Once upon a time there was an evil king who ruled his land with fear. Despite his ferocity, he collected beautiful things. And despite his love for beauty, his collection was still frightening.
Most prized off all was his garden of statues, collected from near and far, local and from exotic lands across the seas and in the skies. Among them were artists, queens, kings, peasants...even birds and beasts. He was a man who could not bear to pass up beauty, hated for it to leave his view. He had a desire to preserve what he saw as if it was the antidote to evil, as if he would counter-act his karma. He loved to parade his visitors throughout his garden, telling a brief history of the statues, where they had come from, the history...and most interestingly, when he had met them.
Often times, this disturbed his guests, but the King never noticed this. He was always enthralled by his treasures, everytime he strolled through the grounds it took him back to the first time he laid his eyes on the figures.
Guests also noticed what particular care he took of a certain three. These three were in the middle of his garden, like a grand centerpiece. These were three he had loved in his life. Three who burned in his memories, who he could not let go.
The first was a fairy who had flown into his garden. She wandered aimlessly around, jumping and playing in the sun. She soon fell asleep at the foot of a statue, one of a small lad holding a set of pipes. While she was sleeping, the sun set. And as the sun set, it caught her wings and sent a sparkle up to the window of the Kings chamber. When it caught his eye, he charged down into the garden to see who was trespassing. As he approached her sleeping figure and focused his eyes, he saw that she was Fae and desired her for his own. He reached out a cold pale hand and she awoke. Fear glinted in her sparkling eyes and she started to fly away, but alas it was too late, for she had begun to turn. The last sound she made was a thud as her lithe body, turned to stone, fell to the ground. And forever she stayed.
The second of his treasured statues was a warrior, with wonderful gold and silver armor, which he had constantly shined up. She was as beautiful as she was she was peculiar, and the only of his victoms that had sought him out. She was a centaur filly, sent by her clan to kill the evil king. Trained since birth for this reason, She had no family. It was easier, the elders told her, to fight this way, without attachment. So she became, cold, calculating and developed a critical aim. She felt a slow, seething rage for this mad man. New always travels fast, But bad news travels faster and all this news was about his evil deeds done to hapless denizons. The Gods had not been behind her that day. The moment she lifted her arm to send her weapon into his blackend heart, he cast his spell and her body began to freeze. The intent never left her ebony eyes, but her muscled arm did fall. Her spear ever left her hand.
The last of the statues was the most special to the king. She was, once, his first true love. She had been regular village girl, her family an assembly of outcasts of society. Of course, she had been beautiful, they always were...but she was the begining of it all, and he took special care of her statue. He was often spotted cleaning her and decorating her with fresh flowers and shooing away the birds that flocked to rest on her dainty shoulders. She had been wholesome, a good girl, full of the innocence the young posess and rush to lose. They met in the village square, quite by chance. She was crying, jade green eyes rimmed in red, full of blue, freshly beaten for not earning enough money that day. She was useless as a sales person for she was generous and daydreamed too often. And she ran strait into him, a crime really, for someone so poor to disregard a noble so carelessly.
He could recall quite clearly the sound of her gasping when she looked up and realized what she had done. He could smell her hair, the scent of flowers and sun and smoke. He often tried to remember her voice but could not.
From that moment on, he wanted only to care for her. When he snuck off to visit her in the market, he often tucked coins into her money bag to cover her expenses so she wouldnt be beaten, and so they could sneak away from everyone.
They were hopelessly in love. And then the unthinkable happened. Her father, a greedy, miserable man took notice of his daughters budding beauty and did the unthinkable. Without her knowledge or permission, he arranged for her to wed a her second cousin, a considerably older man who lived far, far away. Coincidently, he was a rich man who had promised a large dowry for her hand.
"You will leave tomorrow" is what he said.
She ran to the young man who would be the evil king and sobbed the story onto his shoulder.
She would have to leave. They couldnt ever be together, not really. He was her father, it was his right.
He wouldnt have her leave him, though he knew what she said was true. It was a dream that would never come true.
But. He wouldnt have her leave him. Not under those circumstances. Not to be with another man. Traded for gold like a beast. So, he did what he knew to be best, and she would be safe with him. Revered. Treasured. She was a treasure, his treasure. Forever, in his garden of statues.
