The Purple Bell Flowers

Dyla spread the purple ointment on her hands and watched with satisfaction as the calluses on her fingers strengthened. Her fingers weren't as nimble, however, her fist was strong. It almost looked like a usual minotaur hoof, hiding The Curse.

Dyla sighed and gave a prayer of gratitude to the deity responsible for the miracle in the glade. The stigma that covered her since childhood dimmed every day grace to the purple flowers shaped like a bell that sprung all over the forest.

She looked into the mirror as she arranged the circlet holding the two small horns. When covered by the tight headdress, the horns complemented her large brown eyes and turned the heads of many a young minotaur.

Dyla covered her face with the veil and grabbed her basket. She left the house humming and headed to the glade with as light of a step her hardened toes allowed her. Her pace was her last worry, now that she could walk with pride when her real hooves showed under her dress. Gone were the shameful shoes that forced her to travel only at night.

She raised again her head both in gratitude and to enjoy the warm sunlight on her face. Minotaurs knew the purple potion for centuries. However, the flowers were hard to find, their growth controlled by one of the richest clans in town. The flowers were expensive and as an outcast she could never afford to buy them.

Dyla smiled as she made her plan to seek employment with the richest houses. Her fingers were strong, yet still nimble; a skill appreciated as a servant to the noblest ladies.

She reached the edge of the forest and decided to take her time and harvest the small bell-shaped flowers that grew among the trees. The sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast playful shadows on the flowers and the dried leaves covering the ground. She was alone, and she removed the tight head cover and the circlet holding the horns. 

Her basket was almost full with purple flowers when she heard voices. She spread her toes and winced in pain; however, her footsteps were silent while her hooves made a patter noise no matter how light her steps were.

She approached carefully the source of the sound, and for the first time in her life was grateful for her lack of horns. She could hide much easier behind the thick tree while slightly tilting her head to hear better the conversation.

A broad-shouldered minotaur, clad in a kilt and sporting the emblem of a mercenary lay sprawled upon the grass.
"How much did the crone say she would give us if we find her bauble?"

His companion was much smaller, and the size of his horns showed his state of servitude.
"She'd pay us five chests of gold coins if we bring back her ring. It is still hard to believe that a ring could cause the bellflowers to grow and bankrupt her powerful clan."

Dyla drew a sharp breath as her vision blackened in anger. Then a thought formed in the back of her mind. Five chests of gold coins would take her faraway from here, towards the cities of cursed people resembling her. She could start a new life...

The broad-shouldered minotaur interrupted her musings.
"However, the old hermit who lives deep in this forest told us that if one drops the ring in the right hole of the Boulder of Fate, the bluebells would grow forever. The ring would then fulfill his most secret wish."

The small minotaur snorted and a sly smile crept on his broad face.
"You can defeat the king without the ring. You'd have both the power and the riches to fulfill the Dream."

Dyla shivered behind the thick trunk and lowered herself to the forest floor. Quietly, she left the place and headed toward the stream. She knew exactly the place the old crone, as the mercenary called the matriarch of the Bregan clan, lost her ring.

Fear gripped her again as she remembered watching the enraged old woman  throwing her hands in the air and spewing a vile curse against anyone who would find her ring. 

She straightened and curled back her toes. The wind sung in her ear as she used her new hooves to run with a speed she never knew she could.

She took off her clothes and winced as she stretched again her fingers and toes. She then jumped in the cold stream and for the second time that day, she was grateful for The Curse. She could do something no minotaur could; she could swim.

She dived to the bottom and searched for the ring. Her efforts rewarded, she emerged with a golden ring inscribed with long lost runes. Then she stilled. In the distance, she saw the broad-shouldered minotaur closing the distance between them. Even curling her toes, she couldn't outrun him. If she couldn't earn the gold, then the flowers would grow forever for the outcasts in Mithas. 

She ran upstream with all the speed she could muster, ignoring the pain the sharp rocks between her toes inflicted on her. She threw herself over the Boulder of Fate and pleaded the gods to show her the right place to drop the ring. As she fell over the rock, her hand hit an edge, and she dropped the ring in pain.

Defeated, she let her forehead fall on the rock as tears streamed down her cheeks. She clenched her fingers in a hoof to relieve the pain and opened them again in wonder. She didn't know how; however, she knew that if she rubbed the small shimmering rock in her hand, horns would grow on her head, and her fingers and toes would harden into hooves. Another rub, and she’d be herself anew.

A smile spread across her face. The flowers would forever fill the forest and the small rock fulfilled her most secret wish.