Information

Grimhilde
Legacy Name: Grimhilde

The Common Yaherra

Owner: Sorceress

Age: 11 years, 7 months, 4 days

Born: September 23rd, 2012

Adopted: 11 years, 7 months, 4 days ago

Adopted: September 23rd, 2012

Statistics

• Level: 2
   
• Strength: 10
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

Grimhilde hit the ground with a loud and bone cracking thud. The rocks were wet and sharp, and they shattered her fragile, elderly ribs like a sledgehammer would glass. She didn't make a sound, however, nor did she really breathe. She just laid there in the pouring rain, listening to the water as it hit the slate around her bruised and beaten silhouette. The dark clouds rolled on in the stormy skies, whilst their grey lining flickered a bright white after each occasional lightning bolt. It was only when the ravenous vultures (which had been looming overhead upon a rotting tree branch) decided to spread their wings and soar down towards what they assumed was their next meal, that Grimhilde dared to lift herself from laying face down upon the hard ground- so that she could glance up to the pesky birds as they circled. Her weary eyes narrowed as she locked on to the two vultures, whilst one of her lilly-white hands reached out in front of her. She attempted to drag her body along the ground, even though every inch of it ached with pain. Her brittle nails broke as she scrabbled onwards, whilst her ebony cloak snagged upon the terrains sharp surface.

She was glad that the dwarves had not loitered to make sure that she had fallen to her death, for the birds would of made short work of her thin attire and flesh had she feigned her demise any longer. With a collection of gnarled fingertips swiping at the air in a bid to bat back the hungry carrion feeders, Grimhilde forced her hunched self up and to her unsteady feet. She could barely stand unaided (thanks to her injuries and frail disguise), let alone walk. Despite her lack of strength, she still drove herself on, in a frantic, yet almost fruitless attempt to make it back to her castle and in to her apothecary. She had to get there before anyone could realize that she was alive and had put a spell on Snow White.

