Hundreds of thousands of bloodthirsty thorns of hundreds of feet high surrounded the castle, guarding it, warning journeying travelers from entering. The gray clouds tumbled turbulently in the white sky. The ground was a clear reflection of the sky, pure white, virginal. It was no longer snowing but that did not make the way any less treacherous.
He made his way towards those cruel thorns, carefully stepping over slippery patches of frost. The glassy ice revealed the determination in his cobalt eyes and betrayed the fear in his stiff jaw. He occasionally brushed a strand of silvery-blond hair out of his beautiful face with an elegant black-gloved hand, an artist's hand. His black rawhide boots sank softly in the powdery snowfall, marking his path to anyone who cared to look.
He came armed with only a single silver dagger studded with precious gems of sapphire and amethyst.
His long black-clothed legs took him quickly to danger, only stopping when the myriad of vicious thorns, like barbed wire, forced him to. Only then did he take out his dagger and cleanly slash his palm so that hot red blood spilled out onto the cold, bitter ground. His breath came out in a gasp of white smoke, curling around the thorns like old friends.
The blood was an offering, and the thorns, as if they were alive and human, took it as one. Blood, give us more blood, they seemed to whisper wickedly. The thorns unlocked, slid apart to expose a narrow ashen path. He smeared his bloodied dagger in the pure white, virginal snow, destroying its clean innocence. Replaced the once again shining dagger in its plain sheath. Clenched his bare bleeding hand into a tight fist, making the dark blood run harder. He walked on, leaving a trail of blood behind him, as a key, as an offering, as a secret.
He walked carefully but purposefully, imagining he could hear the screams of others who had come here before him. Sharp and acute, they pierced through his thin clothing like arrows, leaving no marks on his flawless flesh , only passing through. He was near the middle of the beginning of the path. A resentful wind started to build up around him, harshly tearing at his chapped face, making his eyes water painfully.
He stumbled a little, catching himself before he hit the motionless figure that lay on the ground. It was a man, his glassy brown eyes still open, a fatal wound in his chest still bleeding profusely. A bloody thorn lay nearby, as if watching the poor man bleed to death, making sure he stayed dead. He watched as more and more blood poured out of the man's still chest, and he realized that the man would forever stay like that, eternally bleeding. He stepped stiffly over the immobile body, his fist clamping together even tighter.
More men lay bleeding on his white, tainted path, and others floated high in the air, staked on the barbs he was careful never to get too close to, forever alive in suspended animation, reliving over and over again their never-ending moment of death. He was halfway through and getting weaker. The loss of blood was becoming severe, making his vision start to blur prettily. He fantasized the thorns had started to dance closer and closer to him, as if seeing who could stab him first. He staggered along the unbeaten trail, self-injured arm hanging limply by his side. Only the sounds of his quick, painful breaths penetrated the hushed silence.
He was at the end.
He fell against the smooth gray door, pushing it open inch by heavy inch. Once inside, the door shut behind him soundlessly, as if afraid to disturb its sleeping occupants. He wandered through the long corridors knowingly, as if he had been there a million times before. Bright spots decorated his fading vision as he weaved toward the highest tower where his goal lay. No one was there to see him reach his destination, no one to see him not kneel so much as collapse by the bedside of its sleeping princess. Silver cobwebs adorned the corners and ceiling of the large room, the spiders nowhere to be seen.
The sleeping princess was no more than skin and bones, an emaciated cadaver. Her lipless mouth was pressed tightly together, her eyelids depressed deep into the sockets where the eyes had melted away quickly over time. Her hair was thin and white, crumbling into dust where he touched it. Thin leathery skin stretched tightly across protruding bones, and in some places the skin was nonexistent. Oddly enough, no insects or parasites had touched the princess. No moths had eaten ravenously through the bed sheets or her long faded gray gown. She lay untouched by life, only ravaged by time.
For the second time he removed his dagger from its scabbard and sliced his scabbing wound even deeper and longer. Bright fresh blood bubbled over his arm and onto the dusty stone floor, escaping into the dirty cracks to darken maliciously. He held his shaking hand over her mouth, dripping the scarlet life into her closed mouth. He shut his eyes and closed his long trembling fingers together. He didn't make a sound when he felt what felt like a grip of steel suddenly grasp and encircle his blood-stained wrist strongly, bringing his newly bleeding fist to its mouth.
It sucked painfully on his wound, drawing more of the precious flow of blood down its throat. He felt sharp teeth bite at the laceration, tearing his skin apart to widen the flood of blood, then touch the bones in his wrist and still she chewed deeper, grossly crunching his bones when they got in her way. His delicate veins were crushed and destroyed, the strong muscle ripped apart. His hand twitched spasmodically before he felt a lightness where his fingers used to be. He slowly opened his eyes to gaze sightlessly on his princess.
She had shredded his arm, gaping skin where his hand used to be. She gnawed up his arm, blood spouting down the front of her chest, his bone poking up, smooth and white. She only became lovelier and lovelier as she ruined him. Her hair came back to life, a thick and lustrous gold. Her eyes became a bright aquamarine, reflecting his regretful eyes back at him. Her long curling fringe of black lashes brushed her cheek when she blinked up at him. A light pink blush rose becomingly on her pale cheeks. Her lips, painted red by his ruby blood, parted dazedly. She licked them. Kneeled in front of him, pulling him in for a kiss before chewing off his sculpted lips. Flowers bloomed outside as she ate him from the outside in, sanguine roses as dark as the blood he had shed in the pathway, the thorns getting lower and lower as if time had sped up in killing them. Life returned to the castle as she grinded his heart between her teeth, blooding spurting out and running down her pretty white throat, staining her blue dress, the same bright color blue as her eyes.
She smiled serenely as not a trace of her white prince was left.
A/N: There are reasons why I did Sleeping Beauty this way and this gory, but I'm too lazy to write them down here. If you really want to know, PM me or just ask the question in your review, and I'll get back to you. I sound like an answering machine...haha.