CHAPTER 3
I’m back in that mirrorless dungeon. It’s the kind in the middle of nowhere you can never escape even if you think you can. I’m devoid of all worldly contact, except for a lowly guard. A dim-witted green ogre who brings me meals. Lousy meals I barely touch. Trust me, I’d rather eat green curds and whey.
Every day, I beg him to go to my castle to fetch my magic mirror. I want to know what I look like. Where I stand. I’ve even promised him a royal position if does me this one itsy bitsy favor. He can be my new Huntsman. No deal.
Seven years. That’s how long I’ve been here. The only way I know is by the monthly magazines the guard brings me. His wife works at some beauty center and gets all these style and beauty magazines free. Palace Digest, Princess, Royal Style to name a few. Rather than throwing them out when she’s done with them, her husband, the ogre, passes them on to me.
The magazines have helped me pass the time away. Even better, they’ve kept me up on the latest beauty trends. If I ever get out of this hellhole, I know what I have to do. Go to a spa! That’s what all the fairy-tale princesses are doing these days. I grit my teeth every time I think about Snow White living the spa-life—happily ever after—while I’m rotting away in this cell.
Yes, spa treatments! With a few deep-cleansing facials, body scrubs, and massages—okay, and a little makeup—I’ll knock Snow White right off her pedestal. And I’ll show my stupid-ass looking glass—in fact, any crappy looking glass—who’s Fairest of All.
While I’m reading about the anti-aging benefits of bulbadox juice (I could kick myself for wasting it on that evil potion) in my latest Princess magazine, a jingling sound distracts me. I look up. It’s the ogre, and he’s dangling a large metal key.
“You’re getting out of here.”
Did I hear that right?
“Read this.” He holds up a brochure with an illustration of a castle on the cover.
Tossing my magazine, I wrench it away from him through the rusty iron bars. I start reading.
WELCOME TO FARAWAY
FARAWAY is a unique treatment center that will give you the tools to find your inner princess. It’s a magical place where recovery and self-discovery happen every day. Guests reside in a magnificent castle where they can chill out and relax. Our tranquil center also features an enchanted forest, lush gardens, and a lovely hillside view.
We offer a personalized therapy program, developed by our renowned staff to meet your individual needs. Our unique program offers a variety of proven clinical methods, including one-on-one therapy and supportive group sessions. As part of our multi-faceted program, we offer hiking, Arts and Crafts, nutrition, yoga, and fine dining. You will eat like royalty.
Once we feel you are ready, you will re-enter the enchanted world of fairy tales and participate in our apprenticeship program. Each assignment is customized to meet your special needs and skills. When it is completed to our satisfaction, you will be able to resume your fairy-tale life.
We, at Faraway, provide a comprehensive mind-body experience that treats the needs of the whole person. No wonder our graduates report that their lives are better and more fulfilling in every possible way. You’ll look and feel more beautiful, inside and out. Get ready to live happily ever after!
You’ll look and feel more beautiful. I read the words over and over as the guard unlocks my cell door. I can’t believe it! I’m being sent to a spa! I’m being given a second chance to reclaim what is rightfully mine—my crown and my title, Fairest of All.
From a distance, Faraway promises to be everything the leaflet said it would be. Perched high on a hill, the castle looks quite luxurious. It’s even surrounded by a high stonewall and a moat. There’s nothing like privacy.
The coach crosses the drawbridge. As it follows the yellow brick road toward the guardhouse, my heartbeat accelerates. I can hardly wait for my first spa treatment. And, at last, to look at myself in a mirror.
The guard, a friendly giant named Gulliver, unlocks the massive iron gate and lets us in. The driver pulls up to the castle where a plump fairy godmother-type in a green uniform with wings is waving. Of course, she must be a spa attendant. Clever! A fairy spa-mother.
“Welcome to Faraway!” she says in one of those bubbly voices I so hate. “We’ve been expecting you, dearie.”
Dearie? Is she kidding? Doesn’t she mean “My Queen”? Or “Your Majesty” or “Your Highness”? I’d even settle for “Queenie.”
Before I can set her straight, she whisks me inside the castle.
Inside, Faraway doesn’t quite measure up to what I expected. The “grand entrance” is not so grand. The walls are painted dingy yellow, and in some places, there are signs of chipping. The shabby furnishings, for sure, are from some junk store. Nowhere is there evidence of the lush lounging areas I’ve read about in those beauty magazines. Perhaps, the place is about to undergo major renovations. It seriously does need an extreme makeover.
“Here, fill this out.” The fairy spa-mother hands me a sheet of parchment and a quill.
“Please answer all the questions below,” it states on top. Of course, the admissions form.
1. What are your goals here at Faraway?
To get beautiful, then split.
2. Do you have any hobbies and talents?
Disguises. Also, making evil potions.
3. List some of the evil things you’ve done.
Not enough space to write answer.
4. Have you ever had a best friend?
My magic mirror, but we’re not speaking.
5. Have you ever been in love with someone?
Does “myself” count?
6. I care about other people. TRUE OR FALSE?
Trick question! Not answering!
7. What could improve your life?
A facial, massage, and definitely a new mirror.
8. How do you feel about your mother?
NO ANSWER! It’s none of your damn business.
9. What are you most afraid of?
Sunburn.
10. On a scale of 1-10, with 1=My life is a horror story and 10=My life is a fairy tale, how would you rate your life?
10! I’m here, right?
