Katja screamed as the blistering pain from the ring made it seem as if it was melting into her skin. "Ingenbjorn! Help me!" she cried. 

Ingenbjorn dared not to step any closer, she knew how hot the ring could get and she rather it was her sister than both. She started to cry and cower as Katja fell to the ground, curling up into the fetal position, tucking the burning hand into her chest. 

While her other hand was pulling one of her daggers out of the sheath, quick footsteps resounded off of the spiral staircase. As they neared her, she screamed louder, outstretching her hand and raising her dagger. 

Suddenly it stopped, the sensation, the screams, the steps, and Katja opened her eyes, a blue hand on hers. Or at least, it looked blue to her, it could have been the same colour as her skin, but Katja was missing an eye, and she didn't know if that affected her sense of colour as well. There was also the possibility that she had gone insane from the incredible amount of pain she had experienced. Whatever the reason, she disregarded the blue. 

She did not, however, disregard the raised lines upon the hand that curved and flowed in an enchanting almost calligraphic design, embracing almost every inch of skin, drawing her eye up towards the rest of the body, which was far better than the already enamouring hand. 

The lines disappeared under an exquisite deep green linen shirt, with a low V neckline, which unveiled more of the fascinating lines that crawled up along the side of his neck and face, enhancing his sharp features, stopping at his cheekbones. Katja shook her head, embarrassed to have been staring at the poor man. She mentally scolded herself for being rude even before introducing herself. She couldn't help but feel like she had seen this man before, and maybe that he was Prince Charming. But Prince Charming did not have lines, that she would have remembered. 

He removed his hand from hers and she swore she knew this touch, the same gentle sense of delicacy and tenderness, the same cool feeling. Katja noticed something off with her hand, for the ring was gone, and in its place, a raw red outline of where it was. Its engravement: "To do a great right, do a little wrong" circled just beneath the snake. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice timid, yet silverly symphonious. She had definitely heard this man before. She looked up into his eyes, but they were blood red, and she knew for a fact that Prince Charming's eyes were green, almost the same shade of this man's shirt. 

He stared deeply at her, his iris seeming to shift in shade constantly, becoming every red in the universe, sometimes all at once. He was the red that flowed through her heart, and he was the red that flowed out of her father, he was the blue of her ball gown and the blue of the waterfall, he was timid and yet, fueled by hatred. He was the undoing of all that there is and all that there was, he was the undoing of himself and the birth of his new life. He was made to be more and in the red of his eyes, she knew that this was not a mistake, it was not an accident. She knew the red of his eyes and the blue of his skin. She knew. 

He did too. He saw her eye and he knew who she was. Her eye was the gold that adorned his helmet, her hair, the white of his people's home. He did not need the snake ring to know that she had found him and that she was before him. From the moment he touched her hand, he knew. 

But, neither said anything about it, the wonder in each other's eyes evidence enough and yet, without saying it out loud, both were too afraid to confront it: the binglesnipe in the room. 

He dropped his gaze to her hand and saw what had happened and stood up, stumbling back a couple steps. "I'm sorry," He whispered, his voice wavering, his eyes watering, his hands trembling. Then he just disappeared. 

"I forgive you," Katja whispered back, a second too late. 

++++++

When Katja awoke, she was not in the foyer anymore. The room was painted a pale blue and was filled with extravagant furniture, an armoire with gold trim, a vanity with intricate filigree, a loveseat with cushions plusher than her pillow at home. Each one of these things cost the price of her house, not to mention the king size poster bed filled with swan down and covered in silk sheets. She was drowning in the extravagance and confused about what has happened, the last thing she could remember was the blue man. 

She looked across the room to the mirror of the vanity and could not believe what she saw. Her face was without cuts or 

scrapes, her missing eye magically returned. She was pulling at her face, not even considering the possibility of this being reality when a young girl walked into the room. 