------------

For months the queen waited, expecting the armies of Snow White and her newfound prince to come marching in and take her by the wrist to an unfathomable fate. Yet no one came. Days went by, days that turned into weeks and weeks that turned into months. Seasons changed, day transformed to night and then back again and still there was no sign of her stepdaughters army that the queen expected to see. Despite all of this and the news that Snow White was to soon be wed, Grimhilde still clung to the belief that her daughter was after her for what she had done, that her little bird wanted to do her harm. The long hours of solitude were slowly starting to get to the queen and spur her paranoia on. "Magic mirror on the wall... Who is fairest of them all?" she asked again, succombing to her painful daily ritual that used to bring so much ease. Each morning when she woke and asked, she begged for a different answer- or perhaps a miracle, that would allow the man, her father, in the mirror to reply with "Its you, my queen". He never did utter those words that she longed to hear, however, and he hadn't since the first day he had mentioned Snow's name. Her precious little bird had grown into a beautiful woman, both inside and out - even with all of the hardships she had endured. Nothing had broken her spirit or heart, it had only made her stronger and the queen resented that. With her blood red lips curling into an ferocious snarl and her toxic green eyes glowing with envy, Grimhilde lashed out at the crimson drapes by her side, her delicate hands ripping them from their golden pole and pulling them to the dusty, dirty floor. It was as their thick velvet, moth-bitten fabric fell to the floor, that Grimhilde was subjected to a bright and hazy light. Its glow was so bright in fact, that it made the queen raise an arm to shield her pale face and watering eyes. When she finally dared to lower her long sleeve and glance to the glowing world outside, Grimhilde found herself with bitter memories and a heavy heart. The castle in which she lived, had become a shell of its former self- with nothing more than faint echo's of the happy times it had seen. She remembered how luxurious her bedroom used to be, all polished and cleaned each and every day and how she used to curl up with Snow whilst her father was away- reassuring her through stormy nights or lulling her to sleep with fantastic tales of a woman who could turn into a dragon. The pair would sit there for hours, before finally falling asleep, listening to the pitter patter of rain outside and snuggling close under the comforting glow of the ignited fireplace- eagerly awaiting the next day in their dreams, as it drew the return of the king ever closer. Now all that was left of those fond times before her husband's death and decent into turmoil, was the grimy room, covered in dust and dirt. Even though it was the same, as it always had been, it no longer felt like home, but more akin to a tomb. She remembered how her fathers house had been, when she was a little girl, without her mother, empty, cold, dirty and lonely... something which she vowed to never to return to. Yet, there she was, standing in a room... a castle... that was the mirror image of the tiny hut she lived in all those years ago. She had become just like him too, bitter and hateful, consumed by grief, rituals and scorn- none of which appeased her broken heart. Instead of admitting to the shell of a human she had become, Grimhilde reasoned with herself silently- justifying her awful, reclusive nature with false, flimsy lies. She told herself time and time again that she was nothing like him, when really, she had began to harbor the same darkness in her soul and completely lose the little bit of person she had left. Even with her near death experience, Grimhilde had still failed to see the error of her ways... and that eternal beauty would not soothe her conscience for good. Sure, the admiration from her father boosted her confidence and made her feel invincible, loved and good... yet it was only a temporary fix to the eternal agony that jingled with the shards of her broken heart. She would have to consult him every day for that