The Princess Smiled At Him Happily From Across The Battlefield As She Rode Away. 

"Sorry, can't help you," the council says, the head mage waving his hand. Everything fades away, and I find myself in the archmage's cottage.

I kick and throw some stuff out of irritation for awhile, shouting at the ceiling. But when I kick the bed, the end post falls off, revealing a hollow hole inside.

I reach in, and find a small journal. Curious, I sit down on the bed and open it up.

"Dear reader, if you are reading this, it means I have FINALLY found a way out!!! Bless you, for you are most likely the one to thank for this turn of events.

"You see, I (an archmage, for 200 years), was never supposed to be. I cannot do magic to save my life, as you have most likely found out firsthand. I am not even sure how I ended up with the position, as I never dueled the previous archmage. The council simply appeared one day and declared it so. And so here I am, writing this book to tell you how I have managed for two centuries without magic."

My eyes are huge as they scan the pages. A few pages in, I discover that the previous arachmage, while unable to do much magic, was quite accomplished at potion work.

Anytime someone came to him needing something, or he was called upon to solve a problem, or banish a beast, he found or made a potion of some kind to suit the problem.

The book is filled with potions recipes, words to speak over them, infusions to add to objects.

"All this time," I marvel. "Maybe the council knew what they were doing after all. It wasn't magic the archmage was performing.

"It was science."

You are a terrible mage, yet through pure, dumb luck you managed to defeat an archmage in a duel, thus taking their place according to ancient tradition. Many mages protest against giving such a prestigious position to a clearly unqualified candidate, including yourself.

"Oh. Yeah, it was tricky. Thankfully, I'm very smart. What do you think?"

"Unfortunately, I'm impressed."

“How could you?” “I can expla-“ “No, I don’t mean morally. Logistically how could you even pull something like this off?”

"You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices."

- John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

The first few times, I didn’t understand why everything felt so familiar. I would wake up at 16 with nothing but vague dreams from every time before. My room sometimes looked different than I thought it should. Eventually, I started to keep a diary. Strangely, it always stuck around when the clock reset. 

That was how I figured out the timeline. 30 whole years. I lived from 16 to 35, and on the morning of my 46th birthday, I would wake up at 16 again. 

Once I realized what was happening, I tried to make the best of it. I lived each time out differently, reading about everything I had done before in my diary.

One time, I married my best friend. The next, I married someone I met in college. A few times, I didn’t get married, once I didn’t go to college.

I had four kids after I graduated, then one kid during college, then no kids at all.

Once, I had a kid before I was even out of high school. 

Saved my father’s life, didn’t get there in time.

Got arrested (only made that mistake once), became a bad influence, became a good one.

Got an office job, worked as a police officer, tried my hand at acting, singing, dancing, tried graphic design.

Made friends, lost friends, made more.

I made plenty of mistakes, especially in the beginning. But then, doesn’t everyone? Some of them I made over and over again, but some mistakes you only make once.

I never figured out what was causing me to reset my life. 

But I didn’t really care.

See, most people only get one life, no matter how long or short it is.

My life may have only been 30 years, but I got to do it over and over again, however I wanted.

In my opinion, that’s a gift.

I love my life.

You are caught in a time loop but instead of resetting you daily, it resets you every 30 years

I groan as the well-meaning hero handcuffs me. For the third time this week.

“I’m telling you, all she wanted to do was say goodbye!”

The hero scoffs, tossing her hair. “Uh huh. Then would you care to explain why there was someone who was supposed to be dead marching down Main Street, terrorizing the locals?”

I try to rub my forehead, forgetting about the handcuffs, wincing with pain when they pinch my skin. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know things would get this out of hand. I’m just trying to help! You’ve got to stop arresting me for that!”

The hero gets a serious look in her eyes. “Okay, let’s get a few things straight. First, I’m not arresting you. I’m detaining you, for the main purpose of protecting you from some very angry locals. Second, I know you’re trying to help, which is the main reason you haven’t been actually arrested yet. Third, I want to help you! We’ve been over this before!”

I roll my eyes, wincing at the ache behind them. Raising the dead comes with a price.