"Good morning!" she said, her voice bright and bubbly, "I am Dagrun Jorundottr, a maid here at the castle! I have been taking care of you since you passed out a couple of days past. My brother is here as well, taking care of the gardens as we speak. I am for your beck and call, as well as your sister's and the master, so if you want my attention, do not hesitate to ring the bell." She gestured to the petite gold bell that rested at the edge of the side table. "Now the Master wishes for you to get dressed, eat some lunch, and enjoy your stay at the castle. Go explore the different rooms.  Although do return to your room by sundown, for the master wishes to dine with you."

Katja gulped, anxious about meeting the man from before. She stepped out of bed, her feet touching the cold, smooth floor of the polished maple wood and immediately recoiled. She blushed for behaving so childishly and strode her way over to the wardrobe, opening the doors. She nearly fainted. Inside were a variety of dresses, each in the colours of green, gold, and black, made with materials that cost more than anything she has ever touched. Dagrun rushed to her side and pulled out an emerald green dress with a pleated skirt and tight-fitting bodice that was laced up from behind with a black ribbon. Katja changed into the dress which stopped at her mid-calf, gold detailing around the hem, waistline, and sweetheart neckline; a black ribbon that went behind her neck served as a strap for the dress. The many layers of tulle underneath the skirt made it feel weightless and extravagant. Her hair was left as it was, the braid with the bird feather still intact. She swept it over one shoulder. 

"You look wonderful, now off to lunch." Dagrun complemented, opening the bedroom doors, and begun to lead the way to the kitchens. 

Katja walked barefoot behind her but realized that she did not want lunch, so she quietly snuck away from the maid, turning into one of the everlasting hallways the castle has. She followed the corridor for a while until she passed by a path that was a dead end, a single door at the end. Curious, she creaked open the door and drew open the curtains. It did not take her long to realize that she was in the master bedroom, the bed the grandest she had ever seen, the ceiling untouchable. The entire room was various shades of gold, save for the large painting on one wall, but it was shredded to pieces. Katja knew better than to go poking around, but she could not help it and held up the torn pieces so that the painting looked like it was never damaged at all. 

Much to her surprise, the painting was almost identical to the one that she had seen in the castle, the one that she thought looked off. But this time it was complete. Where there used to be nothing beneath the Allmother, a young boy with black hair and green eyes had filled the void. He looked very similar to the master of this castle, yet his skin, hair, and eyes were the colours of Prince Charming's features. 

"What are you doing here?" Dagrun exclaimed. "You must not be here the master banned it!"

"But you said I could explore the different rooms." Katja countered. 

"Well then, be my guest," a deep low voice called from a shadowy corner of the room, where the sunlight from the windows didn't reach. "Please, explore the room that the master of this castle had banned. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Especially since his maid said that you could explore. What's the worse that could happen? It's not like the master shall find out." 

He stepped out of the shadows and Katja nearly fainted again. "Are you, are you the boy in the painting? I mean, you're Prince Charming?" Katja covered her mouth after she said that. She didn't mean for it to sound condescending. Her new tatoo began to burn as if it could sense the tension. 

"Leave my sight at once you mewling quim!" he shouted, pushing her out of the room, but as his cold hands touched her arm, it bruised and blistered turning purple, making Katja yelp. His hands were so cold that her arm developed frostbite. Katja scurried off, ducking into another room, leaving Dagrun and Prince Charming behind. 

The room that she had entered was twice the size of her entire house and at least five stories high. Every inch of the walls was covered by bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with leather bound books, save for a set of stairs that climbed up about halfway to the roof and had a couch overlooking the room. A ladder that swivelled around the perimeter of the room was also five stories high so that there was access to the books that were stranded up there. Aside from the bookcases that lined the room, there were also five rows of bookcases that ran through the room and stretched above, each with their own tall ladder and for the sitting area on the first floor, there were fluffy green couches, whose wood was the same black as the bookcases. The whole room was very dark, save for the skylight coming in from the overhead windows and the numerous amounts of floating candles that drifted around the room. 

Katja quickly dashed up the stairs and settled down in the small outcropping that had a nice view of the room below. Her arm burned painfully as she looked at the small table that laid beside the couch and read the book that was left there: A Collection of Romantic Poetry. The first poem inside was by Mary Robinson, an excerpt from her book, Sappho and Phaon  called Describes the Characteristics of Love:

Is it to love, to fix the tender gaze,

To hide the timid blush, and steal away-

To shun the busy world, and waste the day

In some rude mountain's solitary maze?

