Eliza slowly approached the stall. The Shadow stood up straight and removed the drab veil covering its face. At the sight of it, the girl couldn't hold a frightened cry.

The Shadow was a witch. But not just any witch; not one of those her father used to tell her about during those long winter nights. A real witch, like the one she heard of living in the forest behind her father's mill. Yet, a thousand times scarier than she had ever imagined. Her hemp-like, tangled hair went all the way to the ground. Her eyes were black, so black that the white parts were completely gone. And Eliza saw her terrified face in that tarry well. Her grey face was rutted by thousands of deep ditches like a map was scrawled on her skin. Her dark lips formed a sinister grimace, revealing the abyss that replaced her mouth. And her nose... Her nose was covering half her face, twisted and filled with husky bristles. Her arms were thin and bony like tangled branches and her fingers with twisted hawked nails were constantly moving.

'Oh, but you mustn't fear, my dear Princess... Or perhaps I shouldn't call you that' she added and from the deep mouth emerged throaty noises that were supposed to be her laughter. Instead, they seemed more like gargles only wild beasts could make.

Eliza cleared her throat and dared to speak, 'Well, since you know I'm not the real princess, you must also know why I'm here.'

The witch laughed even harder, 'Of course I know, Eliza. Witch Guzma is my name and I know everything about you. I've known you since you were born and you've never left my sight. I know you better than you think, miller's daughter. Or perhaps I shouldn't even call you that?'

Eliza didn't understand what the witch meant. She shivered, thinking that all those whispers she heard around the mill, all those shadows and sobbing were, in fact, real and not a figment of a child's imagination as her father used to say to comfort her.

'But let's get this over with,' roared Guzma. 'As far as I know, you want to gain a voice, the sweetest voice on the face of the earth; a healing voice for body and soul. More beautiful than the song of a mockingbird, isn't that so? Then all you have to do is drink this potion I made for you... Drink!' she ordered.

And the witch handed her a grail with something bubbling inside, like hot tar. Eliza touched the burning grail and, after a moment of hesitation, drank it in a sip. She instantly felt how her throat and entrails were set on fire, and a blundering pain stroke her down to the ground.

With beady eyes, she saw the phantasm leaning over her and whispering in her ear, 'Wear this bracelet and you will be able to sing.'

The girl felt her hand being wreathed in a circle of fire that was burning and piercing her flesh. She saw the bracelet had nine amulets shaped like birds in all the colours of the rainbow.

'That's it?' she said trying hard to get up with the whole room spinning around her.

But the witch's beastie gurgling laughter struck her. 'Don't be hasty, Eliza... Everything in this world comes with a price.' Then, her voice roared again, 'Every time you want to sing, you have to tear off one of the amulets and throw it in the fire. Only then will you be able to sing like no other. But be careful, use them wisely,' she whispered in her ear. 'For with every burnt amulet, some of your youth and beauty will come to me. And my hideous hoariness will take their place. Until you will drink from the Fountain of Youth, you will remain old and bitter. But beware! When the last amulet is gone, so will be your last breath!'

When the last words spread into the air, the witch, the castle, the shadows, and the forest disappeared. And Eliza awoke in her room. The only thing reminding her everything was real was the bracelet, still burning her skin.

●

Eliza spent the morning lying in her bed. She didn't feel like doing anything. All she wanted was to get her head straight. Outside, fall was laying its heavy, wet cloak across the land—as a prologue to the upcoming winter. The perfect weather to sit and do nothing. Only Eliza was not in the mood for it. She was nervously feeling the bracelet on her wrist, counting the charms. She wondered how such a beautiful thing could cause so much harm. She decided she would sing only if it was absolutely necessary. Then again, maybe the witch was deceiving her, playing with her mind. Because that's what witches were like—they loved tormenting people. But still...

When Nanny Ana came into her room—a bit late because she overslept—Eliza was already dressed. She gave up the gems, tiaras, and the five dresses on top of the other. She took off her princess shoes. She put on a grey dress, like the weather outside, and some lace boot that tied all the way up to the knee. It was the horse riding attire of Princess Mara, much more adequate for what she was about to do.

Nanny Ana had no time to inquire before Eliza went out the door putting on a cape. In vain the nanny tried to catch up and call after her. Eliza walked the hallway fast as a ghost and descended to the yard. In one flash, she made it to the stables. She hopped on the back of the mightiest steed and was on her way. The wind and the rain were picking up, whipping her face, but she couldn't care less. She had no time to waste. After riding over vast, deserted lands, passing through scattered towns and villages, or gathered in boroughs, she finally made it home.

Her father was unloading some wheat bags when she arrived. At first, he was bewildered and saw her like in a dream. Then, he lifted her in his arms before she could say anything.

'My girl, my little girl,' he whispered, eyes full of tears.

Tears were falling on Eliza's face, too, and after a few moments, she let off of the fatherly embrace. Adrian and Princess Mara stepped closer to give her a hug. Eliza had seen the Princess only a few times before when they had the idea that nobody would ever notice if they were to switch places. In those short visits, the real princess tried to teach her how to walk, talk, and hold up as a princess. Those times seemed now so long ago.

Turning to her father, the girl looked him in the eyes like she never had before. 'Who am I, father? she whispered. And before the old man could say anything, she added, 'I know I'm not your real daughter, even if you were a father to me like no other could be. Please, tell me the truth. I'm surrounded by so many secrets. I couldn't take it for you to hide the truth from me. Not you, too...'