approval, getting her fix before she could even begin to function (not that she did much, outside of locking herself away in the depths of her dungeons or gazing out with hateful eyes a the world around, from the tallest, loneliest tower in her castle). Now that he told her again that she was not the most beautiful, just like he had when she was a child, Grimhilde found herself distraught and lost, floating through life with no means to deal with the grief she still carried for her husbands death and Verona's (her once dear servant and sister-like friend) departure. The painful memories of her childhood stung harder than ever, now that she stood alone in the walls of her empty home and without being told that she was beautiful... she had no way to cope with or avoid the terrible pain of loss. Before she could dwell on things anymore, a double knock, followed by a cautious voice dared to break her hollow rage. "My queen, is everything alright?" the blacksmith, Grimhilde thought as she listened to his stupid question. "Yes, quite" she barked, after swallowing hard and dabbing at her glassy eyes. "Its just that I heard a loud bang... and you yelling... Do you mind if I come in?" Winthrop furthered, cautious and respectable as ever. "I told you everything was alright, boy" with a shaky and deep inhale, the queen leant up from supporting herself on the mantle, so that she could sternly fold her arms over her chest and watch as the face in the mirror vanished from sight in a swirl of purple smoke. Her small pupils didn't stay focused on the spirit of her father for long, however, for the handle to her sleeping chambers soon began to rattle and click as the man, whom had been told to stay away, opened the door and stepped inside. The queen could not hide her fury at his disobedience, even if his intentions were good. Her jet black brows furrowed immediately and creased the fair, flawless skin upon her forehead, whilst her red lips upturned into the most deepest of pouts.
"Get out" she snapped, whilst tilting her head high so that she could glance to him from down her nose. Winthrop, despite being slightly taken back by the queen's intense hostility, couldn't help but stay put and shield his eyes from the bright morning light momentarily.
"The drapes... they--"
"Are on the floor, yes. What do you want boy? A crown, a souvenir for pointing that out? I won't ask you again, leave me be!"
She wasn't the woman the young blacksmith had grown up admiring, or even loving and she wasn't the same timid, bashful soul that had first stepped up as queen. Her face and her beauty had not changed, but she most certainly had- and for the worst.
Grimhilde sneered at her loyal subject for a moment more, before casting her gaze back to the mirror- which she was obsessed with. As Winthrop carefully closed the door, she observed her reflection and face- both of which had become much like her fathers. She had the same sullen pout as him and the same heavy frown. Her stare, although empty and blank, hosted the same amount of hurt and anger. She couldn't look, not for a moment more, for she refused to admit to the monster she had become. With her sender fingers gripping at the cloth she had used to once shield the mirror from view, Grimhilde pulled the curtains together with a single, hasty tug. She didn't want to deal with such thoughts, not now and not ever. Her mind was already consumed with the fear of Snow White seeking revenge (even though, she knew in her heart of hearts, that the young girl would probably do no such thing- especially not now that she was free in the arms of her loving prince... Just like the queen had been, many moons ago). She couldn't deal with not having her fathers 'approval' and she most certainly could not deal with the grim realization that she was turning in to him. In a bid to avoid the light and life outside, the weary queen scurried out of her bedroom and towards the tapestry that hid the entrance to her secret dungeon. There she would find solitude and peace from the overly caring blacksmith. There she could be left alone to hide and wish away the light of the day, only to emerge in the darkness of the night- where she felt more at ease.

