Fairy Tale Villain Support Group
by Faith Monesteri
Faith Monesteri is a junior at Montclair State University, majoring in English. She began writing at a young age, and storytelling is a habit that has followed her for a very long time. She always enjoyed reimaginings of old tales, and when assigned to write a reinterpretation of a fairy tale, she jumped at the chance. Her favorite part about this piece is how much fun she had writing it.
“It’s a magical feeling to have the words flow directly from the brain to the page, and a miraculous feeling to have those words sound coherent on a second read-through. Regardless of how I feel about this piece, I am extremely grateful to be considered for this publication and sincerely thank you.”
Once Upon A Time, there were seven folding chairs, all in a circle.
In one of the folding chairs sat a girl without her heels. In another chair was a girl missing her toes. Together, they were Sisters with two full feet. Their eye sockets were empty voids, not an eyeball in sight. The Sisters held each other’s hands with white knuckles, jumping at any sudden noise.
If the Sisters could see, the first thing they’d notice was how grimy the room was. The second thing they’d notice was that on the third chair was a Wolf. This Wolf was huge, with ears that brushed cobwebs from the ceiling. The Wolf’s coat was an ashen gray, and the light color made the red gash from his esophagus to his intestines all the more noticeable. On all fours, the Wolf sat on a pile of flimsy metal that had collapsed underneath him, yellowish eyes trained on the woman in the fourth chair.
The woman in the fourth chair was a Queen. Her raven black hair hung in a tight braid down her back. The color was striking against her pale skin, which seemed almost transparent. In the right light, and this was the right light, you could see a lightning bolt of veins running up her face. A delicate diadem rested on her head, and burning iron shoes were clamped to her feet. She was chatting at the woman in the fifth chair, talking about her kingdom (that wasn’t hers anymore), her family (who hated her), and her mirror (which was shattered).
In the fifth chair was a Witch, a woman who was burnt to a crisp. She glanced at the Queen. The Witch was huge, almost as tall as the Wolf. Her hairless head was covered with a simple handkerchief, and she wore a pink floral dress with a white apron. Sitting next to her, the Queen could smell nothing but the scent of burning flesh.
In the sixth chair sat a little man. His feet dangled as he sat on the folding chair, and you couldn’t help but notice that the split between his legs extended all the way up to his chin, where it met his scraggly beard. Each ribbon of his body moved independently, and he could do full splits. Someone just had to be there with a towel to clean up any blood that he leaked.
The last chair was empty.
Like all the others, it was a simple folding chair, but the others all arranged themselves to face it a little more. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be drawn to the chair, glancing at it, then glancing back, then doing it again. One of the Sisters shifted in her seat.
“So. Um. How much longer until she arrives?”
The Wolf bared his teeth, then lifted his snout in the air and took a long inhale. “The Wind is telling me fifteen minutes.”
The Queen giggled and clasped her hands on her lap. “Actually, The Shadows just whispered to me that she won’t be here for another hour, at least.”
The little gnome regarded the Queen with a smirk. “I don’t know which Shadows you’re talking to, but my sources tell me she hasn’t even left yet. We’ll be here a day before we see her in the dust.”
The Queen’s eyes darkened. “Are you questioning me?”
He shrugged, a grin growing on his face. “Far be it from me to tell you how to interpret what I say, my Queen.”
The Queen sneered at him and turned back to the Witch, lowering her chatter to a whisper. The little man kept smiling to himself, rubbing his hands together and twisting them around and around in arcane ways.
Although some had tried to guess when she would arrive, no one bothered to check the clock when smoky dust pooled up and around the seventh chair. The dust sat at the foot of the chair, making columns and cones, some small, some large. Then it moved like sand, climbing up the aluminum legs of the chair and swirling around and around on the seat in a spire of dust. It never stopped moving, but constantly remained in a whirlwind, until a human-ish shape could be seen in the storm. The dust particles coalesced and came together until the figure was more corporeal than not. She looked around, brushed some of the remaining dust off of her cloak, and smiled.
