CRYSTAL QUEEN PROJECT IX - THE CRYSTAL QUEEN HERSELF

And now we come to the crowner of these character descriptions, i e the titular villainess; the CRYSTAL QUEEN herself.

The Meth Lab

The Crystal Queen
Frau Regina Schierling is the leading drug baroness in the province and one of its most relevant socialites, leading a double life.

GENDER DEVIANT VILLAINESSES - SWEDISH FAIRYTALES

These are the portraits of a wicked queen and her spoiled daughter, the villainesses of a fairy tale retelling by Atterbom. Notice how they are described: tall, broad-shouldered, fuzz on upper lips, freckles, green eyes, straight and uncared for blond hair. Isn't that unfair? And what about describing the ambitious cougar queen as "manhaftig?" Like calling Donegild "mannish"... is this an insult against women who deviate from the gender role??? So I think. I'm tall and blond and freckled and don't care much for my appearance myself, not to mention my personality or the fuzz on my own upper lip!!!
And these words:

"Ja, hvad än hända må, jag aldrig skall 
Som hon, engång, min storhet öfverlefva, 
Och ingen boja skall, om än af guld, 
På mig af någon Aurelianus läggas."

Isn't it, making a villainess talk about female independence and self-reliance without any male intervention... ALSO MORE THAN A BIT DISCRIMINATING??? I have to say myself the same, that no shackles, even if they were of gold, shall be put on me. So I find this depiction sexist, as much as Lady Macbeth or the wicked stepsisters in King Lear.

Drottning Gloriosa:

Mörkblå 
ögon, svartbågade ögonbryn, liljehy och rosenkinder; 
de förstnämnda voro ännu tårfyllda, men stora och 
strålande; och snart förspordes en synnerlig verkan, 
när hon fastade dem, ömsom lockande, ömsom befallande, 
på honom och allt hvad honom omgaf. 

I sanning, hon är 
fager och ståtlig än i dag; fastän i min smak nog mycket 
storvuxen, manhaftig och högdragen. Hon har till och med 
skägg på öfverläppen. 

Gloriosas dotter:

Drottningens egen dotter? Hon med gula 
hyn, röda fläckarne, gröna ögonen och hästhåret? 

Naturen har gjort henne väl mycket blond, det är 
saken; dessutom förläste hon sig under sin uppfostran 
hos en vis fru, som bor några mil härifrån i en skog, 
och heter Sysis. 

Om den säger man, att hon är en trollpacka. 

Drottningens Rum.

Man hör ett väggur slå.

DROTTNINGEN

ensam.

Hvad tiden brådskar! Hvarje qvartslag bringar
Mig närmare till den Förhatlige,
Till min besegrare, hvars fot jag nu
Sjelf måste sätta på min böjda nacke, 

Med lena händer, med en gladlynt uppsyn 

Och med ett honungssvall af söta ord! 

Fly, trots, till hjertats djupsta kamrar hän, 

Och göm i vrån dig, lik ett agadt barn, 

Som sliter sina hår i ohördt knot! 

Jag nära stod ’mitt mål: att gripa spiran 

Som denna ös enherrskarinna, straffa Förmätna fiender, mitt lif befria 

Ifrån en skugg-gemål, och ifrån henne, 

Hvars stjerna, fastän späd och blek, dock ständigt 

I vägen står för min. - Och nu! Hvad är 

All klokhet? Hvad förmå de skönsta planer? 

För svärmare och narrar gjordes verlden. 

Beherrskar slumpen den? och hvad är slump? 

En fräck lindansare, en plump pajazzo, 

Som gör i luften kullersprång, och sist 

Slår oss vid öronen med jernsmidd skoklack, 

Att vi till jorden, om hvarandra, tumla! - 

Men någon kommer. Fattning, vilda sinne! 

Stå still, som en till is förstelnad våg, 

Med vintersolsken öfver glattblank yta! 

Mitt barn! så går det, när på egen hand 
Dig lyster pröfva krafterna och lyckan. 
Du har ett nätt förstånd, har mycken käckhet, 
Men mer än billig sjelftillit.

DROTTNINGEN. 

O, denne gäck i högromantisk snitt, 
Som spela vill, inom min banas krets, 
En hotande komet, med skimmersvansen 
Af egenskaper, bragder, troubadourer! 
För honom och för mig ej gifves plats 
På samma jord. Böj honom bort! 

SYSIS. 

Ej alltid 

Var Gloriosa så mot honörn sinnad. 
Det sägs, att redan förr engång han ej 
Dig var likgiltig; men af andra skal. 

DROTTNINGEN. 

Påminn mig ej derom - dock, rättare: 
Påminn mig om allt ondt, som han mig gjort; 
Hur han mig re’n som gosse har förföljt, 
Med handlingar, med ord, - och alltigenom! 

SYSIS. 

Värst var ju dock, att ungersvennen ej 
Den platsen tog, som gafs åt vissnad enkling. 

DROTTNINGEN. 

Godt! gör mitt inre till ett haf af galla, 
Blott han, den nedrige, fördränks deri!

SYSIS. 

Förmå ej dina vänner, Spinamonte 
Och Mangipani, råda dig? 

DROTTNINGEN. 

