The Maid of the Cursed Princess

After Dorothy’s departure to enlist additional allies for the scheme to safeguard Sibylla, a minor predicament manifested within the Witch’s sanctum.

“…”

“…”

In particular, the frequency with which Sibylla – who had reclaimed a measure of mobility – and the Witch’s paths intersected had markedly increased. 

The two, who customarily eschewed superfluous interaction or discourse by communicating solely through Dorothy as an intermediary, now found themselves inadvertently startling one another whenever their trajectories converged within the confines of the cramped domicile during Dorothy’s absence. An unmistakable discomfiture permeated these chance encounters without Dorothy’s presence to serve as a buffer.

“…Haah, it appears one of you harbors something that yearns to be expressed – why not simply give voice to it rather than allowing it to fester any longer?”

Feeling increasingly neurotic in this predicament, the Witch ultimately shattered the impasse by initiating dialogue.

To her, remaining in solitude alongside Sibylla under these present circumstances engendered profound unease. Nay, merely confronting Sibylla at all had metamorphosed into an immensely uncomfortable ordeal.

In times past, when Sibylla remained ignorant of her role as the architect of the curse, the Witch might have engaged in casual banter. However, now that the truth had been unveiled, the Witch found herself disquieted by Sibylla’s hostile gaze.

Had it been pure animosity, a straightforward resentment toward an adversary, that would have been one matter. But the Witch recoiled from confronting that gaze, laden with a myriad of petty emotions intermingled with hostility, perhaps owing to her son’s involvement.

“So, are you truly that ‘Medea’ of legend?”

“You’ve already been apprised of as much, so why trouble yourself with such an inquiry?”

The Witch retorted irritably to Sibylla’s question, which was imbued with those varied, conflicting emotions.

“I am indeed Medea. The witch who has endured through an interminably protracted existence that would have witnessed a mortal born and perish dozens of times over. The very Medea who sowed the seeds of the curse upon your progenitor.”

The Witch harbored no inclination to obfuscate her true identity – or rather, no compulsion to do so, considering herself blameless in the matter.

“What, then? Do you intend to strike me now that you stand face-to-face with your sworn nemesis? By all means, make the attempt. The culprit who caused your body to decay like a corpse interred in the earth stands before you.”

Advancing with purposeful strides and thrusting her visage forward, the Witch goaded Sibylla, as if yearning to be struck.

“…For what purpose?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

Yet Sibylla refused to succumb to the Witch’s provocative overtures.

“Just strike me cleanly, I implore you. Seize my tresses, deliver a stinging blow to my cheek, encircle my neck with your hands – go forth and vent your frustrations to your heart’s content.”

“…”

Though her hand trembled at the Witch’s goading, Sibylla merely shook her head repeatedly, as if some weighty matter burdened her thoughts.

“…Tsk, what a vexatious woman.”

Clicking her tongue at Sibylla’s refusal to heed her baiting provocations, the Witch instead reclined upon a dust-laden armchair.

“Do you yearn to know? The impetus behind my curse upon the House of Orléans?”

“…Indeed, I would.”

“If that be your desire, then allow me to indulge you… hold a moment.”

As if struck by a sudden realization, the Witch’s nascent irritation subsided into contemplative recollection:

“Surely you must be cognizant? Being of Orléans lineage, you must be familiar with the legend of Jason.”

The Epic of Jason, meticulously compiled by an author who had woven myriad historical sources into a singular, definitive narrative, had become a literary sensation of unparalleled renown. Concurrently, it stood as a tale that, quite uniquely for a founding myth, laid bare the personal failings and flaws of its protagonist, Jason.

Whether due to the author’s own position as a priest of the Lateran Papal State, neither the Orléans royal family nor its citizens paid much heed to their founder’s shortcomings. As such, Jason’s founding myth bore the distinctive aspect of being both an origin story and an epic of a hero with multifaceted complexity.

“You cannot possibly be ignorant of his reputation as a womanizer, nor the tribulations he endured as a consequence. Unless, perchance, you have not perused that epic.”

“…I have indeed read the epic.”

Within its narrative structure, Medea emerges as a character who falls deeply in love with Jason, employing her arcane arts to support him through various trials. 

However, she also reveals a profoundly cruel facet, such as dismembering her own brother and casting his remains into the sea to confound pursuers. She could also be deemed Jason’s ultimate adversary, leaving a curse to be perpetuated through generations when he turned his back on her, repulsed by her ruthlessness.

“So tell me, then – can every word inscribed within that epic truly be accepted as incontrovertible fact?”

“In all honesty, there’s more than one or two points I’d be inclined to contest, but it’s far simpler to accept it at face value.”

Medea made no attempt to exculpate herself from the atrocious deeds ascribed within that mythic epic’s verses – neither did she affirm them.

“Ah, but there is one specific detail I would like to elucidate. What reason does it proffer for Jason’s abandonment of me? Was it, perchance, due to my purported cruelty?”

