Myrtha was young and blindly naive. Her father abandoned her before she was born, her mother died prematurely. She had no one but she had hope. She had books, and tales and folklore that kept her going. Tales of romance to dream about at night. She knew some day it would be her turn.
By chance she was employed by a duke, by chance the pretty young girl caught his eye. He sought her out while she cleaned and poured his heart out. He told her about how unhappy his arranged marriage was, how despicable his wife was, and how much sweeter Myrtha was. Days turned to months and soon he was professing his love for her, and making plans to run away.
Myrtha was over the moon. She was living a fairy tale, a handsome man was going to risk it all for her. But then the duchess announced her pregnancy. Then she realized the duke was telling lies. He was nervous when she confronted him. This young dumb girl would ruin him. So he calmed her, and told her to meet him at the gates that night, and they’d run away together at last.
That night he led her deep into the woods, brought a rock down on her head, and dumped her unconscious body in a shallow grave.
This was not how her fairy tale was supposed to end. She refused to let it. She clawed her way out of the soil. Trapped in the place between living and dead. She was tethered to the clearing she was buried in, and had to return to her grave every dawn. Alone she cried and raged. Cursing the duke, his wife, and herself. She thought of her beloved fairy tales and mourned for her own. Despair overcame everything until one night, a man stumbled upon her.
Twisted Tales: Twice Dead
Alexander was not a duke but he was kind and spoke gently to the undead girl. He was not a duke but in Myrtha’s eyes, he was a prince come to save the damsel in distress. She forgot the past and gave herself to her prince. But Alexander could not forget the past. He felt it on her cold skin, saw it in her lifeless eyes and thought about it every dawn when he put her to sleep in the dirt. He cared for her, it’s true, but he cared for the sun more.
So one night before dawn he told her he was going and would not be back. It pained him but it was what was best for the both of them. Try as she might, Myrtha could not follow as he left. She watched as her prince and their happily ever after abandoned her. Alexander would forever hear her wails as he fled in his nightmares.
The part that clung to life and hope finally died with Myrtha. She was a creature of the night now. Any man that dared to venture into her woods would be dragged to the lake and drowned.
She became a folktale herself and the nearby village would bury their young heartbroken girls in her clearing. A gift to appease her, they reasoned, friends to keep her company.
They were not her friends but an army. Girls filled with rage and want. It’s a beautiful sight, ghostly girls in white, dancing under a glowing moon. Some would say entrancing. She crowned herself queen and danced with her followers each night. But no matter how much she danced or how many men she drowned, her dead broken heart could not be healed.
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