Once upon a time, in a kingdom that bore no resemblance to any place you’ve heard of whatsoever (and any resemblance is completely coincidental), there lived a a sparkle purple puff princess. She was lively and loquacious and never drank hard liquor before 11am in the morning. The people loved her for her decorum.
The princess had many friends. One day, she and several of them went out to a neighboring kingdom because it had the best Szechuan in all the land. Oh, a merry time had they. There was singing and juggling and revelry. But one of the princess’ friends looked sad.
“Good prince, what bothers ye?” The merry troupe stopped their play to listen.
“Ay. There is a competition for the scribes in the land, and I do not know what to write.”
“That is simple,” said the princess. “You must write about life at court! Write about Crazy Roy, the undertaker. Write about the silly girls who say silly things and insist on baring their midriffs. Oh, the tales I could tell you! We will write it together!”
“I don’t know princess, no one wants to hear about life at court.”
“Of course they do! This place is ridiculous. Comic gold, fair sir. Together we shall spin a web of words that could trap any man. Or midriff-baring woman.”
“Very well, your highness. If you think it will go well.”
The troupe departed the tavern. When the morrow sprang, the princess went to her friend’s dwelling. Many hours passed and the two spoke of things courtly. The collaboration was most fruitful.
Many weeks passed. The princess wiled away her days mediating the conflicts of her people, and trying to convince her subjects that decorating with liquor bottles was a bad idea. She usually spent time with her husband, who was not a prince but a magician who worked in the kingdom’s sewers. He was the chief mage in charge of fixing the antiquated but highly charmed plumbing beneath the sparkle purple puff kingdom. “Sparkle puff plumbing sounds good all’ight, but she’s a beast to keep free of magic vermin!” (Incidentally, the law previous to the princess’ time had been that a princess must marry a purple sparkle puff prince. But it came to her father the king’s attention that his daughter wasn’t their “type,” so he changed the law in royal degree.)
Soon came the day that a scroll came to the princess’ doorstep. With much joy she read that her friend had submitted their tale and was now an award-winning bard. Hey nonny nonny! She and her people rejoiced, as they too felt they had a part in the victory.
Still more weeks passed. The great stone tablets bearing news went out throughout many kingdoms, until one was brought to the royal court’s attention. “Princess,” said an observer, “Surely a stylus or twelve must have slipped. This indicates that though your friend the award-winning bard has claimed his prize, he has edited out the fact that anyone else was involved in the creative process. Indeed, he singularly appears to have forgotten that it wasn’t really his idea at all!”
The princess grieved. Surely, her friend had been misrepresented. She resented the paperwork she would have to fill out with the local presses (getting retractions printed in the tablets was a pain). But this must be made right! His name must be cleared with her people!
The sparkle puff princess sent a carrier pigeon to the prince. To her came this brief reply,
“Silly princess. Of what do you speak? I came up with all those tales of court. The story was about me! I remember you were there, but really you kept me from my words. Oh, glorious words! Thank heavens for them. I’m sorry you grieve, sparkle puff. But you must keep in mind that you, at best, merely gave voice to all that was in my head already.”
The princess grew angry. Her sparkle puffiness took on rather unattractive shades of matte gray. She lamented her fate throughout the kingdom and her people listened with sympathy. Alas, there was not much to be done. She had to move on, mediating and continuing her never-ending quest to cover the ubiquitous bare flesh of the kingdom’s children. The princess came to a ye olde royal conclusion: when collaborating with a bard, always write a contract agreeing on attribution. Be ye as specific as possible. In ye olde triplicate. She made it part of her court’s education agenda to advise other kingdoms to do the same.
The princess also decided to learn the trade of sewer mage. She wasn’t really made for the cut-throat world of scribes and bards anyway.
The End
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