The hero sighs and starts digging around in her backpack. “You forgot aspirin again, didn’t you?” She helps me swallow it before she continues talking. “If you would just talk to me before you go rushing off next time. I could have told you that in this particular case, the woman you raised was arrested twice in the last five years of her life. I would have told you it wasn’t a good idea, that she might try to seek revenge.”

I shrug, as well as I can with my hands behind my back. “The dead can be unpredictable. At least Shelly got to say goodbye to her sister. They’re twins, you know.”

“You’ve got to leave,” the hero whispers. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’s too hard here. You keep raising people that turn on you. Everyone else - and I mean everyone - wants to stop you for good. Take away your powers. You know that you can’t stay here anymore. I’m the only one who backed you this time.”

I stare for a minute. “Wha- leave? Like…for good? I’d need to- to pack…”

She wordlessly pulls a second backpack from inside hers. I’d never understood how she fit so much inside that thing. I recognize it as my own backpack, and it looks full.

“I just needed you to listen to me,” she says quietly, unlocking the cuffs. 

I rub the feeling back into my wrists as she hands me my backpack. I peek inside.

“There’s water, food, aspirin, a few changes of clothes, and some money in there.” The hero says, zipping up her own backpack. “I stuck a few other things in there too. There should be a map somewhere. Your best bet is probably the river town a few days from here. Good luck.”

I stare at her as she starts to walk away. I find my voice. “Wait.”

She turns.

“Won’t they be mad at you for letting me go? Again?”

She nods without a sound.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still shocked at her kindness.

She starts to walk away again, saying over her shoulder, “You’re welcome.”

“Wait.”

She pauses.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You’re a necromancer, but only ever use your magic for good, like letting the dead and living alike get closure, or raising fallen enemies to hand them over to the proper authorities. Only problem is that heroes usually think that you’re one of the bad guys.

He shrugged as much as was possible, what with all the ropes holding him in place against the pole.

"Honestly, I'm good with either one."

The villian stopped her pacing. "Huh?"

He shrugged again. "I dunno, I'm kinda done with all this hero stuff. They ask me to do things that keep me up at night. If I'm dead, they can't make me do stuff anymore!"

She paused, staring at him in fascination. "That is...slightly morbid."

"And," he continued. "Let's be objectively honest. You're a gorgeous person."

The villian couldn't help her blush, though she crossed her arms and turned away to hide it, resuming her pacing.

The hero watched her for a few more minutes before he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Did you...did you really want to kiss me - or kill me - or was that just messing with my head? I can never tell with you."

She ignored him and walked away, out of his sight line. He could hear her rummaging through what he assumed were her possessions. Several minutes later, the villian walked back into view, carrying a backpack that was obviously stuffed.

One eyebrow raised as the hero asked, "Going somewhere?"

She raised her eyebrows right back. "Yeah, to my sister's place. If you don't want to do this little dance anymore, it takes all the fun out of it."

"Now, I didn't say that-"

"So," she interrupted. "Wanna come with me?"

Writing Prompt #2848

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Kiss you. Kill you. I'm not sure yet."

“I don’t get it.”

I sigh. “I know. Me either.”

My boyfriend scratches his head in confusion. “You’re telling me that you are the biological daughter of Death. That Death actually…did the deed with someone? That just seems so wrong.”

I nod in agreement. “I don’t even know who it was. My money is on one of the old gods. But it could have been a mortal.”

Jake wrinkles his nose. “You don’t think it was a ghost, do you?”

I roll my eyes. “Not really how it works. So, no. Anyway, I kinda gave up asking several years ago. He’s my dad, he loves me, and he’ll tell me literally anything except who my mom is. Besides, am I really missing that much?”

Jake crosses his arms. “Yes! I love my mom! You should ask again. You need a good excuse though…”

“Don’t be silly!” I reach over and smack him lightly. “I’m not going to bug my dad just to satisfy your curiosity on a subject that he has made it clear he doesn’t want to discuss! Grow up!”

“Ow,” Jake mutters, glaring playfully and rubbing his arm. His eyes light up. “Ooh, say you need to know for your medical records! Or a genealogy assignment for school!”

