago she¡¯d attempted to find her way out, but was always returned to her grove. Eventually she¡¯d given up.


    She cautiously gathered wild Starberries, recalling the correct amount of time she must cook them or else lose her wits for a few days and not be able to complete her work. She¡¯d never had it happen personally, but Starberries grew near her old home and her baby sister had gotten into the patch while her parents were gone back when they were little. Her parents hadn¡¯t found her sister¡¯s uncontrollable laughter nearly as funny as Corabelle had.


    She collected every edible, ripe berry she could get her hands on. She¡¯d be out here every day collecting the ones that still managed to ripen before their season was over.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    With her basket nearly full, she headed to the biggest tree, the one that could see over even the evil Roses, though there was so much smoke that she couldn¡¯t see to the end. Of the maze. Though one clear day, less clear than this one, she was able to map out farther than she ever could before. She wondered if today she¡¯d be able to see more. More importantly, however, this tree is where the majority of the birds laid their eggs. It was the only one big enough to shield them from the haze and smoke, and most days they would even be higher than the largest clouds of it. There was something special about this tree. Her grandmother would tell her stories of magic trees that would protect the select few they chose to be their family. They were said to be magic, whose rings would hold the secrets to making wishes come true and whose sap would reveal the deepest truths. Fate¡¯s Ash, her grandmother would call them. Though no such tree existed, at least not anymore, Corabella would like to believe this was one of them. It was a good tree; whose bird''s nests had fed here these many years, whose large and windproof leaves kept her warm in the winter and dry in storms, and whose pliable bark lined the inside of her house and helped keep the smoke out.


    Corabelle hung her basket from a low branch to keep the rabbits out of it while she was climbing the tree before pulling out a small woven satchel from underneath the mountain of berries so she¡¯d be able to bring some eggs down.


    She carefully began ascending, while the tree was a great gift, its bark was rather slick on her bare feet. More than once she¡¯d fallen out of this tree and, while the mossy ground of her grove was soft, it wasn¡¯t soft enough to keep her from breaking her arm one fateful day and several fingers on another. At least she healed quickly. Whatever curse kept her young also liked to preserve her body and would heal her in half the time it¡¯d take normally.


    She gripped branch after branch, climbing to the highest branches where she knew the bird species with no male partner would lay their eggs. She didn¡¯t feel bad taking these ones, they¡¯d never hatch.


    She reached the branch with the best view of the maze that surrounded her grove. She could see for miles. Miles and miles of blazing flowers and thorny vines, but no sign of a way out. She knew it was a long shot. What she could see, however, were storm clouds on the horizon. She didn¡¯t have long before the prismatic lighting reached her. The storms in the forest were very strange and beautiful but very dangerous. The energy in the air often left her with crippling headaches. In her house, the bark discharged some of it, enough to leave her in working shape. But if she were caught outside in the lighting then she¡¯d be out of commission for at least a day.


    She scooped up as many eggs as she could, apologizing to the perturbed birds before climbing down as fast as she safely could.


    She snatched her basket and sprinted for her house as she heard thunder rumbling on the horizon. The storms approached fast. She began to feel the rain start to come down. She just hoped the lighting was a ways off. She flung open her door and flew inside before slamming it behind her.


    Setting the basket down on the table she¡¯d built, SHE began unpacking. Sorting the various berries. She cursed silently as she realized she had neglected to grab more Bubble Lilies to store the preserves she had to make. She would have to get them when the storm let up.She took the milk out of her basket and set it on the table along with her satchel of eggs before flinging the berries into the basket and opening the hatch that led to the pit she¡¯d dug to store the extra food she¡¯d gathered in the cool earth. It wasn¡¯t very wide, just a bit bigger across than she on either side, but was about 10 feet deep and she expanded it every few years. She hollowed out grooves in the side which she slid bark pieces into as makeshift shelving. She climbed down the ladder she¡¯d made of fallen branches and shoveled out the berries onto one of the lower shelves where it was coolest.


    She climbed back up with her basket, closing the hatch behind her before getting to work on her lunch. She fried up her eggs in a hollowed out piece of stone she chipped and carved into some semblance of a pot. Making the pot was hard work and it was the third she¡¯d had to craft since she was stranded, but it was useful. Her meal cooked over a little stove she¡¯d crafted, fueled by the invasive vines. Though in all honesty it was so much a stove as a thin rock propped up on smaller stones, the roots burning below it.


    She poured the steaming egg out onto a leaf that she used a plate and grabbed the milk she¡¯d collected today.


    Corabelle ate her lunch as the storm raged outside, rattling the stones of her house. It wouldn¡¯t fall, it¡¯d seen worse, but it still made her nervous.


    She felt the electricity through the walls as thunder boomed deafeningly right above her. After lunch, she curled up in her leaf sheets on her moss mattress covering her head as she waited for the storm to pass. She heard her pulse in her ears as her head pounded, her head throbbing. This was the least of it. This was a fairly calm storm. She even managed to fall asleep amidst the crashing and booming.


    When she awoke, the only sound was a faint dripping through a small hole in her roof. Her headache was gone, the storm was over, and she had work to do.


