Tempest Tossed, Tempter Taken
Miranda sang her morning hymns, oblivious to the evil that lurked in the guise of a long-held companion. When Caliban took her into his arms, she knew not she should be frightened.
Prospero knew, and rushed to save his daughter.
Caliban laughed at his folly, until a twisting pain punched his gut, loosening his hold on Miranda. Another cramp gripped Caliban and he doubled over.
Miranda leaned over him, placing her palms on his shoulders. “Caliban, what ails thee?”
What once would have been a pleasant sound now tortured Caliban as her voice scraped against his ears. Her hands on his flesh burned with no evidence, leaving no wound, only a scorching memory.
Prospero approached. “Thou lecherous intentions have cost thy freedom, thou thoughts will cause you pain forever more.”
And so it was that Caliban became a prisoner of Prospero, and the sorcerer caused the tempest that brought the Prince who would steal away his Miranda.
But her babe was born with the mark of a demon.
Miranda’s prince had failed to charm.