Att buga, 

Och ljuga, - ja! men sedan? - Spinamonte? 
Du vet, hvad han mig är. Den största qvinna, 
Är qvinna likafullt. Ett smidigt rör, 
Att vid en lustfärd glittra i min hand, - 
Skars ej till stödjestaf; han är ett lekverk, 
Som jag endera dagen kastar bort, 
När, mätt derpå, jag hugfälls på ett annat. 
Och Mangipani? Skicklig ämbetsman, 
Gråhårig luf; men ingenting föröfrigt. 

SYSIS.

Blott fördom
Kan anse vår Forella ful. Hon är
Till växt, till anlet, ögon, allt, en skönhet
Just i ägyptisk stil - den äkta, enda,

Som bär alltjemnt den gamla Chaos-Nattens, 
Den enda sanna Gudamaktens, prägel. 

DROTTNINGEN 

ser efter henne. 

Hah! - Att det lättnar mig om bröstet 
Hvar gång, som du begifver dig din kos! - 
Du växer, gumma! Med hvad öfvermod 
Du djerfs behandla mig! – Men, likagödt! 
Jag tackar dig; af dig jag lärt mig mycket. 
Dock ser jag väl, att när jag spelat ut 
Med andra, blir mitt sista spel med dig. 
Och då? - Du menar mig ditt verktyg vara; 
An om du slutligen är mitt? Du vill 
Igenom mig på thronen lyfta opp 
Ett mörkt system, af griller sammanväfdt; 
Men andra äro mina planer. Sista 
Besväret är, att tänka upp, hur åter 
Man skall från sina verktyg ledig bli. 
De döda tala ej - och alldenstund 
Min riksfältherre ej förmådde segra, 
Han gjorde mig sin visst ej minsta tjenst 
Med det, att ej han lefde och blef fången.

Nu kan ej han förråda mig. - Men bort 

Till fest-anstalterna! - Med dem bestyr 

Nu Spinamonte; säll af denna flärd, 

Som mygg af dans i solsken. - Nalkas, öde! 

Hvad var Zenobia väl mer, än jag? 

Jag öfver henne står i mod och kraft; 

Ja, hvad än hända må, jag aldrig skall 

Som hon, engång, min storhet öfverlefva, 

Och ingen boja skall, om än af guld, 

På mig af någon Aurelianus läggas. 

ONE MORE MUSE FOR KATLA - A VALDIS LOOKALIKE

From a retelling of "The Singing, Springing Lark". Perrin is the hero and Lark is the true heroine. Perrin has just won the battle against the false heroine (Spoiler on my EAH canon in the end!):

She felt rough stubbled skin against her cheek, arms tense with muscle; the voice husky and pleasant, murmured against her hair.
He was tall and lean, and if the mingling of fire and moonlight did not lie, his face was neither
foolish nor cruel. He was unlike other suitors; there was a certain sadness in his voice, a hesitancy and humor that made her want to hear him speak. He did not touch her again when she drew closer, but she heard the pleased smile in his voice.
His face was quite easy to look at. He had tawny hair and eyes, and rough, strong, graceful
features that were young in expression and happier than their experience.
His name was Perrin. He was gentle and courteous to his servants, had an ear for his musicians' playing, and had lean, strong hands that moved easily among the jeweled goblets and gold-rimmed plates.

The dragon had fallen on its back, with the lion sprawled on top of it.
A woman lay on her back, with Perrin on top of her. His eyes were closed, his face bloody; he drew deep, ragged breaths, one hand clutching the woman's shoulder, his open mouth against her neck. The woman's weary face, upturned to the sky above Perrin's shoulder, was also bloodstained; her free hand lifted weakly, fell again across Perrin's back. 
Her hair was as gold as the sun's little box; her face as pale and perfect as the moon's
 face. The woman drew a deep breath. Her eyes flickered open; they were as blue as the sky.
She turned her head, looked at Perrin. She lifted her hand from his back, touched her eyes delicately, her brows rising in silent question. Then she looked again at the blood on his face.
She stiffened, began pushing at him and talking at the same time. "I remember. I remember now. You were that monstrous lion that kept nipping at my wings." Her voice was low and sweet, amused as she tugged at Perrin. "You must get up. What if someone should see us? Oh, dear. You
must be hurt." She shifted out from under him, made a hasty adjustment to her bodice, and caught sight of Lark. "Oh, my dear," she cried, "it's not what you think."
"I know," Lark whispered, still amazed at the woman's beauty, and at the sight of Perrin, whom she had not seen in seven years, and never in the
light, lying golden-haired and slack against another woman's body. The woman bent over Perrin, turned him on his back.
"He is hurt. Is there water?" She glanced around vaguely, as if she expected a bullfrog to emerge in tie and tails, with water on a tray. But Lark had already fetched it in her hands, from a little rill of fresh water. She moistened Perrin's face with it, let his lips wander over her hands,
searching for more. The woman was gazing at Lark.
The dragon princess: And the way we suddenly became ourselves again. I am--we are most grateful to you. My father is king of this desert, and he will reward you richly if you come to his court." She took a tattered piece of her hem, wiped a corner of Perrin's lips, then, in after-thought, her own.
"My name is Lark. This man is-"
"Yes," the princess said, musing. Her eyes were very wide, very blue; she was not listening to Lark. "He is, isn't he? Do you know, I think there was a kind of prophecy when I was born that I would marry a lion. I'm sure there was. Of course they kept it secret all these years, for fear I might actually meet a lion, but... here it is. He. A lion among men.
Do you think I should explain to my father what he was, or do you think I should just... not exactly lie, but omit that part of his past? What do you think?
"So I should tell my father. Will you help me raise him? There is a griffin just beyond those rocks. Very nice; in fact we became friends before I had to fight the lion. I had no one else to talk to except bullfrogs. And you know what frogs are like. Very little small talk, and that they repeat incessantly." She hoisted Perrin up, brushing sand off his shoulders, his chest, his thighs. "I don't think my father will mind at all. About the lion part. Do you?" She put her fingers to her lips suddenly and gave a piercing whistle that silenced the frogs and brought the griffin, huge and flaming red, up over the rocks. "Come," she said to it. Lark clung to Perrin's arm.
"Then how wonderful that you have found him. The griffin will fly us to my father's palace. It's the only one for miles, in the desert. You'll find it easily." She laid her hand on Lark's. "Please come. I'd take you with us, but it would tire the griffin-"
"But you see we are going across the desert, and anyway I think a nut might be a little small." She smiled brightly, but very wearily at Lark. "I feel I will never be able to thank you enough." She pushed the upright Perrin against the griffin's back, and he toppled face down
between the bright, uplifted wings.

