The Bat-Faced Princess – A Tale of True Love and Magic

In the ancient and enchanted kingdom of Malrioch, nestled between mist-covered mountains and mysterious woods, a peculiar legend endured through the centuries. It spoke of a princess with the face of a bat, dwelling deep within the heart of the Black Forest, hidden away in a tower as pale as moonlight.

As the leaves blushed with the colors of autumn, Prince Ivan, heir to the throne of Malrioch, had come of age. The King, aging and weary, summoned his son to the throne room.
“My son,” he said with a voice lined by years, “you are of age to marry. Go out into the world and seek a bride who suits you well. It is my greatest wish to see you wed before I pass from this world.”

Without delay, Prince Ivan saddled his noble steed, packed provisions, and ventured into the unknown. Days passed before he reached the edge of the infamous Black Forest, where whispers of magic and curses fluttered with the wind. It was here that he encountered a young witch, her long wavy hair as rich as dark chocolate, and her eyes gleaming like sapphires beneath the shadows of the trees.

“Good afternoon, witch. Fortune go with you,” Ivan greeted, bowing respectfully.

“Fortune go with you, Prince Ivan,” the witch replied, her black fingernail pointing directly at his chest. “I know what it is you seek.”

They shared food beneath the crimson canopy of trees. Ivan asked cautiously, “Is the tale of the bat-faced Princess true?”

The witch nodded solemnly. “Indeed, she is as real as you and I. Many princes before you have come asking the same question—seeking the alabaster tower hidden in the meadow of Silver Myst.”

“How many found her?”

“Oh, they found her,” she answered cryptically. “And met the same grim end. One called her hideous—and she ripped his face clean off.”

Ivan swallowed hard. A chill danced along his spine.

“But if you are humble and look beyond the surface,” the witch added, “you may find what others could not.”

She handed him a spool of spun silver thread. “When the first three stars appear in the sky, follow this thread. It will guide you to the Princess.”

As dusk fell and stars began to pierce the darkening sky, Ivan watched the thread unravel across the forest floor. He followed its shimmer through thickets and silence, until at last, he stood before a lone alabaster tower in a field glowing with silver mist.

From a high window, the most heavenly singing drifted down. He recognized the words and sang softly with the voice above.

“For in the light of the stars, I was no longer afraid.
I’m safe in your eyes, and I will guard you within mine.
For if I could be with you, it wouldn’t matter.
Together we can disappear…”

As their voices blended in perfect harmony, a ladder of silk unfurled from the window. Ivan climbed, singing each note in rhythm with the mysterious songstress. At the top, he slipped into the tower.

There, brushing her pitch-black hair, sat the bat-faced Princess. Her eyes—golden brown and radiant—met his calm blue gaze. She looked neither monstrous nor grotesque. She was simply… different.

Ivan fell to one knee and kissed her hand. “My lady, you are lovelier than both day and night. May I have your hand in marriage?”

The Princess blinked in surprise. “You see me as I am… and still offer your heart?”

“I do. Sincerely.”

“Then I accept your proposal,” she said gently, “but after we wed, I must spend three days alone, in my chambers, until nightfall. No one must see me in daylight.”

Ivan agreed. Together, they returned to Malrioch, where his father welcomed the Princess warmly. “You have the sharpest senses I’ve ever seen,” the King said admiringly.

They married in a grand celebration, and the Princess was granted a chamber next to her husband’s. “Can we talk through the walls?” Ivan asked, smiling.

“We may,” she replied, “but no matter what you hear, do not enter.”

On their wedding night, they cuddled beneath moonlight, whispering dreams. But by morning, Ivan awoke alone, clutching her veil. Through the wall, he called softly, “My dear, with ears so keen, are you awake?”

“I am,” she replied sweetly. “The wind merely knocked my chalice over. I am well.”

That day, time crawled. Ivan distracted himself with books, walks, and royal duties. When night returned, and the first three stars twinkled above, his bride slipped into his arms. They kissed and laughed until the stars faded into dawn.

The second day was harder. He awoke again alone. A crash from her room startled him. “Was that swords clashing?”

“No, love, only ashes falling in the hearth. I am well,” she replied gently.

Still, Ivan’s concern grew.

While picking strawberries in the garden, a faerie draped in black velvet appeared. Only her rose-petal lips were visible.

“Would you have the bat or the maiden by your side?” she asked.

“I love my wife, no matter what form she wears,” Ivan replied.

“Then do not give in to fear. Wait for her.”

The faerie vanished as quickly as she came.

On the third day, Ivan awoke to dreadful sounds: gasping breaths, a body thudding against a wall, and liquid dripping. “Are you alright?” he called.

“I tripped and spilled paint, that’s all,” she replied, but her voice was weaker now.

Torn with worry, Ivan waited again. When the three stars appeared, she returned—her wings folded behind her, her gown gray and soft. He kissed her passionately, relieved.

“My love,” she whispered, “you have honored my wishes. Now I ask one more.”

She pulled a bronze dagger from her sleeve.

“Skin me.”

Ivan staggered. “No… please… anything but that.”

“This is how the curse breaks,” she said softly. “An imp jinxed the bat-cloak I wore on my eighteenth birthday. Only a Prince’s hand, wielding this dagger, can free me.”

Tears fell. But with trembling hands and a breaking heart, he began. As he peeled away the bat skin, there was no blood—only soft, fair skin beneath. Her face, her arms, her form—all revealed a maiden as radiant as the sun.

She smiled. “I am Princess Betillia.”

Ivan dropped the dagger and embraced her, joyful tears soaking her shoulder.

“I love you—bat cloak, jinx, or no. You are mine, and I am yours.”

The kingdom rejoiced. The King declared a feast to honor the breaking of the curse, and tales of Prince Ivan’s patience and love spread far and wide.

But between us, dear reader, we may have to wake them soon… for they’re still nestled beneath that very cloak, sleeping through their own celebration!

🧠 Moral of the Story:

True love looks beyond appearances. Patience, respect, and faith in a loved one’s truth can overcome even the darkest of enchantments.