The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Friend.

That single word held immense significance for the boy.

Prior to their encounter, the chances of the timid, introverted boy forging any amicable bonds amid the harsh slums had been exceedingly bleak.

Yet the girl had approached this reclusive boy, extending her hand with a radiant, sunshine-warmth of a smile.

-Let’s become friends. Best friends!

The boy recalled the girl’s emerald irises, unable to banish them from his ruminations.

Why did those ordinary eyes persistently linger, eyes one could encounter anywhere?

The boy couldn’t comprehend the peculiar allure this ostensibly unremarkable girl exuded.

“Hello, Araignée!”

“…Hello, Robin.”

Thus, the boy-

No, Araignée, had sought out the girl Robin once more.

“…I can’t believe you managed to uncover such a place.”

“What, you mean this spot? Even adults seldom venture here.”

The secluded rendezvous point where the two children convened was a quaint, miniature parkland ill-befitting its squalid slum environs. And a solitary tree shading lush blossoms birthing amidst the surrounding desolation.

“Who could have imagined such a place would be hidden amidst the sewers?”

An undiscovered offshoot passage accessed by ascending a particular sewage access stairwell.

What Robin had christened their ‘Oasis’, this diminutive oasis the pair had claimed as their clandestine haven and bastion.

“Not even a whiff of sewage, how amazing…”

“That’s right, I sense a rather pleasant fragrance instead!”

Enraptured by the idyllic perfection of their oasis, neither Robin nor Araignée could conceal their exhilarated elation.

“You seem to like it here as well, Araignée? I can see you smiling!”

“…Me?”

Only after reflexively raising his hand to his lips did the boy realize his features had unconsciously softened into a tender smile, so utterly entranced by their oasis’s splendors.

“Yeah! Why don’t we endeavor to make it feel even more like our own clandestine haven?”

Robin proclaimed, putting her hands on the hips.

“Not that it needs much altering… someone has clearly already been quite industrious here.”

“Hehe☆”

For the oasis already bore traces of diligent efforts throughout its nooks and crannies – the unmistakable hallmarks of some unseen female resident’s dedicated handiwork.

“Speaking of which… you’re still wearing that raincoat today, I see.”

Reclining against the tree’s shade, Araignée scrutinized Robin’s familiar ensemble inquisitively.

While lacking multiple outfits was an understandable predicament among the destitute slums, why would she insist on wearing a conspicuous raincoat – and such a vibrant sunshine-yellow one at that – on fair-weathered days?

“Well if I traipsed around those dreary surroundings in this cheery yellow raincoat, everyone would surely recognize me, wouldn’t they?”

“…I suppose…”

And just who did she aspire to gain such recognition from within these unforgiving slums?

Likely no one, Araignée thought, for it was hardly a locale where notoriety garnered anything desirable. Yet Robin’s perspective seemed to differ.

“And if I don’t incorporate some semblance of color amidst all that dreariness, the world would become far too dismal. Especially the Court of Miracles.”

“So you’re staying at the Court of Miracles now…”

He had heard the current King of the Court of Miracles, Clopân Trouillefou, treated children with benevolence – for that very moniker was only bestowed upon those renowned for extending compassion toward the meek.

Yet each Clopân’s specific inclinations varied, and this current incarnation seemed particularly doting toward underprivileged youths, albeit advanced in years and afflicted with some manner of infirmity that might limit their tenure’s duration.

“Did the Court of Miracles’s ruler provide you with that raincoat as well, then?”

“No, this… you see, I have owned this raincoat since before taking up residence there.”

“…It doesn’t look that old, though.”

Robin’s raincoat remained vibrant and radiant, its pristine hues showing no signs of fading.

Regarding its unnaturally vivid, eye-catchingly bright coloration so starkly contrasting the drab slum environs, Araignée instinctively furrowed his brow in discomfort.

“Just looking at it pains my eyes… how can you wear something so garish?”

“Really? I haven’t found it particularly straining myself. Perhaps I have simply grown accustomed to it through extended wear? Mmm… in any case, enough about raincoats!”

Thump! Accompanied by an emphatic thud, Robin retrieved and deposited a bundled rectangular parcel before them.

“A new riddle for you! Can you discern the contents within this bundle?”

“How should I know… some kind of box, perhaps?”

“Heeheehee, the guessing noises you’re making are adorable… but the answer is~!”

Swiftly unveiling the bundle’s contents with a theatrical flourish:

“A storybook!”

“…A storybook?”

This marked Araignée’s inaugural encounter with the concept of fairy tales.

“Araignée, do you… enjoy fairy tales?”

“…No.”

Araignée was certainly familiar with the notion of fairy tales, or at least the term itself.

But he had neither experienced reading one firsthand, nor had any parental figure ever recounted such whimsical narratives to him.

“They’re childish trifles solely for kids.”

Thus, Araignée instinctively deflected based on the scant snippets he had overheard regarding fairy tales’ target demographics.

“And are we not children ourselves?”

“…”

As always, his feeble rebuttal swiftly crumbled under the most rudimentary scrutiny, yet:

“So what if they are childish? Just because adults disdain them doesn’t obligate children to share their contempt. And besides…” 

Thrusting the open tome toward him with an impish grin. 

“Even you won’t be able to resist their enchantment once you have sampled them for yourself.”

Araignée could only avert his gaze toward the proffered book – , its title proclaimed – regarding its cover illustration’s almost garishly juvenile aesthetic with furrowed skepticism.

“It’s going to be really interesting, you know? Much more than you can imagine.”

“…”

Just how engrossing could a tale featuring such patently puerile imagery possibly be?

Well, he had ample enough time to indulge this lark, he supposed. What was the harm in humoring her whimsical request, even if he harbored scant expectations?