The queen didn't reemerge until later that evening, a lot later in fact, when the moon was high in the sky and surrounded by a blanket of stars. She looked dreadful, tired and exhausted, for the same nightmarish visions had kept her awake- as had the paranoia and jealousy she held towards Snow White. As she crept through the lonesome halls and tiptoed past her usual sleeping quarters, Grimhilde considered returning to the mirror- just in case he would reply with something different. She stopped herself from doing so however, for the moment at least, as she knew her hopes would be shattered for as long as her little bird was still alive. Despite passing her bedroom and slinking past the room that contained all of her long forgotten keepsakes, Grimhilde did find herself stopping in front of one of the castles dusty decoration mirrors. Her father had not made that one, she could tell instantly, thanks to its crude and less than perfect craftsmanship. Yet still she felt inferior next to its beauty. All it would take was a quick wipe with a damp cloth or bit of rag and the mirror would be gleaming again, shining for the world to see. Not like her, who was damaged beyond repair and slowly being haggard by her worries and age. As she leant in to sneer at her unsightly reflection, Grimhilde noticed a few rogue silver hairs amongst the black waterfall of her thick strands. At fist, she went to gasp, but no sound came out, even as she began to stroke the grey invaders with a single trembling hand. The years had not been kind to her and they had dragged on. Sometimes, her life was so bleak that she forgot her own birthday... Forgot her own age, even. Yet she never forgot her wedding date, nor Snows birthday, or the day her husband died. "January... The twenty third" she recited to herself out loud, whilst her heart stung under the harsh reality that he was gone- never to come back. Even her potions and enchantments were begging to fail her, for it seemed that no amount of magic could truly remove the burden of a heavy heart, no matter how strong. With the same trembling hand reaching up to take ahold of the silver locks of hair, Grimhilde considered tugging them from her scalp- so that she could banish the punishment of stress and age. Yet, the closer she looked, the harder it was for her to tell one black hair from a silver. Her scalp was riddled with both black and grey, for white roots had started to sneakily sprout almost all over. She wasn't that old, not really- so how could such a thing of happened? She recalled the time when her husband had first died and how she had turned as white as a sheet, with hair to match. When his three cousins had tugged a white strand from her head and teased her for it. She no longer looked like her mother or held her beauty. She was the embodiment of her father- ugly and twisted with hate. Fortunately, that's where the queens painful memories and thoughts ended, for she had been roused by a large, gentle hand upon her shoulder. Winthrop had found her, again. "Don't fret so much, you look lovely" he whispered to his queen, full of admiration. But how could he of meant such things when she was looking like this? He must of been lying or teasing her, playing a cruel trick for his own entertainment. But no, he wasn't. The blacksmith truly meant his complimenting words and he reinforced them with a daring kiss to the side of Grimhilde's neck. His bushy mustache and thick goatee made the queen both shudder and cringe, for it reminded her of all the times the king had kissed her, with his unkempt beard, still wild and long from his time at war. With a violent tug, the queen broke away from Winthrop's consoling and loving grip, so that she could turn around and glare at him with glassy eyes. She hated it, the way he looked at her like her husband did. The way he held her and spoke to her, with such love and concern. What did he know? Nothing. He barely knew her. How could he find her beautiful when she was so worn down, when her father told her that she was fair no more. With her cape whipping at her heals like hungry, snapping dogs, Grimhilde confronted the young man, whom simply stood calmly before her. "What would you know?!" she demanded, pupils stricken with both pain and anger. "You are just a little boy, a little blacksmith, with no knowledge of the world! You bend metal into shapes and call it a work of art! You know nothing of true beauty!". The queens words hit the man like knives, yet still he stood strong, taking all that she had to throw at him. "I've seen enough women, worked with enough rare and precious materials, observed enough life to know that you are far more fairer, rarer and precious than any jewel or other human. You have just become chipped along the way, hurt, but you have not lost your beauty nor your soul. I still see the same woman that I saw as a child. She's just hidden and burried under her grief- I"
"ENOUGH!" Grimhilde boomed, on the verge of cracking or tipping over the edge completely. "Get out of my castle, return to your smithery. There is a war approaching and my men, the little followers I have left that will fight for me, need new armor and weapons!". She was choked by his words and almost asphyxiated by his care. She didn't want to have someone bestow such things on her again, because look where it had gotten her. "Get out, go!" she barked again, her voice almost breaking under the storm of emotions that threatened to rip the remains of her heart in two. "Work until your hands bleed, there... There is not a moment to rest!" with her head becoming increasingly light and heart pounding harder and harder with the discomfort she felt, Grimhilde attempted to turn away from the blacksmith, so that she could slink back to the sanctuary her dungeon provided. Her feet were unsteady however and she nearly tripped over them a couple of times, causing her delicate hands to reach out and grab at the cold stone wall for support. She didn't get far though, not even with the support of the wall and many broken draws and ornaments, for her mind and thoughts were spinning. Everything was too much for her, those words had hit her hard and stirred up everything that she had tried to so desperately suppress. Once out of sight, the queen collapsed in a barely conscious heap against the tapestry that hid the door to her retreat. Everything was a blur and she felt as though she were floating through some fiendish nightmare. All she could think about were the times long gone, back when it was a happy home. With her short, quick breaths being constantly interrupted by loud, wailing sobs, Grimhilde cried until she passed out from exhaustion. She still sobbed however, even in the depths of her unconscious sleep, for there was no escaping the eternal torment of her pain.