The old man sat on the small bench in front of the mill while Adrian and Mara stepped back.

'You are not my daughter,' said the old man holding his head down. 'But the Lord is my witness I loved you like my own.'

Eliza sat in front of him and took his hard-laboured hands in her own. The old man continued: 'A long time ago, when I was but an apprentice at the mill by the King's palace, I sighted, on a gloomy night like this, a small basket, hidden in the grass. A whimper caught my attention. That is when I found you, and that is when I decided you were to be my child. I inspected closer the basket and noticed your blanket of the finest silk, embroidered with a name. I was just learning the letters from an older miller. That was the first time I said your name—Eliza. I don't know who left you there, but whoever it was, his heart was not human.

'I decided to be your father. Was it for the better, was it for the worst, I couldn't say. That very night, I ran away from the Palace and found this little village, hidden behind the hills and the forest, where I thought nobody could ever find us.

'But you see, someone was after you. Someone with a heart darker than the night, whose shadow I've seen sometimes showing up wherever you were. That is why I never let you out of my sight. Afterward, I became the right-hand man for the miller. People take pity when they learn of a young widowed man who has to raise a child. I had to make this story up so nobody would take you away from me. I'm sorry you had to live with this lie, but this very lie was the one to save us.

'I never looked for a wife, for I believed my love can be big enough to replace a mother's love. Then the old miller, who was as a father for me, passed on, and I became the owner of the mill. And the father of the most beautiful little girl in the world. And I have regretted nothing.'

●

Eliza was returning to the Dark Castle with a heavy heart. She was so confused... Meeting her father had soothed her longing, but stirred new doubts in her heart. Who was she? Who were her real parents? And how did Guzma know all these? Her unrest was growing as she got closer to the castle. The night was falling and darkness was swallowing the light, little by little. Eliza was rushing her horse, her heart racing, and her soul burdened with dark premonitions.

As she entered the gates of the castle, she figured her premonitions were becoming true. Everyone at the court was astir and the whole castle quivered. She saw worried faces and knuckles cracking, even teary eyes. This entire quiver, she didn't find it hard to slip through all the way to her room without anyone noticing her. After changing clothes, she came out to find out what was stirring the place up while she was away.

She barely closed the door behind her, when she heard a voice behind her. 'Where have you been, Princess?'

It was Constantin, the Great Wiseman. And Eliza got all rattled and spilled the first lie that came to her, 'You see, I ate something bad and couldn't come out of my room for a couple of days and—'

Constantin didn't seem to listen, 'You have to follow me, Princess. His Majesty is not feeling very well. He was heavily wounded in battle.'

Before she could think about it, Eliza was rushing towards the Prince's room. She found him lying in his bed, pale-faced, eyes closed and his forehead covered in sweat. An old woman was whipping his temples with a wet cloth. It was his nanny. Eliza saw her a few times before and knew she was chased away by the Prince after his parents died.

Now, the Prince was moaning, stuck somewhere between dream and reality, and looked like he needed her more than ever. Shivering, Eliza stepped closer to his bed, and with a short gesture, she pulled the cover from over the Prince. She let out a terrifying shriek when she saw the prince's wounded leg. The wound was so deep that the sheets were soaked in blood.

'A peasant, not even a real soldier, pushed a spear through his leg,' said Constantin. 'We set off to conquer with a small army, thinking that a nation of farmers would never hold up against us. But we were wrong. We were surrounded in a pass in the mountains and crushed. Never underestimate the strength of a small nation which knew nothing but freedom for its whole existence.'

Eliza was listening, looking at the wounded leg.

'What is his name? she murmured with cold lips.

The Prince's nanny looked at her with old watery eyes, 'The Dark Prince is his name, Princess.'

'No,' almost yelled Eliza. 'What is his real name?'

'Gabriel,' answered Constantin. 'Gabriel is his name. He changed it into Dark Prince since he has found his parents were killed.'

'Gabriel,' she whispered. 'Gabriel, can you hear me?' Then, turning to the old nanny, she said, 'Go to my room and bring me the small sack under my pillow. Hurry!'

After the woman left, Eliza continued to caress the Prince's forehead; her gaze stopped on the bracelet from the witch. Wasting no time to think, she pulled off a bird amulet and threw it in the fire. Then she began singing, her lips close to the Prince's forehead. It was a lullaby which seemed obscure, but she knew it by heart like she had sung it since forever. She sang it with all her heart as if it was to be the last thing to do. Her voice could be heard throughout the whole castle as if coming from the heavens. For a moment, the darkness outside scattered, leaving the moonshine to enter the room, lighting it up as if in the daytime.

Everyone gathered beside the Prince's bed—Constantin, the Army's commanders, the court doctors, Nanny Ana, and the Prince's old nanny; everyone was listening, all still, holding back every breath.

After the song ended, Eliza stood up, took the small bag from the old nanny's hands and sprinkled on the wound some fairy dust known by her and no other. There were healing plants dried up and turned into dust, herbs picked from near the forest at home, late in the night when it was said that all plants gain magic powers.

Then, as if by magic, the Prince stopped moaning and fell into a deep, restful sleep.  

Thanks for reading this new chapter! Please vote and comment! I'm really curious to know what you think about this story.