    She grabbed her basket and swung open her door to the smell of dewy moss and grass and a shimmering rainbow overhead. The roses still blazed. She wished the rain would put them out, but no matter how violent the storm, they never so much as wavered.


    She headed toward the pond to collect more Bubble Lilies. Neve was nowhere to be found, probably still hiding from the storm herself. Corabelle stooped next to the water, quickly harvesting lilies and draining them of their sickening sap with her little blade.


    Corabelle flew to her feet as a sudden, but weak, voice rang out through the quiet grove, ¡°I wondered who owned the house.¡±

 The Faedemons Housemaid

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 (Technically) Out of the Maze

    A blink of an eye and she wasn¡¯t in the grove anymore, staring at the shambles of her home. Now she was in a palace, made of polished white stone laced with thin veins of smooth prismatic crystal. The walls, the floor, even the extremely high ceiling were all made of the stuff.


    Four hallways branched off from this main room and a large clear glass window overlooked the maze. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of feet above it, yet she still couldn¡¯t see where the deadly plants ended.


    He released her hand the moment they were safe inside,


    ¡°This way.¡± He beckoned down the nearest hall. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a quick tour then I must get back to my work.¡±


    She followed behind him, bunching the material of the skirt in both hands to keep from tripping over it. She¡¯d never had to worry about tripping over a gown before and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself more so than she already had.


    The hall let out into a large formal dining room, with enough seats to hold two dozen people surrounding and intricately painted rectangular table. A chandelier hung above it, made of the same crystal that rippled through the walls.


    A centimeter thick layer of dust coated every object in the room. Candles rested untouched in their holders. Each seat at the table was set with fine china and full sets of silver cutlery so tarnished, it had turned a nearly black brass color. It was obvious that he¡¯d not had company in a long time, if ever.


    In the center of the table was a massive bouquet of once living flowers, long since dead and dried, their petals forming a halo around the bottom of the vase. Windows lined the walls, showing more of the same never ending maze. From above, the blazes looked almost pretty, especially as the sun was beginning to set. The far wall was devoid of windows, instead had a set of tarnished silver double doors.


    ¡°This is the dining room. It''ll take a bit of work to get it and the kitchen clean, especially the kitchen, but perhaps you might join me for a formal meal once that work is complete. I haven''t even been in this room since before you appeared in this maze.¡± He dragged his finger across the thick layer of dust on the table with a grimace of disgust. ¡°Apologies. You have your work cut out for you.¡±


    He wiped the dust on the hem of his coat, ¡°I don¡¯t use the kitchen myself. I don¡¯t usually cook the creatures I summon from the maze, but you¡¯re welcome to use it at any time. I do believe humans tend to cook their food, am I correct?¡±


    A chill went down her spine, picturing the unlucky creatures who hadn¡¯t found relative sanctuary in the grove. All she could do was nod in response and her went dry.


    He smiled as though he were pleased with himself for remembering, ¡°If you¡¯ll follow me,¡± He led her out of the kitchen and back down the hall to the main room, before leading her down the hall to its left, ¡°Now,¡± He began.¡± You are strictly prohibited from entering my lab. I wouldn¡¯t want you interfering with my experiments, but the rest of the house is available for you to use as you wish. My lab is the only room upstairs.¡±


    He stopped her in front of a door, which he opened for her. It led out into a beautiful greenhouse, filled with all manner of plants, both magical and non magical. The ceiling of the greenhouse was entirely dull yellowish white light, simulating sunlight. ¡°I trust if you survived in my maze as long as you did, you do know the difference between what¡¯s edible and what isn¡¯t?¡±


    She had absolutely no clue what the plant with clear glowing leaves was nearest to the doors, so she replied, ¡°If I don¡¯t know what something is, I¡¯ll avoid it.¡±


    He smacked her back with a bellowing laugh as she yelped and jumped away, ¡°Good on you. On with the tour.¡±


    They continued down the same hall a ways before stopping in front of another door, this one he didn¡¯t open, ¡°In there are slightly more¡­ shall we say¡­ aggressive ingredients. You are free to use what you¡¯d like in my beast room but I recommend at the very least a good protection spell.¡±


    Her cheeks flushed hot with shame, ¡°I¡¯m not able to use magic. I don''t have the Spark.¡±


    The Faedemon stared at her blankly for a moment, ¡°What absolute ignoramus told you that? Of course you do! My runes would never have bonded to you if you didn¡¯t. It¡¯s not all too powerful, no human is, but I can see that Spark as clear as day.¡± He prodded her sternum with a finger as if to illustrate exactly where her Spark was.


