"Cruel Sisters" by Emily Kirsch

I can find no adequate way to begin my story. It is a dark and dreary one though not unfamiliar – there have been many versions spun by many masters of the written word. My version is perhaps not as full of beautiful melancholy as theirs are, but it is the blatant truth and at the moment I feel this side is the one that needs to be brought out of the shadows and into the light. Listen close and take note of my words.

The two females were the most remarkable women I have ever laid my eyes upon. After score upon score of half-dressed and drunken women walk by one every day even the comely village maiden is pleasing to the eye. But Elyse and Moriganne – they were the jewels on a rich man’s whore, and like the whore, the world was undeserving of them. Elyse’s beauty was dark, exotic; one glint of her emerald green eyes sent men reeling in their seats. She was tall and walked with an elegant air – it was impossible not to notice her when she stepped into a room. Moriganne, on the other hand, had a cornflower, classic princess’ look about her – the complete opposite of Elyse. Her innocent face seemed to be just recently marred with the responsibility creased lines of womanhood but her hips held the learned, alluring sway of a woman, and she had mastered the art of curving her lips into a sensuous pout.

It was a rare treat to see the opposites together, for there had been a bitter rivalry between the two since they were tiny and hardly knew their right hand from their left. No one seems to note this in the song – probably to romanticise it to its fullest extent. How else would bards get paid? Truth brings in a mightily small paycheck, I’ve learned.

To continue. The one time I did see Elyse and Moriganne together was the eve of the spring faire. I was a most lovely night ( but I must say quite dwarfed by their own loveliness ) and the air was only slightly muggy. I had been walking down the market aisle when a subtle bickering caught my attention and I saw none other than the two women, voices low, but there was no mistaking the fire that burned in each others eyes. I feigned interest in the books at a nearby merchant’s booth and strained by ears to catch what they were saying. I learned only that Moriganne had lied about something ( that part was unclear to me ) and that the raven haired Elyse had taken all the blame. Their argument raised and when they saw passerby giving them glances Moriganne placed an innocent smile about her lips and questioned Elyse about a silk that was draped over a rack near them. Elyse’s eyes narrowed and I could see her teeth clench; without responding she turned on a heel and strode away. Moriganne didn’t stay long afterward and I left as well, but was unable to rid myself of the tone of each of their voices. It was more than a mere sibling rivalry and jealousy had no part in it, which leads us to the next party at hand – Sweet William.

When the gangly man came across the seas ( or so was said ) and into our town he was immediately noticed. Now, I am not to judge the looks of another man but he was not the charming, handsome knight the tales make him out to be. A merchant’s son at best! But dear Elyse took notice of him and he took notice of her – for Moriganne was not there to be noticed – she was away visiting relatives.

William and Elyse courted for the proper amount of time and I am almost sure that even a wedding date had been planned. Now, these were all quite royal affairs so I cannot assure that all of them are exactly true – but each piece fits together much more snugly than does the bard’s tale.

Over the course of the next few days I noticed the King’s docks were being readied for the arrival of his first ships. Curious, I lingered around for the rest of the eve and found that Moriganne was on board and returning home. I thought no deeper than the slender surface until the ship docked and the golden beauty began descending. Her loveliness had since become exaggerated to an astounding amount and he walked with more grace, confidence, and elegance than Elyse had ever been able to. Since I am not the firsthand witness I can only rely on the castle servant’s word that the next bit is true – as soon as William’s eyes met Moriganne’s he fell madly and deeply in love with her and she with him. Their affection was no secret and Moriganne proudly promenaded the fact that William’s affections were hers in front of her sister. Elyse grew angry with rage and locked herself tight in her room for many days, answering only to servants and maids who brought her food and drink. Meanwhile, William and Moriganne were seen everywhere together – at all the royal functions and I even saw them, on occasion, shopping in the local market together. There’s no truer form of jealousy and hate that which Elyse felt. I have wondered, if Elyse and Moriganne’s relationship had perhaps been better off would William’s affections never have changed? If only one could rewind time and sequence events with a more professional hand maybe things would be better off, but as the view of many people is ‘que sera’ there is not much one can do.

This next part I am proud to say I witnessed myself. Although their exact words are long lost I know improvisation to be the writer’s job, and improvise I will. Ah . . . I cannot believe it but it was but a few years ago that these events transpired and each detail is etched into my mind. It was a clear night, drenched in the sweet smell of ocean waves and the sharp tang of the undertones of salt. I was making my way down the road that intersected with each of the docks when I heard familiar voices – those of Elyse and Moriganne. Once more curiosity took over me and I crouched down behind some crates to listen.

"You don’t really love him!"

"But he loves me, and you are simply jealous!"

"Oh, but he’s my love," one moaned, and I could see Elyse clutch her hands to her bosom.

"You are wrong there, dear sister. He is my love and it matters not how much you beg I will not release is emotions to you. You will never amount to me and you know it, Elyse! William is mine!"

I heard a muffled shriek but could not figure who it came from. I tilted up and saw only Elyse was standing on the docks, gazing down into the water with the same fire in her eyes that I’d seen at the market many moons ago. She was repeating the word, "Liar!" but when her voice died down Moriganne’s shone through, and her words the bards did somewhat get right, though I cannot imagine how; I was the only witness to the deed that night that I am sure of. She said; ( I am using the bards’ version for a little poetry must better my tale )

"O Sister, reach to me your hand, O Sister, Sister, let me live and all that’s mine I’ll surely give."

Here in the tale the bards go on, even though Elyse, at this point, walked away :

"It’s your own truelove I’ll have and more but thou shalt never come ashore." I do not see how such words could be gathered from the muffled sobs flinging themselves from Elyse’s mouth as she ran away.

I stayed for death did not phase me and the death of this creature frankly amased me so I followed the trail of her body down the river only to see it stopped by two minstrels. They of course dramatised the whole harp out of bones tale; this is how it truly happened.

They stopped Moriganne’s decent farther into the river and pulled her ashore. One pressed down upon her breastbone to get her breath and life to keep flowing ( perhaps that is how they got the harp from breastbone bit . . . it might have been broken ) and the other pulled his fingers through her hair to remove it from her dear, dead face, and this must be where the three hairs for the strings came from. Even as she passed her life Moriganne was determined to destroy Elyse’s own. She took in a last breath of air and let it out with a stream of words.

I was fortunate enough to have a friend present at Elyse’s wedding to William. The affair was a grand and magnificent affair and people were invited from all stretches of the land. And as the tale goes the two minstrels were present ( although lacking the proper harp made from a desecrated body ) and as the night dwindled on they made their appearance as the entertainment. Friendly, comfortable songs were passed around but the last song they played caused people to freeze in their seats. This is how the tale tells it . . .

"The first string sang a doleful sound, ‘The bride her younger sister drowned.’ The second string as that they tried, ‘In terror sits the black haired bride.’ The third string sang beneath the bow, ‘And surely now her tears will flow.’"

The King had Elyse sent away and I have yet to find out where she disappeared to. Sweet William remained for naught a day before leaving to find another castle to wreak havoc upon. And I, I am not considering a trade in bardery, though this wonderful harp the minstrels gave me ( I talked to them afterward ) plays the most curious sound . . .