Winthrop watched with both pity and concern for his broken queen and still continued to stare down the dark hall, even when she had staggered out of sight. He knew better than to follow her though, for he had pushed his luck too far too many times that day. Even though he so deeply wanted to hold and console her, he restrained himself from doing so, as he knew it would only make the poor queen worse. After standing and listening to her cry in her sleep for an hour or so, the young man done as he was told and went to pack his bags. If he couldn't help the queen with her grief, he would at least help her in battle, that is... if there even was a battle to be had.

The next morning, Grimhilde woke from her uncomfortable slumber by a single hand and faint whisper. "Your majesty... your majesty…" a servants voice repeated, echoing on past her ears into her unconscious mind. With her rousing came a slight shake, as the ever faithful maid gently rocked her body to and fro in worry. "Get off me…" the queen snapped, before swiftly lifting her hands to her glassy eyes and makeup stained cheeks in an attempt to hide her previous nights sorrow.
"The blacksmith my queen, he's gone, he's-" 

"I know" Grimhilde replied bluntly, whilst rising to her feet and turning her back to the woman whom had so gingerly woken her. Her body ached all over and she must of looked a state, even more so than usual. 'I am too unsightly to be a queen...' she thought to herself, with her raven black hair ruined by silver streaks and porcelain cheeks stained with black and purple. She kept her back to the maid as her mind wandered, despite sneering terribly. How dare she wake her and how dare she look at her whilst she was less than perfect. She had no right, she deserved to be banished- or worse. Fortunately, Grimhilde's rage was quelled by the realization that she hadn't asked her father who was fairest of them all that day. She hadn't had her fix. With Snow White out of the kingdom and in the arms of a loving prince, there was a chance that the icy queen could once more regain her title- thats if her pale cheeks and cold heart could compare to the merry blush and warm soul of her stepdaughter. Without giving the nervous young servant any more time or insight as to why she had collapsed in the castle's halls and not her bed chamber, the Queen began to storm towards the grand doors of her room- with a newfound confidence. She burst into the space, pushing the heavy wood with a great amount of force, which in turn caused it to swing open and crash into the stonework of the wall. She made sure to slam them shut however, despite her over-dramatic entrance, for the last thing she wanted was people knowing her little secret and obsession- especially when they were likely to accuse her of being a witch (which she was, yet she did not care to fight against the hoard of an angry mob or lose her crown to inferior beings and their fear). With one dainty hand turning the key and then sliding over the heavy metal bolt to keep the outside world locked out, Grimhilde slowly diverted her gaze over towards the mirror. The drapes she had torn down were still lying on the floor and allowing the cheering outside world to shine in, something which made her already prominent sneer worsen. As she approached the magic glass, the queen lost a bit of her confidence, thanks to her wandering mind. Snow White may of left the kingdom over night or still be on her way, yet still Grimhilde would have been in her shadow either way. With her envy escalating, the wicked queen couldn't help but find herself longing to be not fairest in the kingdom or land, but fairest in the world. That way, she would have power over everyone and be admired by all. Of course such a dream was unobtainable with her once precious stepdaughter still being alive and with the jolly, ever dependable Verona still being in existence, something which made the Queens blood boil furiously. Something had to be done about it. Something had to be done with them.

"Magic Mirror on the wall... who is fairest of them all?" she questioned, once close enough to clearly see her reflection and all its 'imperfections'. In a cloud of purple smoke came her fathers face, sullen and serious as ever. He gazed upon her with hollow eyes, something which made Grimhilde feel uncomfortable. "Snow White, my queen, she has yet to leave the border of your kingdom. The princes noble steed rides swift and strong, with a pace that shames the wind, yet still they are within the boundaries of what you own". With a look of what could only be described as pure disgust, the queen gritted her teeth tightly together and dug her nails into the palms of her hands- almost making them bleed. "Tell me, slave, if I were to remove Snow White.... and.... Verona... completely, would I be fairest of them all?" her toxic emerald eyes narrowed as she spoke, in both jealousy and warning to the image of her father. The spirit hesitated for a moment, before finally answering, "....There are many beautiful women out there, my queen, most pale in comparison to your beauty-". Enraged by the start of his cryptic answer, Grimhilde found herself slamming her small hands upon the mantle in front of the mirror, so that she could lean in and bark in the face of the slave. "WILL I, OR WILL I NOT BE FAIREST OF THEM ALL!?" she demanded, almost spitting upon the glass as she snarled with anger. She was irritated by his unwilling to answer directly. "...There are some beauties that still outshine you my queen, not in flesh... but in heart. Their loving souls adds a radience to their fair glow and their naive nature brings an innocence upon them that many find captivating. Yet the elegance and sophistication your queenly nature brings... rivals even the most purest of women. I cannot be sure, my queen, for it is like comparing to halves of the same coin. I can assure you that these women are few and far between, for such perfect beauty becomes rarer by the day". With a cruel smirk lining her rose red lips, Grimhilde finally lifted her slender fingertips from resting upon the mantlepiece, so that she could proudly fold her arms over her chest. "You must try to not let your worries trouble you too greatly, my queen, for the punishment of stress is starting to take its tole and mar your once flawless reflection" the mirror warned, before silencing all together. Despite tutting and curling her lips in disproval, the queen cast an icy stare upon her fathers soul. "Soon, I shall have nothing to worry about, slave, for soon there shall be none left to rival me. You will tell me, man in the mirror, all those that rival me and all those that are close to doing so. I shall start with the weakest and finish with my daughter, Snow White". This is why she had done it, this is why she had changed, the queen thought to herself. Her icy heart and merciless nature, alongside being fairest, had given her confidence, something which she had always struggled to get. All of the weeping she had done the previous night had meant nothing, she would make sure of it (and she would also make sure not to lose herself to the fragile, pathetic woman, that still desperately clung to the shattered remains of her heart ever again). Accepting second best was not worth all of the misery, not when she could obtain what she truly wanted- what she had always wanted and be eternally comfortable. No longer was she content with simply being 'fairest in the land', not when she had the opportunity to literally be 'fairest of them all'. Every girl, every woman that dared to try and overshadow her beauty would perish, whether they were on that continent or the next. She would abuse the gift the three sisters had given her and use her powers in witchcraft to gain the upper hand should a war break out. She would ask the blacksmith to be her assassin and manipulate him to do her bidding by exploiting the unyielding love he had for her beauty and the woman she once was. It was all coming together now, it all seemed so easy. If things went wrong, she could deny everything and pin the blame on Winthrop. After all, who's word would the people believe, that of a queen... or that of a lowly blacksmith?

