[ WP ] [ TT ] You 've been cursed by a witch and can only break the spell by true love 's kiss . Desperate , you 've been through dozens of potential suitors but nothing happens ... until one day someone unexpected shows up at the castle .

It had been so long, so very long, since Isal felt... right. That witch, that black curse cast upon her, it had turned everything wrong. Things prior to that had been going rather smoothly, considering that her father was ill and her mother had passed years before, leaving her with the oncoming burden of ruling the nation as its Queen. 
 
 But with the curse, she was different. The scales, at first, had been rather unsettling - and then rather interesting, and then quite suddenly, a major issue. The anatomical changes, those had come slowly and painfully, and mercy were they a big issue since Isal was n't entirely sure she could find someone to fertilize a damned laid egg for the sake of having a child. Granted, the Lamia of the forest were... intelligent creatures, and as she was essentially a lamia at that point... 
 
 Well, that would turn the trick. 
 
 Of course, such a thing was inconceivable and considering it was only the result of desperation. She rose from her coil, disturbed by how easy moving with the snake-like lower half had become. Calm as she could be, she slithered up to the window and stared out over the courtyard, where servants were doing as servants were known to do. No one had been willing to look at her, no one had wanted to speak to her, not since the curse. 
 
 It was n't shocking few would speak to her, would look to her, to even be near her. She'd been altered, since the curse was laid. Angry, in the presence of others only. Hungry, in ways she wished not to describe. Vicious, bitter, and willing to fight. She'd attacked one of her own maids for daring to whisper an insulting utterance - the woman had barely survived. In the presence of others, it seemed, she could not control the bestial and horrid urges inside of her. That, she was sure, was a part of the lesson of the curse. This, she was sure, is what you call us, what you say we are. This is what you shall suffer as until the moment when someone sees you for who you truly are. 
 
 It had even come to pass that she had been aggressive and cruel to potential suitors, lashing out at one of them - though her guards stopped her before she laid tooth or claw upon the man. 
 
 And the witch, she had said... true love would break the curse. The guards had tried to slay her, as she casted her magic, but the court wizard had stopped them, saying it could cause utter destruction of the built up magic in the lamia witch were released without organization. 
 
 She turned, slithering to the standing mirror, staring at herself in it. Her face, it was much the same as it always had been, if slightly altered by her teeth changing to the pointed, predatory frontals of the Lamia. She lifted her hands, staring at the small, tightly packed scales and sharp, thick, deep black nails. Black, like the rest of her scales. 
 
 It had been murder, adjusting her makeup to match the new grayish tone of her skin, to alter things to fit with her blackened hair. She turned her eyes back to her face, to her darkened lips, to the black sclera of her eyes, to the golden color of her irises. 
 
 Isal found herself wishing Ramma was with her. Her faithful guardian from childhood, her closest friend and most trusted confidant, Ramma had left nearly two months prior after near a month and a half of seeing suitor after suitor who left in horror or disgust upon seeing her visage. True love it was not, should they flee upon seeing her condition. 
 
 Ramma, her sweet knight, her lady knight, gone to try and beg and plead with the lamia witch and the chieftain of their forest society to break the curse. 
 
 Lonely. Isal was so utterly lonely, without her knight, her constant companion. Her knight had never shied from her new face, had never insulted her, nor screamed upon seeing her emerge from a shadowed doorway. 
 
 Isal fled to her wardrobe, attempting to find something to protect what little dignity she had left. 
 
 It was her own fault, and she knew it. Her own fault for, with her father too ill to speak his own word to the people, speaking the vile hatred he had preached for years. Hatred, hatred. Hate the Lamia of the forest, waylaying traders and assaulting knights - traders intruding upon the roads of the Lamia through their own territory, territory they rather clearly marked with signs begging to simply leave them be as they meant no harm. The knights too, sent to harm and harass them in retaliation, to the point it was downright petty. They were sent with firebombs, and magics from the wizard meant to wither their crops. 
 
 Was it any wonder, truly, that they were so vicious? Was it any wonder that, after hoping that the king's daughter would make a fine queen lacking in such hatred, that they would be so angry and upset when she said such awful things about them even knowing her father had struck first against them? 
 
 Her own fault, her own vile behavior, her own evil words and her own lack of courage in resisting the cruelty of her father, that had brought this all down on her head. 
 
