Prompt: Rory’s Story Cubes, enchanted pack. Three dice roll. Frog. Red Riding Hood. Magic mirror.
Henric leaned back in his chair and glared at the clock on the wall. Lucy Reddington was late for their meeting. Again. At this rate they’d never find the right woodcutter to take care of Red’s wolf problem.
He sighed and pulled out his compact magic mirror.
In my hand,
Where doth Lucy Reddington stand?”
The glass clouded over and then an image appeared. And something was wrong.
Lucy, all bedecked in her long red cloak, was not in her forest, or her village, or on the path to his manor house. No, she was sitting at the edge of the pond in the North King’s garden, talking to the frog prince who was meant to marry the North King’s daughter.
Henric groaned. This was wrong, all wrong. This was why fairy tales sometimes had unhappy endings.
“I give up,” he finally cried when Lucy kissed the frog and turned him into the Prince of the West. “Well, we’ll try again in fifty years.”
That was how long it took for a cycle to work itself back to where it should be, where the writers and creators wanted it to be. If one thing fell out of place everything would go to hell before it was fixed.
He tossed down the magic mirror in disgust, not even bothering to check in on anyone else. It would be bad.
Cinderella rushed from the ball, her glass slippers staying right on her feet. With no calling card her prince had no way to find her.
Snow White’s Hunter was halfway through butchering the deer when he changed his mind. The Queen would certainly kill him for such a deception. The girl’s footsteps were easy to track.
The furniture and cutlery in the Beast’s castle fell silent and Beauty, with no one to try and get her out of her room, withered away to nothing.
It would be a long fifty years.