"Perrin!" Lark cried desperately, and the princess, clinging to the griffin's neck, looked down at her, startled, uncertain.
...while the princess, cheerful again, waved one hand and held Perrin tightly with the other.
"Good-bye . . ."

What would he think when he woke and saw her golden hair, heard her sweet, amused
voice telling him that she had been the dragon he had fought, and that
at the battle's end, she had awakened in his arms?
And so. And therefore. And of course what all this must mean was, beyond
doubt, their destiny: the marriage of the dragon and the lion. And if
they were very lucky--wouldn't it be splendid--the enchantress might come

to see them married.

Finally, climbing a rocky hill, she saw an enormous and beautiful palace, whose immense gates of bronze and gold lay open to welcome the richly dressed people riding horses
 and dromedaries and elegant palanquins into it.
She hurried to join them before the sun set and the gates were closed.  She looked like a beggar, she knew but the people spoke to her kindly, and even tossed her a coin or two.
"We have come for the wedding of our princess and the Lion of the Desert, whom it is her destiny to wed."
"Who foretold such a destiny?" Lark asked, her voice trembling.
"Someone," they assured her. "The king's astrologer. A great sorceress disguised as a beggar, not unlike yourself. A bullfrog, who spoke with a human tongue at her birth. Her mother was frightened by a lion just before childbirth, and dreamed it. No one exactly remembers who, but someone did. Destiny or no, they will marry in three days, and never was there a more splendid couple than the princess and her lion."
As she walked down the streets, people stared at her, marveling. They made way for her. A man offered her his palanquin, a woman her sunshade. She shook her head at both, laughing again. "I will not be shut up in a box, nor will I shut out the sun." So she walked, and all the wedding
guests slowed to accompany her to the inner courtyard.
Word of her had passed into the palace long before she did. The princess, dressed in fine flowing silks the color of her eyes, came out to meet the stranger who rivaled the sun. She saw the dress before she saw Lark's face.
"Oh, my dear," she breathed, hurrying down the steps. "Say this is a wedding gift for me. You cannot possibly wear this to my wedding... No one will look at me! Say you brought it for me. Or tell me what I can give you in return for it." She stepped back, half-laughing, still staring at the sun's creation. "Where are my manners? She looked finally into Lark's eyes. She clapped her hands, laughing again, with a touch of relief in her voice. "You have come!  Perrin will be so pleased to meet you. He is sleeping now; he is still weak from his wounds."
 She took Lark's hand in hers and led her up the steps. "Now tell me how I can persuade you to let me have that dress. Look how everyone stares at you. It will make me the most beautiful woman in the world on my wedding day."
Lark, who had been thinking while the princess chattered, answered, "I will give you the dress for a price."
"Anything! "
Lark stopped short. "No--you must not say that!" she cried fiercely. "Ever! You could pay far more than you ever imagined for something as trivial as this dress!"
"All right," the princess said gently, patting her hand. "I will not give you just anything. Though I'd hardly call this dress trivial. But tell me what you want."
"I want a night alone with your bridegroom."
The princess's brows rose. She glanced around hastily to see if anyone were listening, then she took Lark's other hand. "We must observe a few proprieties," she said softly, smiling. "Not even I have had a whole night in my lion's bed--he had been too ill. I would not grant this to any woman. But I know you mean no harm. I assume you wish to tend him during the night with magic arts so that he can heal faster."
"If I can do that, I will. But--"
"Then you may. But I must have the dress first."
Lark was silent. So was the princess, who held her eyes until Lark bowed her head.
The princess said lightly, "You were gracious to refuse my first impulse to give you anything. I trust you, but in that dress you are very beautiful, and you know how men are.
Anyway, there is no need at all for you to appear to him like this. And how can I surprise him on our wedding day with this dress if he sees you in it first?
Lark yielded knowing she wanted to see Perrin with all her heart, and the princess only wanted what dazzled her eyes. "You are right," she said.
"You may tell people that I will stay with Perrin to heal him if I can. And that I brought the dress for you."
The princess kissed her cheek. "Thank you. I will find you something else to wear, and show you his room. I'm not insensitive--I fell in love with him myself the moment I looked at him. So I can hardly blame you for--and of course he is in love with me. But we hardly know each other, and I don't want to confuse him with possibilities at this delicate time. You understand."
"Perfectly."
"Good."
She took Lark to her own sumptuous rooms and had her maid dress Lark in something she called "refreshingly simple" but which Lark called "drab," and knew it belonged not even to the maid, but to someone much farther down the social strata, who stayed in shadows and was not allowed to wear lace.
"Till sunrise," she said; the tone of her voice added, And not a moment after.
She saw Perrin's face in the light of a single
candle beside the bed. It was bruised and scratched; there was a long