Is it to chant one name in ceaseless lays,

To hear no words that other tongues can say,

To watch the pale moon's melancholy ray,

To chide in fondness, and in folly praise?

Is it to pour the involuntary sigh,

To dream of bliss, and wake new pangs to prove- 

To talk, in fancy, with the speaking eye,

Then start with jealousy, and wildly rove?

Is it to loath the light, and wish to die?

For these I feel- and feel that they are love.

Katja finished the poem and sighed. She deeply wished that she could feel all of which the poem had described, but she must face the truth, she was a poor girl and now that her father has died, a poor girl without land and standing. Once again, she consulted her mother, but her mother would not know what to do, for her mother had never killed someone, or met a prince. 

Suddenly, the door to the library opened and someone stepped inside, although by judging from the sound of their steps, they were stealthy, and there was only one person in the castle as stealthy as she. Katja returned the book to the small table and lay flat on her stomach, crawling over to the edge of the ledge so she could peer over and see what was happening. 

Prince Charming was pacing around the downstairs sitting area, and mumbling, "If only I hadn't touched the stupid girl, she wouldn't have gotten hurt! If only you learned how to control your powers, you stupid, unwanted prince, she wouldn't have gotten hurt! Well, it's not my fault that she ran away and disappeared, no wait, yes it is. Yes, it is my fault, oh my me, if I wasn't so angry all the time! For Valhalla's sake, I have a reason to be! But that doesn't excuse the fact that I just ruined the best thing that could have happened to me! Why do I ruin everything I touch!" The prince was screaming and the room's temperature dropped severely, a circle of spikes made of ice formed around him, like icicles but on the ground, so groundcicles. Katja gasped when she saw his magical powers, and then sneezed because of the cold. 

"Who's there? Cinderella, is that you?" he called from below. Katja giggled, finding it ridiculous that the two still did not know each other's names. 

"Yes, tis I. Lady Cinderella!" she exclaimed, standing up from where she was laying down, revealing herself.

"Lady Cinderella, let down your hair, so that I may climb thy golden stair!" he jokingly replied. 

"No need for that, good prince, for a staircase doth leadeth up hither and thine may accompany thyself with mine glorious person!" he chuckled and was by her side within the time it took for Katja to blink, causing her to jump back when he appeared.

"I didn't think I was that scary, sure with me being blue and all, I do suppose it was justified." He grins, obviously sarcastic.

"Why you jester!" 

"Oh please do call me Your Royal Highness above all, who brought us salvation and created all that we know, who is wiser and mightier than the worst binglesnipe, who is the god of all and servant to none, Lord and Prince Loki." He smirked and deeply bowed. 

"I am not sure if I can remember that all." Katja teased. 

"I am sure you can manage, it is really not that difficult." He just shrugged his shoulders and flopped on the couch. 

"What was it again? Your servant to all who is the worst binglesnipe, Loki? Yes, it was not that difficult!" Katja raised an eyebrow in a mocking manner.

"Fine, fine, Prince Loki will do. And does the Lady Cinderella have a name?" 

"I am Her majesty, god of all gods, and the creator of Valhalla, Queen Katja." Katja curtsied to the prince. 

The door to the library opened once again, and Dagrun walked in, asking for Loki, who promptly told her that the two will be going to dinner shortly after he heals Katja. Dagrun was overenthusiastic and told the two to take their time.

Loki turned his attention back to Katja, "I cannot believe that you are not fazed by what I did to you. How does it not hurt?"

"Well, it is quite hard to feel something when all of the tissue there is dead. But I must admit that I overheard you talking to yourself, and I can tell that you did not intend to hurt me. You are not the monster you make yourself out to be." Katja smiled and took his hand, placing it where she was injured, noticing how cold he was, yet how soft his hands were, unlike hers which were riddled with callouses. A warm green glow shone from his palm, and in a matter of seconds, her injury was healed. 

"Come," Loki held out his hand for her, "let's go to dinner."

She took his hand, "Of course, my prince."