 She shrugged into a tunic, belted it, and began the arduous process of trying to get a cloth drape to cover enough of her front that her downstairs business was n't on display, what with being a royal and all. It was n't like they'd see much, being a closed... 
 
 Well, she wanted it to be covered regardless. Gloves went on, black leather things to hide the claw like fingernails. The lamia, they were scaled all over their bodies. The curse, it seemed to not have fully changed her. Perhaps that was for a reason? So that her people could still identify the monster their princess would-be-queen had become? 
 
 She bowed her head. There was no love for such a creature in her kingdom, she was certain. There were those supportive, certainly, but it was not as if they would love her as she was, whether it was reversible or not. An angry, monstrous thing prone to attack... 
 
 Were it their design to destroy the royal bloodline and rob the kingdom of anyone to rule... they had no doubt succeeded. With Ramma gone so long, with no suitor male nor female to take as king or queen secondary... with no one to fertilize an egg aside that, nor impregnate her post return to human form... With the forest as her enemy and the people hating her... 
 
 The kingdom would fall, or revolt and a new king or queen would take her place. She would be slain, as was her fate for being a coward, for being weak against the will of her dying father... 
 
 `` My princess,'' Rasped a voice, from the door. Isal looked sharply to the sound, staring at the shadows beyond. There was the faintest suggestion of a person in the darkness. 
 
 `` Ramma? Is... Is that you?'' Isal asked, so softly, so so softly. 
 
 `` My princess... I have failed you,'' the voice rasped. `` I beg of you not to look upon me, nor allow me entry to thine chamber. I must be banished, be forbidden ever to return. My failure can not be forgiven.'' 
 
 `` Ramma... Ramma, please... I've missed you,'' Isal replied, slithering closer to the door. `` Please, gods and devils above, below and outside. I've missed you.'' 
 
 `` And I do not beg forgiveness for that, as I am undeserving. I do not belong in your presence, my princess... I am a failure,'' Ramma hissed, shying further into the shadow of the unlit hall. 
 
 `` I do not believe that! You are to enter at once!'' Isal half-shouted, tears welling up. `` I've had no one without you! I've had no one at all! I've been insulted, humiliated, and had no one at my back these last months! I need you!'' 
 
 There was a silence, a long silence heavy with fear, confusion, desire and loneliness. 
 
 And then Ramma slithered in, her armor scratched and tarnished, her skirt drape defending her dignity, her eyes a frigid blue on black sclera, her hair turned white as snow on pale gray skin. 
 
 `` My lady, my princess, there is no cure for your cursed form... the curse that can be reversed, that is the rage, the hunger, the monstrous instinct. The transformation is irreversible... it was a trick, a deceit...'' Ramma rasped, head bowed, tears streaming down her face. `` They were merciful to me, as I came in with sword drawn and threats on my tongue, my princess. They merely cast upon me the same fate, they said they saw in me a light which must not be extinguished.'' 
 
 Taken aback, Isal slithered closer, lifting her gloved hands to her knight's face, forcing her to look up. She stared into Ramma's eyes, confused. 
 
 `` You mean to tell me that this is how I am? This is what I am? And what you are as well? But why? Why make me believe... such a thing could be fixed, be undone?'' 
 
 `` They wish to blend our kingdoms, to end this feud. Their plan was cunning, my queen... they planned to send their own suitors, those who would not fear your visage nor incur your wrath...'' Ramma whispered, trialing off as she pulled away, turning her face aside. ``... Such would be that there would be a halfbreed Queen and a Lamia king, or queen secondary should you choose... and so the conflicts would end.'' 
 
 `` That's hardly cunning, really. That seems to be asking for a revolt, if anything,'' Isal answered, her tone dry. 
 
 ``... well it was planned by a mage ignoring the rules of the chieftain, acting on his own,'' she replied, still staring aside. `` I think perhaps his cunning ended at the boundaries of magic, and mayhaps he was not the court wizard as he lacked the wisdom to really think things through.'' 
 
 Another silence fell. It was utterly mad. Trapped as a snake-woman for the rest of her life, lest new magics be researched and discovered. She found herself laughing, before she knew it, laughing in the face of terror and disappointment. 
 
 `` But you, my knight, are neither lamia nor human now. Neither am I. We are two of a kind as always we have been,'' Isal replied. 
 
 ( going to tie this up in a reply to this comment, ten thousand bloody characters is not enough. )