weal from a dragon's claw down one bare shoulder. He looked older, weathered, his pale skin burned by the sun, which had scarcely touched
it in years. The candlelight picked out a thread of silver here and
there among the lion's gold of his hair. She reached out impulsively,
touched the silver. "My poor Perrin," she said softly. "At least, as a
dove, for seven years, you were faithful to me. You shed blood at every
seventh step I took. And I took seven steps for every drop you shed. How
strange to find you naked in this bed, waiting for a swan instead of
Lark. At least I had you for a little while, and at long last you are unbewitched."
She bent over him, kissed his lips gently. He opened his eyes.
She turned away quickly before the loving expression in them changed to
disappointment. But he moved more swiftly, reaching out to catch her
hand before she left.
"Lark?" He gave a deep sigh as she turned again, and eased back into the
pillows. "I heard your sweet voice in my dream.... I didn't want to wake
and end the dream. But you kissed me awake. You are real, aren't you?"
he asked anxiously as she lingered in the shadows, and he pulled her out
of darkness into light.
He looked at her for a long time, silently, until her eyes filled with
tears. "I've changed," she said.
"Yes," he said. "You have been enchanted, too."
"And so have you, once again."
He shook his head. "You have set me free."
"And I will set you free again," she said softly, "to marry whom you choose."
He moved again, too abruptly, and winced. His hold tightened on her
hand. "Have I lost all enchantment?" he asked sadly. "Did you love the
spellbound man more than you can love the ordinary mortal? Is that why
you left me?"
She stared at him. "I never left you--"
"You disappeared," he said wearily. "I was glad when the dragon attacked me, because I thought it might kill me. Then I woke up in my own body, in a strange bed, with a princess beside me explaining that we were destined to be married."
"Did you tell her you were married?"
He sighed. "I thought it was just another way of being enchanted. A lion, a dove, marriage to a beautiful princess I don't love... what difference did anything make?"
Lark: "She took you away from me before I could tell her-I tried-"
And thus the princess found them, as she opened the door, speaking softly, "My dear, I forgot, if he wakes you must give him this potion--I mean, this tea of mild herbs to ease his pain a little-"She kicked the door shut and saw their surprised faces. "Well," she said frostily. "Really."
"This is my wife," Perrin said.
"Well, really." She flung the sleeping potion out the window, and folded her arms. "You might have told me."
"I never thought I would see her again."
"How extraordinarily careless of you both." She tapped her foot furiously for a moment, and then said, slowly, her face clearing a little, "That's why you were there to rescue us! Now I understand. And I snatched him away from you without even thinking--and after you had searched for him so long, I made you search--oh, my dear." She clasped her hands tightly. "What I said. About not spending a full night here.
You must not think-"



This dragon princess may have been the inspiration for Elle Skinner's equally blond, blue-eyed, and outrée Lady Valdis (Lark is raven-haired like Svetla, but Perrin is blond unlike Marcus). Let's see if she (Valdis) gets just jilted, like this dragon princess, or defenestrated!

The palace where Katla lives is also on a rock, overlooking Lake Vänern. The court is equally sumptuous, yet slightly austere fitting a warrior nation. The warrior king/former commander of the guards is actually her stepfather (she is a lovechild, conceived by her mother's human beau).
Speaking of being golden blond and blue-eyed, Katla transforms after healing/resurrecting the one she actually loved, Gustav Leutnant. She loses her dragon wings and special powers, the scales on her cheeks become freckles, her talons are reduced to normal nails, her flaming hair turns a lighter shade (golden blond), and her green eyes turn bluish-green. This whole "mugglification" also tears at her state of health. She had been warned not to take such a chance: the resurrection/extreme healing spell (a bullet lodged in a young lieutenant's heart was the wound to be healed!) would at worst cost her her life, but having lost Charles was a lesson harsh enough not to be that shallow and to tell true love from mere infatuation. The one who wished for anything beautiful or exciting her sight was set on sacrifices her powers for the life of the one she truly loved...

Charles Liddell physically resembles his namesake in the Pattou novel:
His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair.
In Edith Pattou's novel, the drug used on the dashing and golden-haired Charles by his troll fiancée is a powder called rauha. Which happens, coincidentally, to be the Finnish word for "peace" (cognate with German "Ruhe". Many troll words in the novel are actually Finnish.)! It's used, in the first place, as a painkiller, with the side effects of erasing the drinker's memories and creating a strong addiction, and withdrawal from rauha is lethal to addicts (could rauha actually be opium/laudanum? Or some mushroom substance, perhaps? I think it's most likely to be deadly nightshade, or some other alkaloid!)...