“He-” I stop. Actually, he might believe the medical one. I look away, refusing to play the game. “No.”

“Come on!”

I shake my head. 

“Please,” Jake pleads, giving me his puppy dog eyes. 

I lose the staring contest and groan, going inside the house to see if I can get an answer this time.

Ten minutes later, I come back outside.

Jake is practically bouncing with excitement. “Well? What did he say?”

When I stay quiet, he deflates a bit. “Didn’t work?”

“Oh, it worked,” I say quietly. 

Jake is breathless. “And?”

I look up at him, an unreadable expression on my face.

“My mother is Queen Elizabeth II.”

You are the child of Death. Everyone always assumes that you were adopted, but you are in fact Death's biological child, although they are unwilling to tell how exactly this happened.

“Today has been pretty good. Not many visitors. I started a new book about-” My voice cuts off abruptly as I stare at her. “You…you just wasted your question. Why would you do that?”

She smiles gently. “I didn’t need it.”

“But…” I am lost. Confused. “Why?”

“Because,” she says, reaching out and putting her hand on my arm. “I thought you could use a friend. So could I. What’s your book about?”

Numbly, I start explaining the intricacies of my book, offering her some refreshments.

And that is how the strangest friendship I’ve ever had began.

You have been a mountaintop prophet for 1,000 years. Each person only gets one question and you’re sure you’ve heard every question that can be asked. Until one day someone uses their one question to ask, “How are you doing?”

I pause. "Centuries?"

My brother nods. "Centuries, blah blah blah, prophecy, blah blah blah, chosen one, blah blah, overthrown and killed, you get the point. I'm outta here!"

He looks a bit too excited for my comfort. I gently extract my newborn daughter from my older brother's arms, slowly taking the dagger out of her hands.

"Mom told me you're 10 years older than me, and that's why you've been king as long as I can remember." I say carefully. Has he finally snapped? I knew the war was wearing on him, but this?

He rolls his eyes. "Try 287 years older than you. And "Mom" isn't really MY mom. Really, I thought you would have figured it out by now. I did try to leave you hints."

I can only stare at him. "But...how? Why?"

He shrugs. "Cursed, evil fairy, 'wasn't invited,' (her sister hid the invite, it wasn't my fault!), you get the idea."

I clutch my daughter a little tighter. "So no one has noticed that you've been on the throne for 200 years?"

"No, people are surprisingly unobservant. Every 30 years or so, I 'get sick' and fake my death, my 'son' rising to power. It's surprisingly easy to do."

My eyes widen in horror. "You're not my dad, right? Mom said he died a few years after i was born!"

He shudders. "Eww, no! Obviously, she knew and helped me lie about it, but no. For all intents and purposes, I'm still your older brother. Your family line has descended from my younger brother."

I can hardly believe my ears. "Why didn't Mom tell me the truth?"

My brother sighs. "There are some stupid people in this kingdom that actually like the way I rule, despite my best efforts to rile them up and get them to assassinate me (doesn't work by the way, someone tried that 173 years ago).

"If they knew the truth, that your child would finally take me out of power, you'd better believe that you wouldn't have lived past 5 years old. Despite my best efforts, there are still a few people out there who know the prophecy."

"So you want my infant child to stab you right now?!" I ask in disbelief. "I can understand the rest, but that would leave ME in charge until she's of age. And she would be crowned while she was still a child! Do you really want that for the kingdom?"

He rolls his eyes again. "I don't care."

"How are you so sure that it's her?"

He closes his eyes, remembering the prophecy. "'Spinner's daughter, without sister or brother, shall end your reign, and she will prosper.' Not a great prophecy as far as the contents. It barely rhymes, but it gave me hope that there would be an end to ...this.

"But if it means that much to you, I guess I can wait a few more years. But I will be telling her the truth, the WHOLE truth!"

I nod. "Me too," I say quietly.

17 years later, at my daughters birthday party, my brother's butler comes to find me, in a panic.

"Your Higness, your brother has fallen ill! It's quite bad. You should come see him."

I follow him up the stairs to my brother's room.

