7 February 2024

The idea of clockwork people, clockwork life, has fascinated me for a long time. While I was considering the subject, it kind of blended with the stories of Pinocchio and Galatea, which I realized are actually really similar. So I came up with this.

The hiss of steam and the whir of gears kept a steady rhythm all around Geppyg as he worked. That was fairly common in this section of the mobile fortress; it had to keep moving somehow.

His crooked fingers ran over the small gears and springs of his magnum opus; a beautiful, dancing automaton woman. Galatea. How many years had he worked on her now? How often had he despaired of ever finishing? It had taken him decades to accept she would never truly live, but… Well, he would do what he could, and that would have to be enough.

Just as he finished his most recent touches, a loud knock came from his workshop door. He hobbled over on his bad leg and opened it to find the most aggressively beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her dress was a deep violet, made of fine silk with fur trim, and somehow had not a speck of dust or oil stain, despite the tight, dingy halls of the maintenance zone. She must be a top-sider; what would she want with him?

She swept passed him and began studying Galatea. A sudden fear gripped Geppygmo’s heart; had rumors of his creation reached topside? Was this woman going to take his life’s work to use as a side-show curiosity at one of their infamous parties?

“Hmm. Intriguing. What is her name?”

“Galatea, your ladyship.” That question calmed him down somewhat. If she cared enough to know her name, she would at least properly care for Galatea well; that might be the best he could hope for at this point. Better than being forgotten in a foolish old man’s abandoned workshop.

“Galatea. A lovely name.” She looked up and gave him a knowing smile. “You love her, don’t you, Geppyg?”

He started. How did she…?

“If you want, I can bring her to life,” the woman said. A strange ball of light appeared in her hand, and she held it over Galatea’s chest. “She would be able to move and think freely, and she would love you. You’d be free to be married; I would officiate the wedding myself. What do you think?”

Geppyg’s eyes went wide. This was Aphrodite. Here. In his shop. Then he paused to consider the implications of her offer. He looked down at his gnarled and withered hands.

“If I werre still thirty or forty years younger, I may greedily accepted, your ladyship,” Geppyg said. He gazed fondly at Galatea, and even rested a hand on her shoulder. “But… If she is to live, she shouldn’t be tied to an old fool like me. No… no, Galatea is not my wife.” He looked Aphrodite straight in the eye. “She is my daughter.”

Aphrodite’s smile widened. “Done.” Then everything grew so bright, Geppyg couldn’t see anything.

4 October 2022

It was hard to write over the 4th and the 5th. I think I was in a slump because of how frustrated I was with the last chapter of Ella and Kal’s story. I still had Cinderella on my mind, though, so I wrote up a quick one shot detailing another way I thought to break it. Why is Cinderella one of the easiest fairy tales to twist, I wonder? Or does it just seem that way because it’s the most common one to get twisted?

“Hm? But I don’t want to marry the prince.”

Marge, freshly-minted fairy godmother, couldn’t believe her ears. “You don’t want the prince?” She didn’t know what to do; the manual hadn’t covered something like this!

“No way. I’ve never met the man; why would I want to marry him? No, I’m after Thomas, the baker’s son from two streets over.”

Marge knew that bakery. Their jelly tarts were divine. But this wasn’t the time for that. “I… I… I don’t know what to do about that.”

Cinderella cocked her head to the side. “You’re my fairy godmother, right?”

“Of course!” Marge squared her shoulders.

“Then, it’s your job to help me find happiness, right?”

“Yes…”

“So if my happiness is going to be with a baker’s son instead of a prince, you should help me achieve that, right?”

That made sense. “So how do I do that? The manual focused almost exclusively on princes.”

Cinderella rubbed her chin. “Well, the baker’s son isn’t the problem; I’ve got that covered.” She beamed in joy, then glared in the direction of her step-mother’s room. “No, if there’s a problem… Could you get me away from the witch and her two daughters?”

“Witch!?” Marge had heard about those; nasty business. Sleeping curses, transforming into dragons… Marge might need to get help if there was a witch involved.

Cinderella rolled her eyes. “I just mean my step-mom.” Under her breath, she added, “At least, I don’t think she’s actually a witch. Wouldn’t surprise me, though…”

Fortunately, Marge hadn’t heard that, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she thought for a moment. “Erm, maybe I could make you a carriage? I noticed a lovely pumpkin I could use growing out in the garden. The two of you could elope. That’d be so romantic!”