Charles
Nyamh
Ice Queen

    It was a man.

      His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair. The stranger was wearing the white nightshirt. It fit him well, not too wide nor too narrow across the shoulders; the sleeves falling to his wrists, neither too long nor too short.  

He lay on his side. His hand curled gently on the white sheet in front of him. There was a silver ring on his smallest finger. I could see sparse golden hairs on the back of his hand, and the curved fingers seemed vulnerable.

I made sure that Urda and Tuki wrapped him well in furs and gave him frequent draughts of slank. The cold will be an adjustment for him, but soon enough he will grow used to it.

His lovely face is pale and pinched with unhappiness, but it does not disturb me, for in time that will fade. There is rauha in the slank and this will help ease his pain, and blur his memories as well.

And my queen is most generous when the nightmares come. If I cry out, which I often do, she will come to me at once and bring me a cup of warm slank. She sits with me until my shaking abates.

 I do not think there is anything now that would stir Myk's memory—the rauha slank is too powerful for that to happen—but such a slip-up may trigger a nightmare. (I still do not know why the slank does not eliminate those occasional nightmares. It is irksome.)

      I saw Tuki for just a moment that afternoon, and he whispered to me, when no one was near, that he had given Myk the unpowdered slank again the night before. It had been seven days since the white bear's last dose of slank laced with rauha. Tuki saw a difference in him.

Tuki learned that Myk had a large cup of slank each night before bedtime. For a week Tuki had managed to substitute plain slank for the kind with the powder. I have some idea he switched his own slank, unpowdered, for Myk's, which he poured away. 

   I have been feeling somewhat odd of late. Not ill or unhappy. Just a little different, like my sight is clearer, or my thoughts. Or perhaps it is that I feel more awake; I certainly rise in the morning feeling more alert. I can't quite figure it out, but I am glad of it.

       I have even had brief memories of the time before I came to the ice palace. Even before I became a white bear. They are fleeting but pleasant.

      Just today I recalled being a child and playing on a field of the greenest grass, with many bright yellow flowers poking through the green. There were other children and we were all laughing together at something. It was very enjoyable, the memory.

      I have not told my queen because she does not care for mention of the past. And I do not wish to upset her, especially when she is so busy preparing for our future happiness.

Myk seems sleepy eyed, somewhat subdued. I suppose it is the effect of the double portion of powdered slank I gave him last night. But when he looks at me, he smiles...

  Last night Myk had one of his nightmares, the first in some time. I attribute it to wedding-night jitters and am not unduly concerned. He was very agitated, though, and I had to give him double the portion of the powdered slank. It was very peaceful, holding him in my arms as he settled down to sleep, his golden head resting on my shoulder.

    MY QUEEN IS RADIANT. I can hardly believe it is me she wishes to wed. Tomorrow. How can I be worthy of such an honor?

      Tuki is acting odd. All the time he gazes at the entrance, as though expecting someone to enter. He has hardly touched the delicious food.

      I wish I did not feel so drowsy and dull witted.

...but most died because of the slank—or, I should say, of withdrawal from the slank doctored with rauha. Those who had been at the palace for years and had been fed a daily diet of it were not able to adjust to life without slank. The withdrawal was a terrible thing, causing a violent trembling of the entire body, vomiting, and eventually an abrupt halt of breathing.

  "Charles," he replied.

      "My name," he said with a smile that lit his face. Setting down his flauto, he leaned over and picked up the book beside him on the couch. Opening it to one of the blank pages at the beginning, he pointed to some words written in a flowing, cursive hand:

       Charles Pierre Philippe, Dauphin

      "I wrote this," he said. "My name. I am Charles Pierre Philippe." He set down the book.

      And then he took both my hands tightly in his.

CHARLES PIERRE PHILIPPE was the fifth child of Charles VI, king of Fransk. My friend Havamal, the custodian of Master Eckstrom's library of books, helped me track down information about Charles's origins. It turned out that Valois, the word inscribed on the ring he gave Rose when they married, was the title of the line of royalty from which he was descended. Charles's younger brother was the dauphin whom the maid Jeanne d'Arc helped to put on the throne. But that is another tale.

      All it says in the written history was that Charles, beloved son of Charles VI and Isabeau, was born around the time of a peace parley of Amiens and died at age nine. From what we have learned of his parents—his father was hopelessly mad and his mother greedy and traitorous—it is possible he was better off as a white bear. I do not know whether he would agree with that or not.

       Charles dedicated himself to music and, in fact, invented a new design for flautos in which the mouthpiece cap contained a sponge to absorb the moisture from the player's breath. It was quite a success, and Charles became both a sought-after musician and an inventor. However, he never cared much for traveling, preferring to stay at home with his wife and children. They had four—one for each of the cardinal points of the compass.

In the Laboulaye story Perlino (rather influenced by Andersen's Snow Queen!), the leading character, blond and dashing like Charles, is tricked by the Countess of Clanking Shields to drink a golden powder that freezes his heart to ice, making him care for nothing but the poisonous powder, and causes addiction.