She was old and young at the same time, with iron-gray hair and an iron-gray cloak and an iron-gray dress. She sat with authority, looking around at the cast that had assembled. The woman cleared her throat, clapped her hands, and spoke.
“Well! Welcome, everyone, to our support group!” She glanced at the Sisters. “I see we have some newcomers, so I will lay down a few introductory guidelines. When you introduce yourself, please use some sort of pseudonym. We always wish to enforce privacy among our members. Additionally, please do not mention what story you are from, since that can be compromising information. Just your ‘name’ and what brings you here.” She straightened her back. “You may call me the Thirteenth Wise Woman, or just Wise Woman, whatever you prefer. When we began this group, it was decided that I should be a peer facilitator. Since then, I have been doing my best to organize and run these sessions.” She turned to the Sisters. “Young ladies, why don’t you introduce yourselves?”
One sister stood up, her shoulders rounding as everyone looked at her. Her empty gaze was fixed to her shoes and she said, “Hi, I’m a sister and so is she, we’re sisters, and we’re here because she had suggested that we come and talk about everything” all in one breath. She plopped back into her chair as fast as gravity could get her there. Both Sisters looked as if they could feel the eyes on them, and they sank into their chairs.
The Wolf’s growl echoed. “Hello, I’m the Wolf. I’m here to discuss…certain things.” The Thirteenth Wise Woman raised an eyebrow at the Wolf’s vague statement, but didn’t comment, instead turning to the Queen.
“Hello, I’m the Queen, and I’m here because my bitch of a stepdaughter–”
“Your Majesty,” the Thirteenth Wise Woman chastised, “remember what we’ve talked about.”
The Queen dramatically sighed. “Yes, well. Then I’m the Queen. That’s all I have to say.”
The Wise Woman’s facial expression was either a smile or a grimace, it was impossible to tell. Everyone gazed at the charred woman, who didn’t realize it was her turn. She was staring at a fractured tile on the floor. Sooner or later, she felt everyone’s eyes on her and looked up.
“Oh. Witch. Cooked.”
The Witch went back to her examination of the broken floor, and the Thirteenth Wise Woman’s smile and grimace tightened. Her expression reached everywhere but her eyes, which stayed slate gray in their passivity. “Now–”
“I’m Rumplestilskin and I don’t care who knows it.” The little man crossed his arms over his chest and slid down in his chair until only his head was upright against the chair’s back.
The Wise Woman closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “Rumple– I mean, sir, you’ve been here before and you know why we do this–”
“Oh I know, I just don’t give a shit. We’ve been doing the same thing for an eternity. Even if there are no new people here,” he gestured to the Sisters, “you always say the same thing about our names and our stories. I don’t care who knows my story, because if you know my story, you know my name. I am my story, and my story is me.” Rumplestilskin readjusted himself on the seat and straightened his back. “Besides, my name doesn’t hold any power now that everyone knows it. I’m no more magic than the Queen.”
The Queen stood up, towering over Rumplestilskin. “What did you say?”
Her voice was like poison, but Rumplestilskin didn’t flinch, instead meeting her gaze. “You spread the rumor that you’re an enchantress yourself. Everyone knows that you’re just a regular murderer, not a magic one.”
The Queen’s eyes brimmed with fire as she looked down at the small man. “I am not a murderer. My stepdaughter got what was coming to her.”
Rumplestilskin raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Sure.”
The Queen let out a screech and rushed toward Rumplestilskin. Despite her protests about not being a murderer, she looked ready to rip his head from his body. The Thirteenth Wise Woman stepped between them, stopping the Queen with her forearm. Her face was completely neutral as she said, “If you please, my Queen, I prefer all my members to be alive while we talk. Why don’t you have a seat?”
The Queen gawked at the Wise Woman with the look of a child appealing to a parent. “But did you hear what he said?” The Queen pointed at Rumplestilskin. “That’s slander. He’s ruining my reputation.”