“…That is correct.”

“That is erroneous. I never possessed a sibling to begin with.”

“…?”

Perplexed by Medea’s assertion of being an only child, despite the epic hinging upon her committing fratricide, Sibylla found herself utterly bewildered. If there was no sibling whose demise catalyzed Jason’s rejection of Medea, if it wasn’t rooted in his disillusionment with Medea’s cruelty, then what earthly reason could have precipitated his abandonment?

“Would you care to learn the genuine impetus behind his desertion?”

“…”

As Sibylla nodded, the Witch’s lips parted in a mischievous smile reminiscent of her usual demeanor.

“That lout simply harbored a preference for a more… ‘mature’ feminine physique, shall we say.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Shall I elucidate in more candid terms for your comprehension? In essence-“

It means your ancestor had a predilection for ample bosoms and curvaceous hips.

“…”

“Kuhkuhkuh, why such shock and consternation? Is it so unfathomable for a red-blooded male to harbor aesthetic predilections toward comely women with generous endowments?”

Visibly taken aback by this utterly primal, basal revelation far exceeding any anticipations, Sibylla goggled wordlessly at the Witch.

He abandoned the woman who had aided him in every conceivable manner for such a reason? Merely because she failed to align with his corporeal preferences?

At this shocking claim, Sibylla inadvertently surveyed the Witch… her diminutive and meager form in many respects.

“…It was meant in jest, yet you regard it with such gravity. Might you avert your gaze at present?”

The Witch’s sneer, which she had just affected, swiftly vanished beneath Sibylla’s somewhat pitying gaze directed at her physique.

“…Was that intended as a jest, then?”

“Yes, merely a feeble jest, nothing more. While Glauce was indeed a statuesque woman with generous proportions, Jason did not forsake me solely due to those corporeal endowments.”

Unable to endure how her attempt at levity had strangely engendered such misery, the Witch finally recanted her earlier utterance.

“Indeed, that is what is inscribed in the epic. That my cruel actions precipitated Jason’s abandonment.”

The cruelly spurned Medea inflicting a curse upon her disdainful lover – certainly a tale as old as time, if not older.

“Then perhaps it is best to accept that version of events.”

The Witch elected not to refute that narrative.

“Yet you just proclaimed with your own lips that you had no sibling.”

“Perchance I had a sibling of whose existence I was unaware. Or mayhap it was an elder brother. Does the distinction truly matter?”

Jason is undoubtedly criticized for his colorful womanizing and rather petty aspects unbefitting a hero, yet he remains a beloved figure.

Particularly among his direct descendants who had inherited those signature golden tresses and azure irises radiating with solar resplendence, their admiration toward that ancestor would logically intensify commensurately.

“There’s no one left to bear witness, regardless.”

An expression suffused with regret and bitterness.

That was the final consideration the Witch could extend to the man she once despised, and loved even more profoundly.

“…Though it hardly matters voicing this admission so belatedly, I never envisioned that curse would endure for such a protracted period.”

Shading her expression beneath the brim of her oversized hat as if unable to directly confront her own transgression’s sacrificial victim, the Witch continued with apparent shame:

“When I laid the curse, I also divulged to him the key to its dissolution. Even if Jason himself proved incapable of lifting it, I believed future generations would succeed.”

Yet that solution toward unraveling the curse’s stranglehold wasn’t transmitted through the ages. It wasn’t forgotten as time marched inexorably onward, but Jason himself never deigned to speak of it…

…Yet what relevance did any of that hold now? In the final analysis, the one who laid the curse is someone else entirely.

“…I’m sorry.”

In a voice far more sincere and slightly tremulous than her usual demeanor, the Witch finally offered her apology.

To the innocent victims who had fallen prey to her blind vengeance.

“…”

Indeed, should this contrition be accepted?

Sibylla remained silent. She answered with her taciturnity.

Perhaps the hammer of judgment over the Witch had been placed in her hands. Such was Sibylla’s contemplation.

If her life had been irrevocably obliterated, destined only to wallow in perpetual anguish awaiting death’s sweet release prior to Dorothy’s intervention, did she not possess justifiable grounds to wield this hammer?

“…I cannot accept your apology, for you are not the sole entity in need of atonement.”

But in the end, Sibylla refrained from swinging the hammer. Nor did she extend forgiveness to the Witch.

“Until an eternity of time washes away your transgression, live your life in constant penitence.”

Sibylla deemed this the most fitting punishment she could administer.

“…Very well.”

As the Witch rose to depart in resigned acceptance of that decreed sentence, the front door abruptly burst open at that very moment:

“I’m a trifle late… what is this tense atmosphere I find myself interrupting?”

Dorothy had finally returned. The buffer to prevent their clash.

“Princess, though it may seem excessively harsh for one who has just risen from their sickbed, I implore you to prepare for departure.”

Adopting a far more resolute attitude than usual, Dorothy announced:

“Tonight, we will commence the plan.”