    Smacking his hand away, she scowled indignantly, ¡°Every House of Magic rejected me. They told me I didn¡¯t have it. They wouldn¡¯t even bother to try to teach me.¡±


    He scoffed, ¡°My Fae, humans have gotten stupid in the last few millennia. I could teach you more powerful spells and runes than the little parlor tricks I¡¯m sure they¡¯re pedaling, easily. I, at least, expected that useless bunch of magic hoarding magpies would have taught you something of use. How did you think you were going to take care of my house if not for magic?¡± He shook his head, ¡°Tomorrow, I¡¯ll show you everything you need to know to do your job and, maybe, if you¡¯re a bit smarter than half those harebrained halfwits, I¡¯ll be able to teach you something with a bit more panache.¡± The grin of a giddy child spread across his cheeks as she could practically see his plans glowing behind his eyes.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The tiniest twinge of excitement bubbled inside her chest, ¡°You¡¯re going to teach me magic?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯m quite honestly not sure how so many humans live without it. Tell me, how do you all survive? What were you doing in your time in my labyrinth?¡± He cocked his head curiously as if absolutely mesmerized by the prospect of life without magic.


    ¡°I was trying to survive. In the beginning I had nothing and it took a lot of trial and error to even begin to find a way to survive so much as winter! Not to mention the smoke and your storms!¡± She finally snapped. ¡°I had to build my home, find a way to protect myself, to scavenge food! I bore the agonizing burns and thorns every day trying to keep the Firerose vines from destroying my home that you destroyed in half a second without so much as a thought. That!¡± She hissed, the dress begging to burn more fiery than the roses. No longer the storm, now she was a bubbling volcano of rage. ¡°That is what I did for the last 50 years!¡±


    He took a step back with a chuckle, ¡°I hadn''t meant to cause an outburst. Calm yourself. I was merely inquisitive. I now see that your little hovel is a touchy subject. I apologize for bringing it up. Let us continue with the tour.¡± He paced back down the hall to the main atrium, leaving her behind.


    She had to unclench her jaw and dig her fingernails out of the palms of her hands before following.


    Once she caught up, they ventured down the next hall on the left, this one was lined with doors. They didn''t bother stopping at any of them until arriving at the largest doors at the far end.


    ¡°These will be your quarters,¡± He opened the door, allowing her to step inside. ¡°I have many guest rooms, but I think you¡¯ll find this one the most pleasing.¡±


    The room was massive, easily three times as big as her cottage. A crystal encrusted wooden vanity stood against the wall on the right, topped with a variety of potions, tonics, and a handful of cosmetics.


    To the left was an open door displaying a washroom. The tub was fed by a hovering and never ending ball of water. Though, the tub wasn¡¯t over flowing and she doubted it ever would.


    On the far wall of the room was a giant bed, draped in the finest looking silk sheets and woven blanket. The head of the bed rested against a huge window that took nearly the whole wall.


    The best part of the room, by far, was the view. It was the first time she¡¯d looked out a window and not seen the roses. Outside was a lovely mountainous landscape becoming dusk with a dazzling waterfall and flock of sheep grazing on the side. The palace was hovering above it, almost floating alongside it. Blue birds flitted just outside the glass, she could hear their light chirping.


    With that, the last of her rage fell away as she took a few tentative steps into the room. She hadn¡¯t seen mountains, or waterfalls, or even sheep in decades.


    ¡°You¡¯re pleased with the little view I¡¯ve concocted then?¡± His voice was content.


    She turned back to face him, ¡°You concocted?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sadly it¡¯s simple illusion magic on the glass. As I¡¯ve said before, home is at the heart of the maze. So unfortunately it¡¯s still out there. If you don¡¯t like this view I can easily change it.¡± He waved a hand and the mountains became a cliff over which waves crash against rocks and gulls cawed from off in the distance.


    Her head fell, ¡°Oh¡­¡± Her dress turned to heavy rain clouds, seemingly casting dark shadows on the illusion before her.


    ¡°You¡¯re disappointed.¡± His smile wavered ever so slightly. ¡°Tell me what view you¡¯d like. It¡¯s a simple fix.¡± he crossed his arms in front of him.


    ¡°The mountains were fine¡­¡± She muttered.


    He sighed shortly, with a small scowl, ¡°Very well.¡± With a wave of his hand, the sound of bluebirds returned. ¡°I suspect you are tired. The tour is concluded. My chambers are in the final hall, as is the staircase to my lab. You have no need to visit either. Unless you¡¯d like me to get you something to eat, I¡¯ll leave you to your devices.¡±


    She sat down on the edge of the bed, ¡°I¡¯m not hungry.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you change your mind, you know where the greenhouse is.¡± With a slightly irritated huff, he left.


    Corabelle curled up on the bed, staring out at the fake sheep and birds. The bed was far more comfortable than her shack, and even more comfortable than the one in her home in the village.


    As the fake sky outside her window grew dark with the coming night, her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted off to sleep.


    Her dreams were of her home and family. They were perfect.


    Her sister etched in her book with the wax chalk her father would bring home from the market. Her mother kneaded dough in the kitchen while her previous creation baked in the small cast iron stove her grandfather had forged as a wedding gift for her mother and father. Her grandmother stitched a beautiful quilt from her favorite chair in the corner while humming lightly to herself. In the distance, she could hear her father hammering the tacks into shoes in his workshop. Every detail was just as she remembered, down to the smell of her mother¡¯s freshly baked apple tart.


    Everything was perfect. That was, until she woke up.