Dawn was breaking

when the ugly little girl

reached the factory town,

and silky green light

rising from the horizon

made the lead gray clouds

puffing from the smokestacks

gleam.

The ugly little girl was tired,

her legs ached,

and she was very sleepy.

Now that she had reached the town,

she was not sure

where she needed to go

or what she needed to do.

Where did she start?

Who would help her?

The guards at the town gate

eyed the ugly little girl with disgust,

but let her through.

In the central market square,

vendors were setting up their wares.

A little boy

tugged at his mother’s apron

as he pointed at the ugly little girl.

The merchant woman

looked up from her work,

and turned her head to spit,

muttering,

“She’s malformed,

that girl is.”

The ugly little girl

raised her hand to her face.

Was she really as ugly

as her father

and her five older sisters

had told her she was?

The ugly little girl drew the stares

of more of the townspeople.

She bent her head

to shadow her face,

but eyes

dangled around her

like hooks.

“Touched by the Black Owl,”

said an old man.

“Cursed...” someone murmured.

They were all looking at her,

distrust and revulsion in their faces,

a buzz of dread

spreading through the market.

The ugly little girl was afraid

and very tired.

All she wanted to do

was to lay down in her hay bed,

back in the barn of her father’s farm.

The ugly little girl was surrounded

by three teenaged boys,

their hands, faces, and clothes

dirty with oily soot.

“What do you think you’re doing here,

filthy curseling?” asked the biggest.

“You must be as stupid as you are ugly!”

The ugly little girl

shivered in fear.

The big teenager punched her.

Shock ran down from her cheekbone

to her feet,

followed by pain,

she found herself

on her hands and knees

in the street.

The crowd was laughing.

She wished the boys were dead.

And in a moment, they would be.

She covered her face

as the boys kicked and spat at her,

their attacks rapid, chaotic.

Then — they stopped.

The ugly little girl looked up,

just as the three boys

simultaneously

clutched their heads,

screeching in pain

until

they exploded in great splashes

of steaming blood

and gooey ropes of burning flesh

that jumped into the air

before falling upon the stone street

in wet slaps.

The market crowd fled, screaming.

Everything quieted.

The ugly little girl

heard heavy footsteps behind her.

She heard a voice,

high-pitched, creeping,

but compassionate.

“It is alright, little girl.

You are safe now.”

She turned and saw

a tall, hulking figure,

hooded in purple and gray,

standing over her.

He reached out

a gloved hand,

and helped her to her feet.

“Tell me, little girl,” he said,

“What is your name?”

She spoke shyly. “Modanthia.”

“Ah,” the hooded figure said.

“I am Skullatroid.”

The ugly little girl looked up

at the hooded man’s face;

but he had no face —

only a fleshless skull,

grinning kindly at her.

“So, tell me,” said Skullatroid,

“What is such a pretty little girl

doing

in such a horrible place like this?”

The ugly little girl smiled, bashfully.

No one had called her pretty

before.

“I... I ran away from home.”

“No,” said Skullatroid,

taking her hand.

“You ran away to home.”

And they both disappeared

in a magical sphere

of golden light.

to be continued...