Strange questions, but easy enough. Except for Question #8. Some things are personal. Very personal. Besides, what does my mother have to do with getting a facial or massage? She’s the last person I want to think about. Ever!
The fairy spa-mother snatches the application and reads it over. “Come with me for your first treatment.” She bounces into the air and then flies down the hall.
Yes! At last! She’s taking me for a facial. Anyone with two eyes can see I desperately need one. Following her, I wonder why I don’t see any princesses with blue facial masks and fluffy white robes. And how come there aren’t any mirrors on the walls?
Along the way, I pass a young woman, who’s so skinny it’s scary, mopping the floors. A good sign of a quality spa, I tell myself, having once read to beware of unsanitary conditions. She shoots me a smirk.
The loser’s just jealous. I almost feel sorry for her. I pick up my pace to catch up with the fairy spa-mother.
She finally touches down in front of a door at the end of the corridor. The words “Private Do Not Enter” are scrawled across it. A treatment room. I can’t wait to step inside.
To my surprise, the room is small and sparse. There’s a simple wooden chair, a small set of drawers, and a bucket of water. And it, too, is painted insipid yellow. Whoever did the interior decorating around this place should be fired.
The fairy spa-mother shoves me onto the chair and drapes a shabby yellow smock over my head.
“Hey, where’s my fluffy white robe?” I ask, shocked to be treated with such indignity. When I’m done with my facial, the first thing I’m going to do is complain and get her fired.
Two thumb-sized pixies, dressed in stretchy white uniforms, come buzzing into the room. One has green hair; the other purple. They circle my head in opposite directions.
“Say hello to the Hair Fairies.” The fairy spa-mother grins. “They’ll be taking over from here.” She flies out the door, slamming it behind her.
The two pixies immediately examine my hair, strand by strand.
“I haven’t had a good shampoo in ages,” I tell them as they run a spiky comb through my mane. Aah. It feels so good against my itchy scalp. At last, I’m beginning to feel like I’m at a spa.
Not for long. Without the courtesy of a warning, they dump the bucket of water over my head.
Aagh! It’s ice cold. I jump up from the chair.
Snip. Snip. The sound comes at me faster. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip.
What the hell? They’re chopping off my hair!
“I order you to stop!” I cry out, my voice more panic than power-driven.
The fairies accelerate their pace, each clutching the handle of a bone-shearing pair of scissors.
I swat at them frantically, but they’re too damn fast. Panic turns to dread. What if the maniacs butcher my face with the razor-sharp blades? I shield it with both hands.
“You have lice,” tisks the purple-haired fairy.
I scratch my head and gasp. “I want my hair back!”
“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back,” says her green-haired partner as another clump tumbles to the floor.
Grow back? It took me my entire life to grow my raven-black hair past my butt. That’s it. I’m going to snatch the scissors and clip their wings. Then stomp on them.
Too late. They fling the scissors across the room. I gaze down at a foot-high mountain of hair. My hair! Sick to my stomach, I run my fingers through what remains of it. All two inches.
“Give me a mirror!” I scream.
“There are no mirrors at Faraway,” says the green-haired fairy as she nosedives into the layers of hair and starts tossing them into the bucket.
No mirrors? She must be joking. No mirrors?? What kind of spa is this?
“You’re ready to meet Elzmerelda, your roommate,” says the other, scooping up more of my precious locks.
Roommate? Even in that disgusting dungeon, I had my own private room. Maybe it was just a stinky cell, but at least, it was all mine.
“You’re going to adore her,” she continues. “She’s one of our favorite inmates. She’s done so well here.”
“We always try to pair up a new patient with a recovering one,” the green-haired fairy adds. “We have found that a recovering addict can serve as an excellent role model for someone who has not yet set out on their road to renewal.”
Inmates? Patients? Addicts? I read in those beauty magazines—even in that brochure—that people at spas are called “guests.”
“What about my massage? My facial? My seaweed wrap? My aromatherapy bath?”
The two pixies stare at me as if they haven’t understood a word I’ve said.
My voice takes on desperation. “Or how about a swim in the mineral pool?” I read many spas have them. “I happen to be an excellent swimmer.”
The purple-haired pixie raises her brows as if I’m some kind of nutcase. “Honey, the only ‘pool’ we have here is a moat. And trust me, you don’t want to be swimming in that disease-infested swamp.”
“I demand to see a list of spa services,” I say in my most authoritative voice.
“This is not a spa,” say the pixies in unison.
Of course. I’ve been sent to the wrong place. It’s a mistake. A terrible, stupid mistake!
“Faraway is a recovery center for people who are addicted to evil,” says the green-haired fairy in a matter-of-fact voice.
A recovery center for addicts? I should have known it sounded too good to be true. It was all a bunch of lies. A horrible bunch of lies! I should start a lawsuit! That’s what I should do!
Suddenly, it all sinks in. I’ve been tricked. Faraway isn’t a spa. It’s an insane asylum!
Sloshing through my pile of hair, I bolt to the door.
I jiggle the knob, but it’s jammed. I slam my body against the hard slab of wood, hoping I can ram it down. Not even a dent. My hip roars with pain.
“I order you to let me out of here!” I scream.
The duo fires me a look that says I am crazy.
Beads of sweat are erupting all over me. Nausea rises to my chest, and the room closes in on me. And then blackness.