April 2022 Story - The Finger Curse (Chapter 1) (Patreon)

The royal family of Norwich was the most pompous, snobbish, stuck-up, and privileged family in all the realm. Everyone knew this, noble and peasantry alike. If you were to cast a spell on the stray dogs and cats to let them speak and ask them who was the most pompous royal family of all, they would say Norwich. After all, they shared the same name with the kingdom itself. To date, they remained the founding royal family of the kingdom of Norwich. The royal families of other neighboring kingdoms were known for their humility and kindness. King Azmar of Southwood was known to advocate mercy for his subjects, and Princess Letisha of Hycanthia helped the druids rebuild their home after the Great Brushfire.

Meanwhile, the only thing that the Norwiches were known for was making the most elaborate parties for themselves and their nobles. King Roland and Queen Priscilla only bore one heir - Princess Agnes. She was known among the chambermaids as the snootiest of them all, always reminding them not to stare at her, not to interrupt her, and to always address her appropriately.

While most other princes and princesses were known to have a rebellious streak at some point in their adolescence, Agnes wholeheartedly embraced etiquette and fine society. Some say it was due to her extremely sheltered lifestyle. In her entire twenty-one years of being alive, she never even set foot outside the castle grounds to walk among the people – that is, the peasantry.

Norwich Castle was distinctly separated between the nobles and the peasantry. At the center of the kingdom was the castle, reaching to the sky in all its splendor. Surrounding the castle were the houses of all the lords and ladies of Norwich. Past the moat, one reached the main city of Norwich, where the commoners lived. Maybe she saw it up close once or twice when she was a toddler in a carriage passing by, but she had no interest in walking through old rickety taverns and dirty streets. She would watch the commoners from her tower with a spyglass and grimace at all the bawdy crowds and uncouth beggars. She oftentimes was frightened by common life, being that she spotted many fights on the street and arguments.

Agnes was quite content in her castle surrounded by the wealthy. She knew the proper way to set a table, the proper way to sit, to stand, to dance, to ride horses, to shoot arrows, and anything else that a peasant would never dream of knowing how to do.

When she became of age for a suitor, Agnes became obsessed with her body. She focused all her energy on looking good and appealing to men. Indeed, she grew up to be one of the most beautiful princesses Norwich ever saw, making every man eye her. She always combed her long chestnut hair and plucked her narrow eyebrows. She made sure to take care of her olive skin as much as she could, always asking her chambermaids for new recipes for any magical lotions. She made sure she never showed a blemish or pimple.

Her modesty was what attracted many suitors. She made sure not to eat too much, not to laugh too loud, not to stare too much, and not to show too much. She not only dressed fashionably but she chose the best clothes that accentuated her body. She had a particular image of the hourglass shape, being that it was what men desired. She made sure to wear the tightest corset and appear dainty and delicate.

For Agnes’s twenty-first birthday party, several vendors from the city stopped by the castle to drop off food, goods, and gifts that the king had commissioned. Agnes was practicing her horseback riding around the castle grounds when she ran into them at the front gate.

She caught a whiff of something that was unlike any other. She retched in disgust.

“What is that foul stench?” she cried aloud.

A fisherman looked up after unloading a crate. “’Tis the fish, ma’am.”

Agnes huffed. “Ma’am? Do I look like an old maid to you? You refer to me as ‘milady’.”

The fisherman bowed. “Yes, ma—milady. Terribly sorry.”

“Why do the fish smell like that? It never smells like that when I eat it.”

The fisherman sighed heavily and looked lost for a bit, as if finding the right words to explain something. He exchanged glances with the other fishermen, a few of whom rolled their eyes. He said, “Milady, they are not cooked yet. That is why they smell.”

“Oh,” Agnes said, rather dumbly. “I see. Well, I don’t have to deal with such trivial matters such as cooking, so I don’t have to know these things. Carry on.”

Agnes let them be and watched more vendors unload. She marveled at the sight of all the barrels of ale, the flowers, the exotic birds in their cages, and mounds of unwrapped gifts.

