Bluebeard

a fairytale romance


 

Once upon a time, in the fair land of France, there lived a very powerful lord, the owner of estates, farms and a great splendid castle, and his name was Bluebeard. 

 

"Of course," and a brief nod, and they opened the doors for him.

 

This wasn't his real name, it was a nickname, due to the fact he had a long shaggy black beard with glints of blue in it. He was very handsome and charming, but, if the truth be told, there was something about him that made you feel respect, and a little uneasy.

 

His footsteps sunk deep into the carpet and lingered long enough for the servants to plod across them, packing the indentions down with their own weight.

It was if a ghost stepped with him. Silly talk, so they whispered it.

 

Bluebeard often went away to war, and when he did, he left his wife in charge of the castle.

 

"Clark," said Lex, "Unexpected, but a pleasure."

He cleared space for his elbows and leaned across the desk, offering the boy a seat.

 

He had had lots of wives, all young, pretty and noble. 

As bad luck would have it, one after the other, they had all died,

 

"What can I do you for?" A gracious smile. "Miss Lang in need of another espresso machine?"

Clark grinned, a hand coming up to brush a thick chunk of hair from his eyes. A quick shake of his head brought the hair sailing back.

 

and so the noble lord was forever getting married again.

 

A pause. "Actually, I haven't seen her around much lately. There's this whole Chloe and Lana. Thing."

 

"Sire," someone would ask now and again, "what did your wives die of?"

 

"A... thing?" Mouth lax with bemusement, Lex leaned against the back of his chair until the spine creaked.

 

"Hah, my friend," Bluebeard would reply, "one died of smallpox, one of a hidden sickness, another of a high fever, another of a terrible infection... Ah, I'm very unlucky, and they're unlucky too! They're all buried in the castle chapel," he added.

 

"Not that sort of thing," Clark replied, and laughed.

 

Nobody found anything strange about that. Nor did the beautiful young girl that Bluebeard took as a wife think it strange either.

 

"Oh." Lex clasped fingers together in a gentle stretch of the joints, chuckling gently. "A girl-talk, preoccupied away from the sensational, and yet vastly unappreciated, Clark Kent thing."

Flush trickled onto Clark's cheeks, a warm splatter. "Not so sure about the sensational part..."

 

She went to the castle accompanied by her sister Anna, who said:

"Oh, aren't you lucky marrying a lord like Bluebeard?"

 

"That's not what I hear."

Milani Corp. was still holding on three. He would have to get back to them, and he said so.

 

"He really is very nice, and when you're close, his beard doesn't look as blue as folk say!" said the bride.

 

"Hear what? From who?" Clark sputtered, fingers jerking along with his syllables.

"Now that would be telling," Lex teased.

 

Poor souls! They had no idea what lay in store for them!

 

Clark was the weatherman. "Yes it would," he said, slowly.

"Now Clark," routine and smooth, slipping on serious like a raincoat, "of all people, I thought you would understand the vital nature of respecting others' secrecy."

 

 

 

A month or so later, Bluebeard had the carriage brought round and said to his wife, "Darling, I must leave you for a few weeks. But keep cheerful during that time, invite whoever you like and look after the castle. Here," he added, handing his bride a bunch of keys,

 

"I let you in all the time," Clark said.  

 

 

 

"you'll need these, the keys of the safe, the armory and the library keys, and this one, which opens all the room doors. Now, this little key here," and he pointed to a key that was much smaller than the others, "opens the little room at the end of the great ground floor corridor. Take your friends where you want, open any door you like,

 

"You're my best friend, Lex. You know... you know all the important stuff."  

 

 

 

"but not this one! Is that quite clear?" repeated Bluebeard. "Not this one! Nobody at all is allowed to enter that little room. And if you ever did go into it, I would go into such a terrible rage that it's better that you don't!"

 

"You have to trust me."

 

 

 

"Don't worry, husband," said Bluebeard's wife as she took the keys, "I'll do as you say."

 

Lex stretched his chair farther back and ran a hand flat over the bookcase behind him, a light fluttering sound.

"I want to." 

 

 * * * * * *
The days went by. The young girl invited her friends to the castle and showed them round all the rooms except the one at the end of the corridor.

 

"Of course," and a brief nod, and they opened the doors for him.

He came inside and into the center office and stretched Lex out across the table, one palm sliding up to cup a smooth, lightly freckled shoulder. Lex's shoulder fit like a palm into a glove, and Clark jerked the body back onto his cock.

It was the sort of timing that didn't come cheap or quick: from practice.

Lex didn't mean to, but he said,

 

"Why shouldn't I see inside the little room? Why? Why is it forbidden?"

Well, she thought about it so much that she ended up bursting with curiosity, until one day she opened the door and walked into the little room...

 

"Love you, I. Clark." Rough, like it hurt.

 

Of all ghastly horrors! Inside, hanging on the walls were the bodies of Bluebeard's wives: he had strangled them all with his own hands!

 

"You don't know me," and Clark was softening inside him, sliding both hands over the polished enamel. It would leave streaks. "You can't, so don't-"

 

Terror stricken, the girl ran out of the room, but the bunch of keys slipped from her grasp. She picked them up without a glance and hurried to her own room, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Horrors! She was living in a castle of the dead! So that is what had happened to Bluebeard's other wives!

The girl summoned up her courage

 

"I do," Lex said, fist against the table and all.

 

and she noticed that one of the keys - the very key to the little room - was speckled with tiny crimson dots.

"I must wipe it clean, before my husband comes back!" she said to herself. She washed, she scrubbed and she rinsed it; all in vain, for the key was still red. 

 

"I'm not asking here, Clark," Lex said, in the silence. He was so careful, shrugging on his dress shirt, eyes down towards the buttons, "but if you won't give me some sort of-"

 

That very evening, Bluebeard came home.

He requested of her, "Darling, give me back the keys,"

 

"Then don't. Don't ask." 

Clark was stiff but his mouth was liquid as he bent in, so wet it was dripping.

 

But when Bluebeard's wife put the key into his hand,

Bluebeard turned white and in a deep hoarse voice demanded:

"Why is this key stained with blood?"

 


note: Bluebeard ("Le Barbe-Bleue") is a classic European folktale. more info here.

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