A TROLL PRINCESS: MORE INSPIRATION FOR KATLA

In a retelling of a Scandinavian folktale, we find a redoubtable troll princess living in an elegant baroque palace north of the Arctic Circle. I drew from her to create my so renowned Katla (SPOILERS FOR MY EVER AFTER HIGH FICS AHEAD!):

There was no courtyard, and no wall around the golden palace, but then, there was no need for any. The palace doors rose to four times the height of a man and were set with precious gems in a design that showed the sun and moon eclipsed. Over the doors, dimly seen in the light from the torches that burned on each side, the lass could make out the emblem of the troll queen: a polar bear on a blue background, with a crown above it and a saw-edged sword below.

The true heroine meets a guard (whom else)?
He carried a black sword with a serrated edge, like the one on the trolls’ standard, and wore livery of a sort: a blue leather vest and trousers. His boots were studded with iron, and there were iron cuffs around his wrists. He had huge ears pierced with fat rings, and a sharp, jutting nose. There was no hair on his head, but his scalp had been painted blue.
(Notice where I took Katla's army's uniforms from!)

"It’s all wine and dancing and feats of magic, and I’m out in the cold talking to a mad human."
The palace of the trolls was a truly magnificent place. There were windows with panes of crystal set into the walls every few paces, and the lass stood on tiptoe to peep through them. She supposed that for a troll they would be low, but even on tiptoe she could just rest her chin on the sill. It was growing darker and darker, and inside the lights blazed. From what the lass could see, there was a great deal going on. She heard music and saw servants in blue livery rushing back and forth with silver trays. The servants were gargoyles, pixies, brownies, and other creatures.
None of the servants were trolls.
But there were plenty of trolls in attendance. Male trolls and female, dressed in elaborate suits and gowns of brightly colored satin and velvet. Jewels gleamed and sparkled in the light from the hundreds of candles. The troll ladies had their hair piled in fabulous towers of curls above their hideous gray-green faces, and the troll gentlemen had caps of leather or silver or gold covering their heads.

The ballroom was a sight to behold: huge beyond belief, with pillars of carved crystal and amethyst. Chandeliers with dangling pendants that were surely diamonds filled the room with light and were reflected on the gleaming black floor. At one end of the ballroom stood a dais with two thrones. One was of gold, set with rubies, and the other silver, set with sapphires. Beside the silver-and-sapphire throne was a stool, also of silver and inlaid with pearls.
The double doors at the far end of the room flew open. A dozen servants marched into the room in perfect formation. They had the upper bodies of men and the lower bodies of horses, four legs and all. They stood at attention to each side of the large doors and raised silver trumpets to their lips. When their fanfare was over, the roomful of trolls dipped into deep curtsies or folded in half with bows.
“There’s a world of difference between that bored sentry out there and the fish-eyed courtiers in there!"

The doors opened and an especially hideous troll woman in a scarlet gown swept into the room. She had a tall pile of unnaturally yellow hair surmounted by a crown that was more diamonds than gold. Her eyes bulged and her nose drooped down almost past her lips. There were so many gold rings in her ears that the lobes touched her shoulders. Her skin was the exact color and texture of unpolished granite.
That's the Queen, the Princess's mother. Though I beautified Katla's.
The queen surveyed the room with her glaring, scum-green eyes and sailed past her bowing subjects to take her seat on the golden throne. The centaurs—that was what the servants were, the lass remembered reading of such creatures once—blew an-other, shorter fanfare to herald the entrance of a second troll lady...

And now for (DRUMS ROLL)...
She wore a gown of sapphire-blue velvet, to match her throne, and her hair was a gleaming arrangement of flame-red tresses and diamond hairpins. She swayed across the room with the air of a woman who knows all eyes are upon her, and stopped to plant a kiss on the cheek of the human prince before sitting on the silver throne.
Of course this is another story that inspired me to make Katla a redhead (plus, redheads are said to be moody and to bring bad luck!)...

The window behind the lass was opened wide, and the Princess Indaell herself leaned out of it. Today she wore peach silk.
"Indaell" is a Norse name, like "Katla". While "Katla" means "kettle", "Indaell" (which sounds pretty elfin and equally beautiful) means "delightful".
And yes, Indaell looks good in warm colours though royal blue is her favourite, like Valdis and Katla.

Her fingers were twice as long as the lass’s and her pointed nails were gilded. 
The heroine had just had a sudden insight into the trollish character: they were jealous! They were jealous of humans, who could make things, when apparently they could not. The clothing, the dancing from the night before ... the lass now saw them for poor attempts to copy human society.
Drakharin (weredragons) like Katla have such a national character, but due to speciesism and their history as a warrior species with a dictatorial elected monarchy.

Indaell grew impatient. “Give it to me now!”
Yes, Katla is equally used to give orders sergeant style due to her personality and culture, which causes culture shock at Ever After High (mirroring my experiences as a loud and outspoken Spaniard in the UK). It would be nice if she ever had a picnic/tea party with Indaell and Valdis!

The princess was plainly intrigued. At the same time, though, her long fingers flexed on the windowsill, making dents in the gold surface, as though she yearned to simply reach out and grab the jar.
False heroines are generally dynamic and aggressive, impatient, overconfident... like the author of this blog.