The Wise Woman nodded her head slowly, putting a placating hand on the Queen’s shoulder. “I did hear what he said, but we need to get started. We’ll address this during the meeting, and we can only do that if you sit.” She gestured to the Queen’s seat. Pouting, the Queen plopped on her chair and drew herself in. She glared at Rumplestilskin, who was ignoring her and seemed unbothered about the recent attempt on his life. The Thirteenth Wise Woman took her seat again, looking around.
“Since the Queen brought it up, maybe reputation is a good way to start our session today. What do you think your reputations are and how do you feel about them? Wolf, you seem like you have something you want to say.”
The Wolf nodded his huge head. “I believe that my reputation is something cast on me by the people in my story. In my story, I’m a ravenous beast, but I’m also crafty. It seems as though my presence crosses boundaries, not being wild, but not being civilized, either. I think that makes people uncomfortable. And I think people being uncomfortable is something I cannot control, and is therefore not my responsibility.”
“Wonderful, Wolf, thank you.” She glanced around at the group. “Anyone else?”
The Queen’s hand shot up in the air. The Thirteenth Wise Woman avoided the Queen’s gaze until absolutely necessary. She gently bowed her head, and the Queen was like a light. Flip the switch and she was off.
“Well, my reputation is very complicated. Most people think that I’m incredibly vain and jealous. They also think that I’m a great sorceress and that I’m incredibly powerful. So, there’s good and bad to my reputation. I don’t want to be known as vain and jealous because I’m not. I’d rather be known for something…nicer than that. But I do like being known as talented and powerful. I don’t think there’s much wrong with being talented and powerful. Most talented and powerful people are famous, and what’s wrong with that? So, I like parts of my reputation, but not others.”
The Wise Woman nodded her head. “Yes, yes, it is perfectly natural for us to have complex feelings about our reputations. Before we continue, I want to talk about something ‘nicer’ than vanity and jealousy. This question is addressed to the Queen, but anyone can answer it. Is there a nicer way of saying that you’re vain and jealous?”
“Nope,” Rumplestilskin interjected before the question had time to settle in the air.
The Queen scoffed. “Idiot. Of course there is.”
“What would that be?” The Thirteenth Wise Woman prodded.
“Well, I…” The Queen’s perfect brows drew together for a moment before her hand flew up between her eyes and rubbed the spot, trying to scrape out any wrinkles. “I suppose that you could say I value my appearance, in that I like my outer look to reflect how I feel inside. And I’m not jealous, but I’m inspired by certain people to strive for even greater things.”
“HAH!” Rumplestilskin let out a single boisterous laugh, and the Queen’s head whipped towards him. “You actually buy that shit you’re selling? Give me a break!”
“Why you little numbskull, I’ll give you several breaks–”
“I think he’s right.” The Wolf’s low growl seemed to reverberate in the room, and even the Queen seemed shocked at his interjection. “You’re reframing certain aspects of yourself as good things, but you’re not even bothering to analyze how you embody them. Yes, certainly you value your appearance, but you value it too much, and that’s what makes it vanity. Of course you’re inspired by people, but what do they inspire you to do? In the case of Snow White…” The Wolf paid no heed to the Wise Woman’s small gasp at the name. “...she inspired you to go on a rampage and kill her. You have to examine these things more, my Queen.”
The Queen opened her mouth to say more, but one of the Sisters spoke up, “But people call us vain and jealous, too.” She looked at the Queen, tears forming in her sockets. “We were never jealous of our step-sister. Not once.”
Rumplestilskin pointed an accusatory finger at her. “But isn’t it true that you’re the ones who forced your step-sister to be a servant in the first place? And didn’t you laugh at her when she slept in the ashes? Weren’t you the ones who gave her the name Cinderella?”
The Thirteenth Fairy stood up. “That’s enough, we’ve already breached confidentiality too many times–”
It was, in fact, not enough. The other Sister stepped in. “You small, pitiful man, how dare you make those accusations? You weren’t there. You don’t know what it was like to see her annoying face, sitting at the table day in and day out. She just looked too perfect, and I just couldn’t stand it. It’s not natural to look that beautiful.”
“Well, Step-Sisters–”
“Sisters. We’re Sisters.”
“Sisters. I’m afraid that’s not a good justification. You’re just like the rest of us. You’re here, after all.”