"What's the matter?" I ask when I see him, lying in his bed.

He smiles weakly. "I'm not sure when she did it, but she must be behind this. I'm so-" He cuts off in a coughing fit.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, tears filling my eyes. "I wish it could be different. Do you want to see her?"

He shakes his head. "Don't spoil her fun, it's her birthday. And I'm happy, I really am. I'll see my wife, my kids, my parents and siblings."

He sighs happily. "I've been dreaming about this for centuries."

An hour later, my older brother dies in his bed, 200 years overdue.

My daughter cries at her beloved uncle's death, though she wipes away her tears and puts on a brave face for the coronation the next morning.

The kingdom mourns his death for the final time, even as they celebrate their first queen in 275 years.

No one notices me slipping into the background of the party, hiding a small black bottle in my hand.

When I dump it out the window, the plants underneath it shrivel up and die.

“Why are you giving my newborn baby a dagger?!” “Well they’re a choosen one, which means that I’m destined to be killed by them; but honestly I’ve been waiting centuries for them to be born and I just want to get it over with.”

Dear Diary,

I'm going to have to lock this diary away and destroy it. I love kids.

The Addams kids? They're menaces!

I'm fairly certain the girl wants to kill me. At least the boy seems fairly... sweet? No, not the right word. If I did die, he would definitely hide the evidence. Or eat it. The kid eats like a pig.

One thing is for sure. If I go missing, the girl got me and the boy finished me off.

Dear Diary,

Today was worse. I left the Addams kids playing upstairs while I went to make them lunch. When I came to fetch them, the girl had strapped her brother to some sort of contraption. I'm fairly certain it was an electric chair, though I don't know how she got one. Or why...

He was fine, just hungry. Which is almost more concerning. He ate so much at lunchtime, I'm not sure how he had room for dinner. I thought he might explode.

Oh well. Better luck tomorrow.

Dear Diary,

It's been a week. That girl - Wednesday - has tormented me within an inch of my life! There is blood in strange, unexpected places. Snakes and critters hidden in my bed. She locked me in my room for a whole day! There's even a disembodied hand in this house! It moves.

I think she might be clinically insane.

Pugsley on the other hand...I think he just does whatever she tells him to. Yesterday, she told him to jump out the second story window. I barely caught him. Then, I could barely pull him back inside. The kid weighs a ton.

The kicker? Wednesday said she wanted to see if he would bounce.

Dear Diary,

The Addams family will be reunited in two days. I'm overjoyed. I should've listened when everyone warned me. I won't lie, the house is interesting, and the stories the kids tell are...intriguing, at least, if not worrying. But you won't catch me anywhere near this place again. I wouldn't touch it with a very long pole, not even with several weapons hidden on me.

At least Wednesday has stopped trying to give me a heart attack. Instead, she takes it out on Pugsley.

But at least he seems used to it. Sometimes, I think he enjoys it.

Dear Diary,

Change of plans. Pugsley didn't want me to leave. He sat on my feet and cried when I tried to walk out the door. Not even Wednesday could make him move. Although, I'm not sure how hard she tried. I think I maybe saw a glimmer in her eyes.

It might have been a tear, but I guess it's more likely a plot.

Dear God, I hope it's not against me for leaving.

Maybe I'll come back to visit.

Dear Diary,

It's been awhile. The Addams family is...strange.

Wednesday and Pugsley meet me at the park every weekend for a picnic.

Morticia has me over for tea every other week.

Gomez decided I needed to learn how to fence. I don't think I had a choice. So now I have a fencing lesson twice a week. It's an odd sport.

That hand...Thing. Apparently, he likes playing checkers. I still don't know how I got roped into that.

I avoid the grandma though. She gives me the creeps. Not to mention the bald uncle. I'm fairly sure he's been arrested multiple times.

Anyway, now the Addams family is like my second family. My home away from home.

Who would've thought?

You, new in town and strapped for cash, see an ad in the paper; apparently, a "Gomez and Morticia Addams" are in need of a babysitter to watch their two children during a business trip. Despite the VERY high pay, no one has pursued it. Ignoring warnings from the locals, you sign up.