Dressed all in rich purple with silver lace and bead-work, the troll princess stood there smiling. “Hello, little human,” she said. “I shall lead you to my betrothed’s room now. Of course, he will not be there for some hours. We are having a ball to celebrate our marriage.”
Katla also has a purple gown with silver lace. It looks like a darker and sexier, eighteenth-century version of her rival Sophia's...

The lass followed the princess through long hallways of gold, richly carpeted and hung with silk. There were vases of fine Oriental work, statues of marble, and beautiful paintings.
They stopped in front of a door made of silver and set with pearls. 

They were in a large sitting room, richly furnished. Beyond, they found a bed-chamber and a washroom. Here everything was made of gold and inlaid with jewels. There were books on a footstool near the fireplace, in Norwegian and German, and a game of chess was under way on a small table by the windows.

Later on, we learn more about trolls in general:
“They aren’t natural creatures: they can only destroy. They cannot make things, which is why they are so fascinated by human tools. They take thousands of lives, filled with the creative forces they don’t have, to build a palace like this. She doesn’t sew the parkas and boots, either. A servant does, and from the pelt of her last husband (in polar bear shape), no less. Then she enchants the ribbon and has it sewn on".
Drakharin, in my EAH canon, are surrounded by similar black legends. However, like with the Vikings or Saxons, being warriors does not mean that they are uncultured and without aesthetic sense!

As part of the ceremony, the bride and groom ask each other to prove their suitability. The bride asked the groom to “provide for her,” so he slaughtered a bull. And he asked her to always be beautiful, or something like that, and she did a spell that made her beautiful, or more beautiful. I think it was the troll queen, and her consort.
What happened to Indaell's father? In my EAH canon, the Feuersbrunsts have a family history of heartbreak and consorts darting off with their true brides (generations of Fantines or French Lieutenants' Women!)

“The princess does not like to lose. Neither does the queen.”
The Feuersbrunsts have been sore losers for generations. It comes with being the leaders of a warrior species.

There’s no guarantee Her Highness won’t take out her anger on you.
Confronting Katla is as useless as trying to reach the Sun with a ladder. Ask Lizzie Hearts, who is even ready to declare war after losing to her...

They should have known that the princess would ruin their plans. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, and she wanted to spit. It wouldn’t be fair to make the poor, captive servants clean up after her, so she just grimaced instead.
“Now, now,” Princess Indaell clucked at her, waving a beringed hand, “no need to look so sour. You’ll spoil the effect!” She stepped back to survey her handiwork.

The troll princess had not allowed the lass to leave. Instead Indaell had insisted, with an icy smile, that the lass attend her at the wedding.

For her wedding, the troll princess was attired in a gown of white satin. The shift underneath it was cloth of gold, and the bodice of the gown was thick with rubies and pearls. Her red hair was pomaded and curled and arranged to show off the heavy ruby-encrusted crown she wore. There was rouge on her cheeks.
Princess Indaell’s smile widened, as though she guessed the lass’s thoughts. She stood and snapped her fingers. The pixies who had dressed her flew forward, bearing a heavy cloak. It was scarlet satin, lined with polar bear fur.
For Katla's betrothal, she wears a gown exactly like that one with an equally matching hairstyle!! Rainer Leutnant, the bridegroom, is attired in his mess uniform: Prussian blue coat, white breeches, and black leather boots, with a short sword, Pickelhaube (Prussian military helmet) and epaulets.

“I heard that,” the princess snapped, whirling. “If either of you do anything to ruin my wedding, I will hang you both by your thumbs from the highest tower!”
Pay heed to this! When Charles and Sophia show up at Katla's wedding, she thinks at first they're going to crash it like the Thénardiers... but they had actually been invited!

Indaell swept out of her dressing room with the pixies trailing her to hold up the edges of the cloak. The lass followed, and after them came various female creatures in livery. In the corridor they were joined by a dozen hideous troll maidens dressed in extravagant silks and velvets, draped with jewels and all atwitter over the wedding. They paraded through the palace to the grand ballroom for the marriage of the troll princess. The ballroom was hung with long banners bearing the polar bear and jagged sword symbol of the trolls. Musicians played their strange music in a high gallery opposite the dais. On the dais stood the troll queen, her yellow curls shining, dressed in a blue gown trimmed with polar bear fur and embellished with diamonds and silver embroidery. She held out her arms to her daughter, who strode through the crowd and embraced her mother.
They do marry in the ballroom, though Gustav is reluctant at first (it was in the Wintergarten ballroom that his beloved Lilli's betrothal to another was celebrated).

The troll bride is described as "standing head and shoulders above her young, handsome bridegroom." False heroines are typically tall as grenadiers for the same reason that they are impatient and aggressive. In matters of size, I identify myself with Katla and Indaell. By their side, Valdis appears to be a runt with a serious Napoleon complex.

The troll queen raised her arms. “Our people, rejoice! After languishing alone for a dozen years, our beloved princess, the beauteous Indaell, has at last found a prince worthy of her!”
Monstrous howls rose from the troll court.
Katla's heart's desire is not to be heartbroken like her mother and previous female ancestors. So many weddings crashed by obnoxious maid-fifth columns...

