There she lays upon her bed large enough to fit three persons her size, beneath a ruby red silk blanket. Her mouth is perfect, those terrible lips parted slightly. It is her tongue that is wicked.
As I stare at her, my will falter. She looks peaceful now as if she could not harm a single soul. To kill another is no easy task, and so she will remain asleep. No longer will she be a blight her kingdom, able to force others to submit to her every sung command.
With rushed urgency, I whisper the words of the sleeping curse, “Sleep and rest and know no more. You shall rest for all of yore. A single prick and deep sleep waits. Ne’er shall you wake ‘til evil abates.”
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