{All humans and humanoids such as ogres and goblins who engage in adult activity, in this story, are over eighteen years of age}
Once upon a time in a land of four Kingdoms, each named in reflection of their locale and weather, there was a fateful meeting.
Near the center of these four Kingdoms, in the middle of a cerulean lake, was a place called Windrock; so named for the ephemeral and ever-changing winds which breathed upon it; one day warm, one day cold, the next day neither, and for the constancy of earth and rock upon which it stood.
The lake was not overly large nor deep, nor suitable for more than the use of small boats to sail upon it. A single wooden bridge constructed of heavy oak timbers spanned from the shore near a small woodland village, across the lake to a narrow beach encircling Windrock proper. A small castle with a great hall had been built near the summit of Windrock. On a clear day, standing on the castle parapets, one could see to the distant reaches of all four Kingdoms.
The Kings and Queens of the four Kingdoms, along with their respective retinues had converged upon this place for an annual celebration which would include discussions of politics and trade, as well as much court intrigue revolving around strategic marriages and the propagation of royal lineages.
In this year, as fate and a lot of fucking would have it, all four Queens were with child, each carrying a princess. These four princesses would be named for the climes of their Kingdoms.
Renascent, of the springtime, would be an exotic beauty with hair and skin the colors of earth and soil. She would be the most vivacious of the four.
Summer's pretty face would be accentuated by honey-blonde locks and dark brown eyes. She would be the most petite of form and figure.
Autumn's emerald eyes and the intellect behind her gaze would allow her to see more than most were capable of seeing.
Winter would be the most beautiful of the four with her raven hair, flawless milk-white skin, and crystal-blue eyes.
It was a fair day upon Windrock. The four regents and their wives had gathered on a westward facing rampart overlooking the lake and lands below. As the Kings were plotting and the Queens were gossiping, an old serving woman approached. Her face was unusual in its appearance due both to age and to the trace of ogre blood in her lineage. One of her forebears had been ravaged by an ogre, and some of that blood was still evident.
A guardsman blocked the old woman's way, and she looked up at him.
The Northern Queen gasped when she beheld the old woman, "Get away you," she said with disdain bordering upon disgust.
"How repulsive," the Southern Queen exclaimed as she turned her back upon the old woman, and refused to look upon her further.
"Guard, escort this hag away from us, now," the Eastern Queen commanded.
"What's wrong?" the old woman inquired of the guard as he took her arm and began to lead her away.
All four Queens wrapped their arms about themselves and shuddered, making a show of their revulsion.
"These flowers. I wish to give these flowers to the Queens," the old woman said, her voice cracking with age.
There was some kindness in the guard. He offered a slight smile to the old woman as he took the flowers from her hands. "I will give these to them," he said. "Wait here."
The guard approached the Western Queen and offered the bouquet of pretty flowers to her. "A gift from the old woman," he said deferentially.
The Western Queen hesitated for a moment, but then she accepted the bouquet. She turned to look at the old woman who waited a few paces distant with a half-formed hopeful smile upon her face, and, then, she flung the bouquet over the castle rampart. "Tell her, thank you," the Queen said cruelly. "Now take her away from us."
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The Queens would rue their actions; for the old woman had inherited more than just unusual features from her ogre forebear. She had also inherited the powerful magical abilities of a fairy witch. There was no kindness in the Queens whom the old woman had approached earlier this day. They were cruel, vain, selfish, and heartless. She had sensed that each woman was carrying a girl child within her womb. She would place a curse upon each girl, to awaken upon their eighteenth birthday. Perhaps through suffering, the four princesses would become women worthy of rule and reign; certainly their mothers were not.
Later that night, in a run-down hovel of a home at the edge of the village across the bridge from majestic Windrock, the old woman began to weave her witchcraft.
In her worn and weary voice she chanted.
"To the Princess of Spring, a barren womb; she will need to find love in the children of others."
"To the Princess of Summer, despair; she will love only those not of her own kind, finding no joy of body or soul with any normal human."
"To the Princess of Autumn, prescience and foreknowledge; she will be haunted all of her life, to know what will come, yet be powerless to change it."
