Crown of Thorns

After crying until the water turned cold, I barely managed to snap back to my senses and escape from the bathroom.

There were big mirrors both in the bathroom and in the bedroom, so I had no choice but to face myself even if I didn’t want to. I hesitated and stood before it slowly. The mirror, which had become slightly white due to the steam, quickly returned to its original state and painted my reflection without any delay.

I frowned because it was difficult to face my terrible face properly. But then I steeled my resolution and looked. I saw the scars plastered all over it. The skin that was so wrinkled to the point that it looked like it belonged to a creepy old woman from a fairy tale book.

This was the face the warrior saw. The young man came back again even after seeing this terrible, horrifying face. And he called it beautiful. It was unbelievable at the time, but it was even more so now that I’m looking at it in the mirror. This face is pretty on its own (without the scars), however, it does not seem to belong to a woman.

I reached out to the mirror and swept down the figure of the atrocious witch that was contained in it. I could feel the cool touch of the smooth mirror beneath my fingertips as I traced the dark hair that stuck to my wet face, the ominous black eyes, the twisted skin, the nose that is hard to recognize, and the lips that have become hard like bark due to countless falling scabs. I saw the roughness that the smooth mirror surface did not convey.

It was hard to guess when and how I got each scar, as the skin was strangely altered by countless repeated wounds. Getting cut and stabbed with a knife was common, trapping me in a nail-stacked box or rubbing my skin to and fro by a stick made of thorns were also a favorites of my tormentors. Even if the flesh healed eventually, it didn’t go back into its original state as I never got the chance for proper treatment and later lost interest in how I looked.

It wasn’t just the face. It was even worse below the neck to the point where my face seemed fine. The warriors who came without a break put a sword though my neck or sliced it. The repeated wounds grew thicker and more pronounced. The lower part of my chin was deformed because I was often hung from a tree or a wall.

And the place with the most scars by far was the heart muscle. I couldn’t count how many times my heart exploded. There were many wounds that I made myself. Before I got used to it, and when I wasn’t that desperate, even if I aimed the sword at my heart, my hands would often fail and eventually stab me in the stomach.

But all these wounds were nothing. The real horrendous ones were those left behind by the fire. The burnt skin, which seemed to stretch out endlessly, won the competition for ugliest.

Burning. The method of death I had suffered through the most and the most painful of all. What is it with people and burning witches on a pyre?

But what was scarier than the flames that devoured me was the sun, which rose to the sky as usual and gave everyone a spark of hope. When I struggled to escape the raging flames below and looked up at the sky, it would also burn as if it would swallow me.

It came as a great horror. The fair and glorious light gracing all in existence seemed to shrink away from me. I was more afraid and resentful of the sun, which made me constantly think that I had been abandoned more than the cheers of those who set me ablaze. Why me? What the hell did I do wrong?

I looked at my hand covering the mirror. It, too, was crumpled and gross. It seemed to belong more to a corpse rather than to a living being. Due to repeatedly missing fingernails, some of them could not grow at all, and some of them had stubby fingertips. Unknowingly, I clenched my fist and hid them, but the back of my squinted hand seemed more offensive to the eye so I eventually turned my head away.

It was the first time I scrutinized my face ever since my appearance changed. There were no mirrors inside the tower, and I had barely any will to live let alone actively look for a vanity table.

So I didn’t know that my appearance would have deteriorated to this extent. No, I expected it, but when I actually looked at it, the impact was incomparably greater.

I bowed my head down. The still wet black hair trickled down in front of my face and hid a part of it. It was bright here but dark inside the tower. No matter how dark it was, it would be better to hide this creepy and repulsive figure of mine than do nothing at all.

I was thankful that the inside of the tower was dark, so that it could hide the monstrosity that was myself a little bit from the warrior’s keen eyes. Darkness took everything away from me, but it was all I had left.

*

I thought about throwing away the dress I was wearing because it was so old it looked more like a rag, but I had no other clothes to wear, so I washed it clean. My belongings had already been sold out before. At that time, I did such a foolish thing because I didn’t know this would happen, and I didn’t know that all this would turn into a longing for things I’d never have again.

I just wanted to help those who resented the world and had difficulty living, so I did them favors in hopes that they would point their accusing fingers somewhere else, but if I knew this would happen, I would have kept my precious belongings carefully hidden. If I knew that I would grow to cherish every memory from my long gone life, I’d have protected every single item.

I opened the closet just in case, but there were no clothes left. I took out my gown, put it on, and wiped off the rug and blanket that I had stained. The more I wiped them, the dirtier they got, the more I cried.

Yes, I was originally this cry-baby. I was no different from any other girl who was cheeky, tearful, and full of laughter. For a long time, I killed my emotions and facial expressions and my personality was forgotten just like that, but it came back when I met a certain and bright young warrior. Facing the world in the memories that I had buried, I began to think of my original self.

I was a girl who grew up being fed love and nurturing her own dreams in the arms of her caring family. Before becoming a witch, I drew a sweet future that I wanted to live in the arms of a man who only loved me before the world was covered in darkness and monsters and wars overflowed.

Of course, in that future, there was a premise that the loving family would always be together. My only sister scolded me, saying, “It’s monotonous and boring because it’s so obvious and bland.” But she smiled brightly and told me that I would soon meet that man who would love only me, and never let go.

Always bright, confident, and so wonderful, that’s how my sister was. And there was my father who told me that he could never let me go after he heard my story. There was also the butler who nodded vehemently behind him and my mother who clicked her tongue, saying, “I can’t help it.” It was a simple and harmonious family.

Mom. My face stiffened when I thought of my beautiful mother with black hair and eyes so similar to mine. My hands, which were wiping off the covers, also slowed down. I couldn’t see my mother often because she was like a doll made of darkness. I didn’t know then, but after some time, I could hear what the world was saying. That she was the one to set monsters loose on the land and plague it with darkness and death.

People said in chorus. It was my mother who has covered the world with darkness, who has called out monsters and driven them into despair. I didn’t want to believe it, but I remembered the faces of the families who were crying. And my mother whom I hadn’t seen since could neither confirm nor deny the truth of this so it made it harder for me to ignore what was said.

More than anything else, there’s no way to know if I’m cursed by the deity or if my mother’s karma has extended to me. Or even, if my witch mother has made it so that whenever she killed someone their remaining lifespan transfers to me.

But one thing I know for sure is that I am also guilty of having her blood run in my veins. The darkness always felt familiar and comfortable. Even on a day when the world was covered in darkness, it felt like a comfortable blanket to me. When everyone became powerless, nothing changed for me and monsters even gathered around me.

There were a lot of monsters invading where I was, so it was safe to blame me for the people’s suffering. The people could not have failed to notice that the witch’s forest became infested with monsters because of the witch’s tower.

Guilty or not, intended or accidental, I was a witch through and through.

–––