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Oh, you do remember me then, Winthrop? I assumed that your memories and visions had been obscured by my stepdaughter, Snow White. Still, I am glad that you have acknowledged true beauty- and that it has made a lasting impression on you. There is a reason as to why I am here, boy, and it is not because I require your metal working skills. Pack your bags and bring only your best creations. There is a war approaching and intend to win. *With a slight smirk, the Queen held out her left hand towards the young blacksmith.*

Pet Treasure

Golden Bauta Mask

Bathilde

Purple Tinged Haunted Crystal

Preserved Spider in a Jar

Preserved Snake in a Jar

Preserved Skull in a Jar

Green Tinged Haunted Crystal

Spooky Moon Sticker

Gore

Small Stage Row Boat

Heart Beanbag

Deathly Alchemy Jar

Preserved Eyeball in a Jar

King Rag Doll

Very Old Story Book

Suspicious Wanted Poster

Witchs Cauldron

Purple Woolen Shawl

October 2012 Collection

Chemicals

Experimental Reversal Concoction

Thatched House Playset

Fearsome Warrior Figurine

Bitten Caramel Apple

Medieval Research Notes

Wicked Queens Lace Gown

Stygian Skull

Dancing Ghost Circle

Biseasonal Swallow

Skull

Seat of Daggers

Dwarf Miniature

Ebony Friendship Curls

Lotion

Viv Blustery Long Lasting Lipstick

Blue Winters Cloak

Black Winters Cloak

Ruby Winters Cloak

Bag of Broken Cathedral Glass

Piece of Lost Soul

Moonlit Castle

Malevolent Dragon Plushie

Lively Alchemy Jar

Wicked Candle

Aura of Mortal Terror

Oval Scrying Mirror

Eau De Toxic

Eternally Burning Candle

Haunted Mirror Prop

Lightning Bolt

Ruby Dagger

Twilight Harvester Raincloak

Poison Red Apple

Goblet of Youth

Nightmarish Cloud

Ye Royale Proclamatione

Enchanted Elegant Hand Mirror

Blue Mirror

Mascara

Blush

Tiny Gold Crown

Red Lipstick

Poison Perfume

Nori Bracelet

Ancient Scrap of Parchment

ILU Sundae

Boysenberry and Chocolate Swirl Cone

Book of Twisting Shadows

Birds

Ice Cream with Chocolate Sauce

Empty Arm Basket

Tattered Old Book

Cherry

Stained Glass Pendant

Apple Blossom Queens Crown

Golden Jeweled Necklace

Travel Candle

Pirate Booty

Book of Ancient Black Magic

Bottled Hatred

Dead Person

Candles

Envious Matter

Essence of Anti-Festivity

Mirror of Darkness

Pet Friends