A different kind of fairy tale. Traditional fairy tales usually provide caution for poor defenseless little girls. This is more a warning, an urban legend if you will, about what happens to those who prey on the innocent.
📷credit: Devoka
The Aunt and the Athame
Once upon a time, in a land not so far from here, there lived a strong and confident young woman who was not afraid to speak her truth in a world that ignores, or worse, tries to silence the truth. Grace could usually be found with her headphones on and her head down, scribbling in a sketchpad or staring at a phone, unaware of the attention she invoked in others.
Grace’s crazy, quirky Auntie, a bit mystical and super badass, had seen the darkness and truth silencing up close and personal. She knew how cruel the world and those in it could be. She also saw the way handsy, entitled savages eyed the young Grace like a prize to be claimed. A rage boiled inside Auntie, and she decided protecting Grace from the monstrosities of others was her mission.
Each night, Auntie slung her cloak over her shoulders, grabbed her ancestral athame, and shadowed Grace at about a hundred yards (do you see where this is going? Too predictable?). She would watch and wait with patience; she never wanted to act in haste or bring upon unfair judgment, but she would not allow injustice either.
Most of the time, Grace handled herself well, and Auntie stood in the shadows, thankful she never needed to make herself known until one night, when a figure refused to listen to Grace’s pleas of no and placed his unwanted hands upon her, shoving her to the ground and covering her mouth.
Auntie acted swiftly. Suddenly, she was in the dim corner of the night and had the assailant entranced. She took his hand, the one he’d used to cover Grace’s mouth, and ran her athame through his wrist-bone like butter, severing his hand. A quick surge of blood and a gasp took place as the hand tumbled to the ground. Cauterization and healing happen in another moment, leaving only a stump as a warning.
Auntie looked him in the eyes and said, “Had you respected the girl, we would never have met. From now on, keep your hands…er…hand…to yourself, or the other one disappears.”
With a wave of her own hand and maniacal smile, she and Grace vanished to safety.
Rumor and horror quickly grew around the small village, for the hand belonged to the firstborn son of a wealthy man. At first, there was fear and a call for Auntie’s head on a spike. But then, one evening, the daughter of the Duke was assaulted by another brutish, entitled son of the wealthy man. Auntie intervened, for no one deserves their truth silenced. The Duke and Duchess, grateful to Auntie, banished the wealthy man, along with all his sons, and proclaimed Auntie the Heroine of the Village.
Upon discovering Auntie’s secret, Grace suggested they team up. So they did, moving from village to town to hovels here and there, protecting all those without crazy, quirky athame-wielding aunts from grabby predatory pricks. Sometimes, they even stuck around a town and taught a self-defense class.
And they lived happily ever after, positively impacting the lives of others.
The End
Moral(s) of the story
Younglings: Heads up. Be aware of your surroundings and the folks who fill your space.
Predators: We’re tired of your shit. Back off.
As always, thank you for stopping by. I’d love to hear your comments below.
Until next time: Be creative. Find your wild side. Stay sane(ish). ✌️
