As It Was

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky, and the Ogre sang to the masses below. His ethereal voice floated through the moonlit sky and entered every house in the village of Trenton. The people knew their master watched over them and revered him, though they didn’t know why.

Lightning bug bats flittered across the night sky and lit an orchestrated path toward his mansion on the hill. Rumblings of thunder sounded in the distance, a precursor to the purple rain that tumbled to the ground. The wine-like precipitation blended with the photosynthesized greenery and turned the earth's surface a deep purple, and it pleased Vladimir. He loved Prince's Purple Rain and honored him with the adoption of his persona to cloak his true self. Remaining in character was critical to his enterprise.

Rocks deep below the surface vibrated in harmony with the pulsations of the villagers goose-stepping up the hill to pay their involuntary homage at his bidding. Vladimir, the self-declared Prince of Trenton, sang every night, for if he didn't, the curse would be broken, and the rock star imposter would no longer control their lives. Control was the key to his survival. Exposure would mean his death.

Tonight, another selection would be made in his search for his princess. Since his mother had read him the 1740 French fable the Beauty and the Beast as a child he had dreamed of his own beauty. The yearning came once a month like clockwork on the full moon, but within weeks he would lose his temper and rip her limb from limb, or the young woman would die of shock when he revealed his true self. Harvesting a village maiden brought temporary excitement but failed to fulfill his long-held dream. A son or daughter would allow him to expand his hold over the region. A grandchild would spread his domain over the nation. A beauty would make his life complete.

The purple sequin-robed resident of the mansion watched from the balcony in his high heels, and lace gloves as the torch-lit procession marched up the winding drive to his portico and stopped. He pushed the permed black hair from his smooth coffee-brown face as his tear-dropped opal eyes scanned the crowd for signs of rebellion.

Strained from the climb the villagers surrounded the grand porch where a white lottery box held every young female’s name on a lavender card. Adopting the persona of the great rock star Prince had been necessary for several reasons. His eclectic music preserved control over the masses with a smoothness he had never known. Frank Sinatra's tunes produced nothing compared to the power of Prince. Elvis’s music made his hips ache. The first time the song Purple Rain merged with his siren voice it had driven his competitors away with its power. His kin, who had followed him from the old country returned home in fear.

The suave king of purple's cool look was a significant improvement over the lounge crooner's aged body and gangster suits of the past. Fly Me to the Moon was dull compared to Prince’s When Dove’s Cry. A tear came to Vladimir’s eye, overpowered by the emotion when he sang his music. They say music makes the world go round, and Vladimir’s increased power proved it. Prince's musical enticements had increased the copulation of the villagers, and their numbers had tripled in the last decade. The greater the body of his subjects, the more power he held.

The village mayor marched up the steps and drew a card from the box.

"Megan Chandrell," he said without pause or fanfare. The morose villagers turned as one and marched down the hillside to return to their homes. Tomorrow would yield no memory of the exercise but for the loss of the lone girl who remained in front of the mansion.

"Are you the one?" he said from the balcony.

***

The Prince imposter motioned her forward. She climbed the steps and entered the mansion. The faux rock star met her in the grand foyer and guided her to the parlor. Megan, a lithe blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman of twenty-two years, sat as directed on the settee across from him. He waved his hand and released her from the control he held over her mind. A princess must be free to choose. Of course, rejection would lead to annihilation. Her eyes cleared of the dilated stare as the clarity of her surroundings became a reality.

"What the hell?" as she scanned the room, "have I been kidnapped by the Addams family or something? And you… why are you wearing that old purple robe? I thought Prince was dead. Is Elvis upstairs too? Frank Sinatra? Maybe Johnny Cash? Now, Harry Styles would draw my interest. He’s bad ass. Who are you and what am I doing here?" she said. "Speak up. Cat got your tongue or is Cat Stevens here too?"

Prince's anger was immediate. He had drawn a young, arrogant, Gen-Z woman who did not understand respect, but he would teach the zoomer a lesson. The notes of Purple Rain slipped from his lips as he chose to take back control and deal with her in the morning.

"You're singing? What did you do with the money?" she said. His voice no longer had an effect on her. A failure he had not experienced in his long life. Baffled, he responded.

"Money? What do you mean?"

"The money your mama gave you for voice lessons," she said and laughed, "By the way, what is that rot I smell? Don't you haul off your garbage?"

"You are an impertinent young lady. I will have to teach you some manners," as he transformed into his true and hideous form. His sagging reptilian skin waxed black around an undercut jaw of broken, jagged teeth. Long gnarled fingers with yellow nails pointed at her, and he willed her to come to him.

"Look, I don't know who you are or how I got here but I'm leaving. I don't do weird. Some good lotion might solve your skin issues, maybe not. My dentist is taking new clients too. I could get you a discount. Also, take out your garbage. Geez."

"You're not afraid of me?" he said.

"Afraid? Hardly. You haven't walked the streets at two a.m. like I have when the bars all shut down. Those animals would eat your lunch," she paused, "Look, don't take it personal, you seem nice enough, but you just aren't my style and your deodorant sucks. Speaking of Styles, are you sure Harry isn’t upstairs?"

Megan exited the mansion as the sun rose over the horizon. Cobalt skies domed the earth and the sun shone like gold. The ground, once purple, turned a lush green as she ambled down the road toward the village.

Powerless to stop her, he watched in amazement, with a tinge of fear, as she faded from his view. He realized that purple was out, and he must modify his persona. The world had changed into a new day and Prince had been left behind.

"I have found her. She is the one and I shall have her."

Vladimir had listened closely and transformed his Ogre’s body into Harry Styles, sporting a bright red Bianca Saunders’overcoat with a black scarf over a red Arturo Obegero jumpsuit.

"Let the games begin," he said and began singing As it Was.

As It Was, Harry Styles

***