Cinderella wavered a bit, then finally said, “It’s an option. I’d like to leave it as a last resort, though; I don’t want to take him away from his family and his bakery if I don’t have to.”

“Oh.” Marge hemmed and hawed for a bit, but she couldn’t come up with anything. “I’m sorry. In most cases, once Cinderella marries the prince, he takes care of the step-mother for her.”

“Say, there’s an idea,” Cinderella said. “What if I got the prince to just owe me, instead? Then he can cut my ties with the old hag, and I’m good to go!”

“What kind of favor?” Marge asked.

Cinderella pondered for a moment. “Is the prince in love with anyone?”

Marge cocked her head. “Isn’t he in love with you?”

Cinderella groaned and facepalmed. “Like I said, we’ve never even met, so I certainly hope not.” She eyed the glass slippers. “You said they change size so they won’t fit anyone but me?”

“That’s right.”

“Go take them to the prince and find out if he’s fallen in love with someone. If he has, make the shoes fit that person instead, and offer them to the prince in exchange for his help with my step-mother. Sound good?”

Marge didn’t think it sounded good at all. It sounded like a lot of trouble, and who knows what could happen? But she didn’t have any better ideas, so she took the shoes and headed for the prince.

25 September 2022

This one also got a little dark. I really like the idea that Hansel and Gretel grew up to be badass, and they took something from the witch when they escaped. From their, it made sense they would pay dear old step-mother a visit, but… Yeah, as much as I enjoy darker stories like Arcane, I don’t think I have the right mentality to write them.

Also, I had that stupid song stuck in my head all day at work one day, and this was how I put a spin on it to keep my brain occupied.

“The cat came back, the very next day.

The cat came back; she thought he was a goner.

But the cat came back; he just wouldn’t stay away.”

The older woman seated on the couch stood and whirled to look at the man who’d been singing. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm folded, while in his other hand he juggled a single knife. He had dark hair and wore a black duster over a similarly dark outfit.

“Who, who are you?” the woman squeaked.

“Ah, you do not remember me? My heart is wounded!” The man clutched his chest, but his mouth slipped into a smile that never reached his eyes. “Did you hear that, dear sister? She does not remember us!”

From across the room, in the hall beyond the doorway, a young woman’s voice lilted through. 

“Oh, the cat came back, the very next day.

The cat came back; she thought she was a goner.

But the cat came back; she just wouldn’t stay away.”

As the chorus finished, a woman in her mid- to early-twenties, same as the dark-clothed man, entered the room. She, too, was dressed all in black, save for some dark red accents. She wore pants, which would have made the older woman aghast were she not so terrified. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a braid, and she wore a feathered tricorn hat. Strange, arcane accouterments hung from her belt.

She smiled cruelly. “And after you tried so hard to kill us all those years ago? You’re going to break my heart, mother dearest!”

The older woman’s eyes went wide. “That’s not possible!”

“Hm. You would think so. Yet here we are, aren’t we, Gretel?” The man slowly began to walk towards the older woman.

“But, you were both dead!” The woman backed away from the two, and her eyes darted for some way out of the room. Unfortunately, the only two doors were the ones the siblings had used to enter.

Gretel stepped closer. “No, though the old witch certainly gave it her best shot, didn’t she, Hansel? Still…” She raised her hand, and a ball of ghostflame flickered into existence. “I did manage to pick up a few of her tricks, so I should thank you for that I suppose.”

The old woman had backed herself into the corner by this point. “No! Please! I, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Hansel asked, one eyebrow raised.

“So, if, for example,” Gretel asked, and traced a finger down the old woman’s face. “If I said I felt peckish, and that I’d always wondered why that old witch was so eager to eat children…”

The blood drained from the old woman’s face. “No, please! They’re only children! I beg of you!”

Hansel’s eyes flashed. “What were we, then, when you sent us to the witch?”

“You should have seen her salivating,” Gretel added. “Children must be quite tasty.”

The woman wailed and fainted. Both of the twins looked down on her in disgust. Gretel almost went to kick her, then thought better of it. Instead, she crouched next to the woman and held a hand over her head as she recited words from an unknowable language.

“And what will that do?” Hansel asked.

“Nightmares,” Gretel said, “every night, for the rest of her days. She will watch her children being eaten by monsters over and over again. I felt she should get to see for herself what she put us through.”

He nodded once, and the two left, with no trace they’d ever been there except for the unconscious woman in the corner.