Tossing her head, Princess Indaell strode over to the washtub.
A snap of her fingers, and a chair was brought to raise the tub up for her convenience. From the basket she pulled the nightshirt and a bar of soap and dipped them both in the washtub with clumsy hands. Seeing the fearful look on the troll princess’s face, the lass could almost feel sympathy for her.
Katla and Valdis are equally tomboyish, and all three share the same never-give-up attitude.

The harder the princess scrubbed, the darker and larger the stain grew. The princess’s face turned an ugly puce color that rivaled her rouge. Some of her curls straggled down from her coiffure and she tossed them angrily over one shoulder. The rings on her fingers snagged the soft fabric, so she ripped them off and threw them aside.
During the so-called "wedding crash", Katla's hairstyle suffers similar damage. However, instead of throwing a tantrum that would shake the whole ballroom... she unexpectedly laughs! She has actually learned her lesson!

Princess Indaell threw back her head and howled. As she did, her crown fell off her head, taking her hair with it. The red curls were nothing but a wig, and underneath, her scalp was sparsely stubbled with coarse gray hairs.
Now Katla wears no wig. That tangle of fiery curls is actually her natural hair! And Valdis isn't wearing any wig either!

“You!” She pointed one long, dripping finger at the lass. “This is your fault, I know it! You horrible thing, why did you have to come here? You’ve ruined everything!” She lunged at the lass.
With a shriek, the princess reached out her clawed hands for the lass.
On Katla: Instead of throwing a tantrum that would shake the whole ballroom... she unexpectedly laughs! She has actually learned her lesson! What actually happens is that she lunges at Sophia to ostensibly attack her... but then hugs the Lilienstielian and starts laughing and shedding tears!

“Daughter, control yourself!” The queen’s voice was a whipcrack. “There is no need for all this unpleasantness.” She put a soothing arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “The humans will be dealt with in good time, each in their own way.”
Let's say Katla's been raised by a single mother, after her stepfather's death (he was the commander of the Royal Guard), à la Miss Havisham. That sums up their conflicted relationship

Princess Indaell was threatening to make a pair of boots out of the prince, and a belt out of what would be left of the lass when she got through with her.

“He’s mine,” the troll princess screamed, and pointed a knobby finger at the shirt. There was a crash of thunder as the power Indaell directed at the shirt, in defiance of her promise, backfired and struck her in the face.
The troll princess crumpled to the ground, dead.
“No!” the queen screeched and lunged at the lass, who held up the now-snow-white shirt like a shield. When the queen’s hands tore at the shirt, she screamed even louder. “It burns!” She sank to the floor, clutching her daughter’s twisted body in her burned hands and howling, quite mad.
“My daughter, my beautiful daughter,” the troll queen moaned. Her face was so pale that the lass could see the blood pulsing in it. “My daughter, my daughter.” 
Katla doesn't die like Indaell or Valdis, but she happens to be rather near death a couple of times. And she realizes that her mother really loves her...

“No!” The one-eyed chamberlain pushed his way onto the dais. “It isn’t because of the humans that we have come to this; it is our own vanity!” He glared around the room with his one eye. “The fine clothes! The jewels! Keeping servants and living in palaces! And even worse: taking human consorts! For three thousand years our queen has reigned in the far north, and now because of her daughter’s perverted tastes she has lost her reason!” There is a battle in the ballroom between courtiers and servants. The latter win, and the palace is destroyed after the revolution.
In my EAH canon, there are dynastic conflicts between Drakharin (weredragon clans), and Katla is blamed by other, nomadic, clans as a scapegoat. She manages to defeat them in the end!

The palace where Katla lives is also on a rock, overlooking Lake Vänern. The court is equally sumptuous, yet slightly austere fitting a warrior nation. The warrior king/former commander of the guards is actually her stepfather (she is a lovechild, conceived by her mother's human beau).
Speaking of being golden blond and blue-eyed, Katla transforms after healing/resurrecting the one she actually loved, Rainer Leutnant. She loses her dragon wings and special powers, the scales on her cheeks become freckles, her talons are reduced to normal nails, her flaming hair turns a lighter shade (golden blond), and her green eyes turn bluish-green. This whole "mugglification" also tears at her state of health. She had been warned not to take such a chance: the resurrection/extreme healing spell (a bullet lodged in a young lieutenant's heart was the wound to be healed!) would at worst cost her her life, but having lost Charles was a lesson harsh enough not to be that shallow and to tell true love from mere infatuation. The one who wished for anything beautiful or exciting her sight was set on sacrifices her powers for the life of the one she truly loved...

A BLOND KATLA?

The fairytale webcomic Erstwhile's latest installment is "The Singing, Springing Lark". Today, I have seen, for the first time, something I had hitherto been impatiently waiting for: the false heroine in human form!

There you have her: a tall, blond and violet-eyed Aryan!
My OC Katla is a darker shade of blond and honey-eyed, while this Dragon Princess looks more like the Snow Queen's daughter turned ice dragon (perchance as a shout-out to Andersen?).
The name of the Erstwhile Dragon Princess has hitherto not been revealed, and I can't wait till Monday to discover it.
So, until the sacred day I find it out, I will refer to her as "Katla" within scare quotes. The name, besides being one of my favourites, is Old Norse for "kettle" (fitting for an aggressive character!).
And may lightning strike me down if her name turns out to be actually Katla!