“’Scuse me, mum…”

Agnes yelped at the voice and almost fell off her horse. She looked around for the voice and then noticed an old woman in a hooded cloak at her horse’s hooves. She could only partly see the old woman’s face, but what unnerved her was her thin bony hand holding a tulip.

“Happy birthday, mum,” the old woman croaked.

Agnes huffed again, practically fuming. “As I told the fisherman over there, please refer to me as milady.”

The old woman grinned. “Apologies, milady. Please take this flower as a token of my appreciation. You have grown to be a fine young woman. Many blessings.”

But Agnes cringed at the quivering hand. The old woman reeked of an unpleasant body odor. Agnes had to pinch her nose hard to bear the old woman’s presence.

“When was the last time you bathed, woman?” Agnes said.

“Apologies, milady. I am but an old poor widow. I live on the streets. When I saw the vendors going to your castle, I rode with them all the way up here to wish you a happy birthday.”

None of this fazed Agnes. She was still visibly repulsed by the smell. “Ever heard of the lake?”

“Ah…well, my bones are so weary that I can hardly make the journey there, and I do not own a horse.”

The old woman still offered the tulip, and in doing so she broke wind obscenely loud. The noise was not unlike an angry duck quacking. Agnes found it very disgraceful. If there was one thing that she despised the most above all, it was breaking wind. After all, what was the point in etiquette if people were to freely expel their wind? Any bodily function had to be suppressed, emitted quietly, or emitted in private. That was how her family taught her, and their family before hers, and so on. The very thought of breaking wind even in private still made her shudder. The sound was nothing short of crass. The smell was oftentimes unbearable. The entire act was reprehensible to royalty.

“Disgusting old hag!” Agnes cried. “You need to learn how to respect your princess! How dare you break wind in my presence!”

The old woman quivered and stammered. “I-I am sorry, milady. I cannot control my bowels like I used to. A thousand apologies.” She repeatedly bowed her head, asking for forgiveness.

Agnes did not accept the apology. In a fit of disgust, Agnes shooed the old woman away by kicking her foot and flung the tulip aside.

“Stop groveling! Get out of my sight! Leave the castle grounds and never come back!”

Agnes scared off the old woman by having her horse neigh. She had had enough of these peasants and their disregard for manners.

The old woman however did not flinch or budge. She stood back and started cackling. She pulled down her hood, revealing a disheveled white mane of hair. Agnes gasped when she saw the old woman’s eyes – for they were nothing but empty sockets!

Just then, the sky went dark, and a cold wind blew. Her horse neighed in panic and she cried out as it suddenly stood up on its hind legs, nearly making her fall.

The old woman lit up with an ethereal light. It was not a heavenly light – there was something sinister about it. Agnes could feel a shadow reach out at her with long arms.

The old woman’s face turned demonic. Her eyes creased into thin lines. Every wrinkle on her face became more defined, and she bore a sinister toothy grin.

The old woman spoke in such a booming voice that Agnes believed the entire kingdom must have heard her: “THOU HAVE MUCH HUMILITY TO LEARN, NOBLE OR NOT. THOU SHALL BE CURSED NEVER TO BREAK WIND AGAIN UNLESS SOMEONE PULLS THY FOREFINGER.”

She cackled, her voice echoing deep into Agnes’s mind. Agnes screamed as the light overpowered her sight, and she closed her eyes expecting death.

And then the old woman vanished.

The day was bright and gay.

The fishermen were still unloading crates of fish from their wagon as if nothing had happened. Even her horse stood idle without a care in the world.

Agnes darted her attention left and right. The other vendors were still going about their business. She stammered incoherently wondering if anyone would say anything, but nobody did. Her eyes hurt a little, so she rubbed them. Still, the old woman was nowhere to be seen.

“What in God’s name…” she murmured. She then blanked, as if a fog lifted from her senses. She found it difficult to remember what had happened in the past few minutes. It was like waking up and knowing she had a dream, but the dream quickly faded.

“Excuse me, milady,” the fisherman said. “We must pass through.”

Agnes had her horse trot aside so that they could bring the food in through the gates. She watched them with a dumbfounded gaze.

It must have been that fish smell. Who knew what strange odors did to one’s head? She shook it off and hurried through the gate towards the stables, eager to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.