Pooty and the Beast (Part 1)

The Shittiest Princess is a series of funny fairy tales for those of us who ain’t exactly cartoon princesses. Stay tuned for a new adventure every week!  You can find the whole series here.

Once upon a fairy tale, there was an easy diet. Also, there lived a princess named Poot of Kingdomville, once named “Home of the Cutest Plague Victims” by Olde Tyme Diseases magazine. But no one would accuse Poot of being cute, even though her name rhymed with that word. Nope, Poot was unattractive, even on the insect scale. It was for this reason that Bucky, Poot’s obligatory evil stepmother, visited Poot’s dungeon dwelling one fine day.

“Stepdaughter,” said Bucky, “we cannot find a human prince who’s willing to wed you.”

Poot nodded, for she often put out prince box traps with herself inside, for royal men enjoy kidnapping and/or kissing women who are medically non-responsive. But her tricks never worked.

Bucky flipped her glossy hair and sneered at Poot like a starlet being asked to pay for her own drink. “Therefore, your father and I have decided to give you to the beast who lives in the Probably Haunted, Definitely Creepy Woods. We’re having to cough up a ton of gold, too, but I guess getting rid of you is worth your weight in valuables.”

“What?” Poot clutched her chest, her heart palpitating like a cute plague victim’s. “But what of my friend-wife Agnes? What of my freedom? How non-human is the beast? Are we talking tentacles, or…?”

“What’s an ‘Agnes’? Oh, who cares?” Bucky stood to the side while two muscled guards grabbed Poot and wrestled her out of the dungeon and into an awaiting carriage. “Bye, bye, Step-Fart! I’ll enjoy never having to look at you again! Bwahahahahahahaaa!”

She added that last laugh because she’d been taking a “Put More Fun in Your Evil Step-Mothering” class by correspondence. Extra credit: boo yah!

Poot cried in the carriage as it lumbered up the steep climb into the Probably Haunted, Definitely Creepy Woods. And they were — the trees had no leaves, but only spindly branches that resembled the clutching arms of ghouls. The actual ghouls, however, were much cheerier. They tried to hitchhike in Poot’s carriage, but the driver wouldn’t allow it. What a terrible, living-ist jerk, thought Poot.

They arrived at the castle of the beast. The stone citadel rose hundreds of feet into the air, and featured many scary, jutting bits. Pretty typical, except for the bright coat of jaunty yellow paint. This cheered Poot, and gave her hope that this beast might be friendly and kind to her.

A terrifying growl reverberated around the grounds, and the carriage driver muttered, “Hell no,” before abandoning her. Shadows loomed from behind an archway, and Poot steadied herself to fight off the vicious creature who would soon be her husband. Wait, no one had said anything about marriage. Great, she’d have to hump a monstrosity, and she wouldn’t even get to register at Bed, Bath, and Beyond for her troubles!

A giant, hairy big-foot-like beast lumbered around the corner and into the courtyard. He wore a green cape and a matching velvet suit of clothes. Poot surmised that he wasn’t so bad — he had nice facial features, in-between patches of silky brown hair. She just hoped he employed lots of Drain-Cleaning Minions.

“I’m Poot, your new… roommate,” Poot said. She shouldn’t seem too eager.

“Grrrrrr!” said the monster, raising his claws and flailing them for a moment. Then he dropped his arms and scratched his hip. “I’m Reginald. This is my place. It’s totally a castle.”

“Very impressive.” Poot nodded and smiled. They stood there for a minute in awkward silence. He peered closer at her. She smiled big before she realized her teeth weren’t in — she’d left home so fast, she didn’t have any of her possessions. Oh, well. Seven-foot-tall hairballs couldn’t afford to be picky, or else she wouldn’t be here. There was a certain comfort in that, and Poot decided to just be herself. No more Spanx! “Hey, I don’t suppose I could get some new clothes? I didn’t get to pack anything.”

“Sure. I have some leftover from the last…” He sucked in a breath and bit his lip with his fangy incisors.

Poot frowned. “The last… who? Or what, maybe?”

“I’ve already brought in some clothes for you!” He swept an arm toward the main archway with its wooden double doors. Poot followed him inside, where he showed off his living room; dining room; the mysterious locked room that must never be entered but there’s totally not anything weird in there; and her bedroom, which was done in pretty shades of blue. It was the nicest dwelling she’d ever had, in that it wasn’t pink or a dungeon.

“I love it! Thank you, Reginald.”

“So, Poot,” Reginald leaned against her doorway, “Were you cursed or something?”

“Yes. I’m cursed with being super good at Tetris!” Poot laughed. Reginald did not laugh. “It’s because I spend so much time alone.” She examined her new beast non-husband. “Were you cursed or something?”

“I’m from a place many miles beyond your world — we call it Planet Probably Haunted, Definitely Creepy. Such a beautiful, fun place.” With that, Reginald started out the door. “Dinner is at eight. I’m going to go to a faraway part of the grounds now and won’t be back for hours. Oh, and please don’t go in the mysterious locked room that must never be entered but there’s totally not anything weird in there.”

Poot nodded and closed the door behind him. She waited five minutes. She sang the theme from Greatest American Hero to herself while she waited. And then she headed toward the kitchen.

Just kidding. She went to the mysterious locked room that must never be entered but there’s totally not anything weird in there. Nothing would happen after she did that, naturally — that’s why there’s no part two of this story next week.

Stay tuned for part two of this story next week!

Published by

Lucy Woodhull

Lucy Woodhull is a novelist, humorist, parodist, and all-around geek. Her new venture is THE SHITTIEST PRINCESS, a series of un-fair-y tales right here on Persephone. You can check out her sexy, fun romantic comedies at www.lucywoodhull.com.

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