One of the Yonder Motes set down on Blödu's recessing hairline. Another one came to rest in Tussinelda's dyed hair.

Both fragments of Yonder sent the most ephemeral tendrils of nothingness into their hosts' brains, tickling neurons here, triggering synapses there.

Opening eyes.

Blödu and Tussinelda looked at the crowd, the people from the capital—all of them in their attire of boastful cloth, extravagant felt, and wasteful leather—tokens designed to boost egos, to satisfy vanity, and to cater for ambition.

None of that was real. All their boasting, strutting, and swelling was vain, deplete, and inane.

Blödu gazed at Tussinelda. She looked back at him.

Memories awoke, and they carried the taste of fresh milk, the flowery fragrance of an alpine meadow, the golden wealth of a setting sun kissing snow-covered peaks, and the warm touch of a girl's hand in a boy's.

He smiled at her. "What are we doing here?"

She shrugged. "Good question. There's somewhere else I'd rather be. And I think you know where it is."

"Absolutely."

They locked hands, turned, and sidled out of the royal ballroom.

For the fun of it, they sidled all the way back to the Bernian mountains.

And there, they lived happily ever after.

~~~

But wait, some stray ends need tying up...

King Löu, freed from the curse of the Yonder Stone, married the witch Goldie, of course. The two of them lived happily ever after. (Another phrase authors crave to use from time to time).

The king, realizing his kingdom fared quite well without his attention, took up his old passion of speleology. Accompanied on his excursions by his young bride, it astonished no one that soon the country was gifted with a dozen golden haired princes and princesses.

Tussinelda's former assistant Barbarella took over the business of her sidled-away boss. With the help of her godfather, wizard Sürmu, she soon surpassed Tussinelda's success. Sürmu, now a full partner in a thriving business, found solace for the loss of the view of Tussinelda's legs with the city's infamous wenches.

His newfound fortune and some unexpected, complicated mishaps even handed him the abandoned position of Blödu. To his lasting surprise, Sürmu excelled as an underworld leader until he retired to write Fantasy tales many decades later.

Unfortunate Lord Glünggi spent his days as a marble statue in the ballroom of Larktrodden castle, uncaring about Time and his antics. Only when yet another group of scientists proceeded to measure his accurately chiseled teeth, he felt the urge to unlock his marble jaws and viscously bite down on probing fingers.

At a point in the far distant future, it became fashionable for tourists visiting Larktrodden castle to take selfies with the gaping Glünggi. Strangely, some of the pictures didn't show a marble statue but a handsome hero of old with lively, clear-blue eyes, dark locks, wearing a Lord's dress over bulging muscles...

This leaves us with the rainbow witches. Bored and with no chances to gain the king's already taken heart, they left the castle and dispersed over the country, each of them finding a spot that fitted her coloring...

And so the story ends.

Like any story, it leaves its marks on the world, for everyone to see: a dozen more useless royals to feed, a few patches of color in the suburbs of the capital, a stronger shoe industry, hurting feet, and two happy sidlers up in the mountains.

Yet, as Time goes by, all of these marks fade. Colors bleed into each other, royals marry commoners or are decapitated, shoes are disposed of, feet end up in graves, and sidlers run ski resorts.

Time smiles. Nothing can resist him.