And so, after completing that initial volume without further preamble, Araignée ultimately uttered in a hushed murmur:

“…The next one.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you have the next book?”

Bring me more.

No, bring me everything you have.

* * *

Only after devouring the entirety of the original’s considerable girth alongside its equally hefty sequels comprising three tomes in total did Araignée’s rapturous literary binge finally abate.

“Well? Did you enjoy them? Didn’t I tell you?”

Beholding Araignée’s enraptured obliviousness to the passage of time as he had become utterly enthralled, Robin regarded him with an unmistakably smug, self-satisfied countenance.

That elicited an impulse to playfully punch her – an urge Araignée ultimately suppressed.

“…Yes, they were fun.”

Undoubtedly so, to have so thoroughly captivated him that he had lost all awareness of his surroundings. Eeven forgetting his own dismissive remarks.

“For a child to relish fairy tales is neither childish nor peculiar, because such fairy tales possess a unique enchantment all their own.”

“A unique… enchantment?”

Araignée couldn’t comprehend Robin’s words, for having scarcely experienced reading beyond these introductory fairy tales, how could he discern their nuanced distinctions compared to other literary mediums?

“Every fairy tale, every story harbors its own distinct significance and meaning to impart. And I imagine that singular essence resonating with the reader is what kindles such joy and rapture within them.”

“Is that so…?”

“Yes, I am quite certain of it!”

Yet despite his lingering inability to fully grasp her reasoning, Araignée instinctively nodded along with Robin’s assertions. Perhaps simply desiring to voice his accord despite his imperfect comprehension.

An inherently ludicrous paradox, signifying agreement while lacking true understanding, yet such simplistic mentalities epitomized the nature of childish innocence, didn’t they?

To acquiesce to the declarations of one who had imparted such euphoria held a certain effortless intuition to their unvarnished mindsets.

“Before I knew it, the entire day has slipped away engrossed in fairy tales alone. I should go for now!”

“Ah, wait a moment!”

As Robin made to rise, casting a wistful gaze toward the twilit, crimson-tinted heavens signaling dusk’s imminent onset, Araignée inadvertently clutched her hand to forestall her departure.

“Yes?”

“That is… um…”

Yet even Araignée himself couldn’t pinpoint the compulsion that had prompted grasping Robin’s hand. Was it an aversion to concluding this joyous reverie prematurely? Or did he harbor some unspoken sentiment he yearned to impart?

“Do… Do you have any other fairy tale books? I would like to read… more…”

Whichever impulse it had been, Araignée lacked the courage to be honest.

“Of course! I’ll bring another collection tomorrow!”

Thus, Araignée could only meekly release Robin to take her leave, resigning himself to reverting to his usual self once more.

With Robin’s absence, the rose-tinted ephemera faded as the boy reemerged from the fairy tale’s transient splendors.

“…Still.”

Still, it would be alright.

They’ll be able to meet again tomorrow.

Banishing his encroaching melancholy by nurturing those burgeoning expectations, the boy rose and retraced Robin’s departing footsteps as dusk’s crimson hues faded to inky black.

* * *

“I’m home…”

Murmuring that perfunctory salutation more from instinctive habit than any anticipation of acknowledgment, for none would heed nor remark upon the boy’s homecoming regardless.

“Where the devil have you been gallivanting until this ungodly hour, you little shit?”

“…!?”

Yet an utterly unwelcome voice did accost the boy upon his return.

“Your wretched mother begged me to save you some scraps, yet here you come scurrying back only once the sun’s long set like some filthy sewer rat.”

“…”

The individual addressing the boy was substantially older and imposingly larger – the aged son of his mother’s current intimate, apparently affluent enough amid the squalor to have been bestowed a legitimate name, though the boy could no longer recall what that appellation had been.

Thus, he shall henceforth be referred to as the ‘Ruffian’ for expediency’s sake, as his conduct amply exemplified such boorish demeanors.

“I’m leaving. If you missed your meal, that’s on you – not my blasted concern, you hear?”

“…”

“Did you hear me, you little bastard?”

“Ugh…!”

Punctuating his diatribe with a vicious kick that sent the boy crumpling to the floor.

“Tsk, gods be damned imbecile.”

Spitting a final insult and gob of phlegm upon the prostrate boy’s buckled form, the Ruffian promptly took his leave without further incident.

“…”

Not that the outcome would have differed regardless of his punctuality – he wouldn’t have received so much as a scrap of bread in either case.

As indignation welled within him, the boy ultimately suppressed those impulses, for he stood no chance at effectively retaliating against the Ruffian’s overwhelming physical superiority.

In truth, under normal circumstances such mistreatment would have elicited little more than resignation from one so thoroughly inured to such commonplace abuses.

“…Hic…”

Yet some unfathomable anguish weighed particularly heavily upon the boy’s heart this day, inducing muffled sobs as he huddled his knees tightly and sobbed.

Don’t be so pathetic. You should have long since become accustomed to such dispassionate cruelty.

To become so elated over savoring a fleeting glimpse of happiness, a solitary soul who didn’t outright scorn or ridicule your existence?

How utterly pitiful, how disgracefully pathetic – the nameless get of some whore daring to nurture such starry-eyed naivete.

Did he truly believe the world harbored more than a handful who might harbor any empathy for some slum urchin?

He should have known better, he did know better, yet still:

“…Robin.”

That radiant child’s sunshine warmth beckoned tantalizing in his recollections.

Her tangerine hair, emerald irises, sunshine-yellow raincoat – and most of all:

-…Let’s meet again, tomorrow.

That luminous, resplendent smile seared into his memories, yearning to bask in its incandescent glow once more.