Both Sisters had tears streaming down their faces, burning in the face of the truth. “At least we have a reason. What’s your excuse? Why the hell did you want a kid anyway?”
Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “I don’t need a reason. I just am who I am. My story needs a Rumplestilskin, and so I am Rumplestilskin, and Rumplestilskin will always want a firstborn. Speaking of, are either of you willing to give me yours?”
The Sisters recoiled and shook their heads until their features became blurs.
Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Worth a shot.”
The Thirteenth Wise Woman, thoroughly fed up, stepped forward, inhaled, and tried to gain control of the group. “Well. That was…” She trailed off as she looked at Rumplestilskin. “See me afterwards, please.” Turning to the rest of the group, she said, “I am glad our conversation was so…riveting. Sometimes, it is hard to get things started, but today everyone pitched in. Oh, actually…” She turned to the Witch. “You’ve been quiet. You know, people have been talking so much that we have hardly heard from you. Now, I’ll ask the question again this way you can provide your own input. We have been talking about reputations, both what they are and how you feel about them. Now, Witch, what do you have to say? The Queen had said—
“Oh, shut up.”
The Thirteenth Wise Woman blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said. Shut. Up.”
“Witch, I’m very sorry, but that is just an unacceptable way to speak to—”
“So what if it is?” The Witch stood up. “All of you are absolutely ridiculous. Can’t you see that we’re all just a bunch of bad people? And that’s it? Reputations don’t matter, intentions don’t matter, it just matters what we do. And we’ve done bad things.”
The Thirteenth Wise Woman gave a wry smile. “Yes, of course, but we come here to learn from our mistakes, that’s why we’ve set this up in the first place.”
The Witch’s eyes burrowed into the Thirteenth Wise Woman. “Who said that we have to learn?”
“I mean, she did.” The Wolf nodded in the Thirteenth Wise Woman’s direction. “This whole group was her idea.”
The Witch looked around. “Did anyone really want to come here? Raise your hand if coming here was suggested by this ‘wise woman?’”
Everyone’s hands were in the air and everyone’s eyes were on the Thirteenth Wise Woman, who caved under the attention.
“I-I…Friends, don’t you see that reformation is the best way to make people like us again? We can reintegrate into our societies comfortably. We can have lives. We don’t have to suffer.”
The Queen blinked. “But…you’re not suffering. You don’t have our pain.”
“What are you talking about? Of course I do. After all, I’m just as much of a villain as you all.”
The Wolf began pacing around the Thirteenth Wise Woman. “You dare to say that you have pain? Do you have a gash from your throat to your stomach?”
Rumplestiltskin stood up. “Or your body ripped in half?”
“Or burning hot shoes? Have you danced to death?” The Queen began to walk, and her steps echoed, Clang, Clang, Clang, in what had become a deathly silent room.
“Have you lost your heels? Your toes? Your eyes?” The Sisters turned in the direction of the Thirteenth Wise Woman.
“Well, no, but I mean—”
“Then it’s simple.” The Witch bent down and picked up a shard from the broken floor tile at her feet. “You don’t get to have an opinion.” She turned to the Wolf. “I don’t know about you, but I think our beloved administrator deserves to understand where we’re coming from. Wouldn’t you like someone to sympathize with your disembowelment?”
The Wolf grinned and licked his lips. “That would be nice.”
She turned to the Sisters. “What do you say? You think she gets to keep her toes?”
Sickly smiles spread over the Sisters' faces. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You know, you would look good cut in half, Thirteen,” Rumplestilskin added.
The Queen nodded. “After you’ve danced to death, I think I want your lungs and liver salted.”
The Wolf looked at her and nodded. “Good choice. The magic ones always taste best.”
The Thirteenth Wise Woman frantically gaped at the members, who had surrounded her.
“You’re insane! You all are! I tried to help you!”
Someone—she couldn’t tell who, they had all begun to blend into one figure—responded.
“Maybe. But it’s like you said. We’re villains. You expect us to be sane?”
And they all lived happily ever after.
The End.
