Once upon a time there was a city on the edge of a lake. The city was ruled—moderately justly and moderately wisely—by a Lord and Lady. Unfortunately though, the story goes, the Lord and Lady had no children, until one day a star fell from the sky at the Lady's feet and turned into a beautiful baby boy.

"This child will be our son," the Lady said.

("Yes I saw it and thought of you," said the Lord, for he was not really listening)

Of course, there were actually two children, and neither of them were stars, though they came from them. One of them fell at the feet of the Lady and the other fell into the lower streets of the city, where there was less of the Lord and Lady's moderate justice to go around-where there was less of everything to go around, really.

But people usually leave that out of the story.

It makes everything so messy. Much simpler when that part of the story goes like this:

Once upon a time there was a Wicked Sorcerer. Everybody knew that he was wicked; everybody said so! He said so, himself. Besides, he looked wicked: his skin was an unnatural blue and his head was large and round and bald as the moon.

Probably he had been cursed to look like that, people said, for being so wicked.

Yes, that's much simpler, isn't it?

So.

Once upon a time there was a star who became a boy who became a Hero, and once upon a time there was a Wicked Sorcerer (never mind where he came from; the stars or the streets; it hardly matters)

And-once upon a time-there was a Damsel, too.

(of course there was, I hear you say; there always is, in these kinds of stories)

The Damsel was clever and beautiful, and wonderfully, terribly good, and the Wicked Sorcerer fell (most inconveniently, he felt) in love with her.

Well, when one is a wicked sorcerer in love, there's really only one thing to do, and the Wicked Sorcerer did it, capturing the fair Damsel with the help of his loyal Minion and imprisoning her in his Dark Castle to await her rescue by the Hero.

(The Wicked Sorcerer knew how this story went just as well as you, my dear, and he knew perfectly well that the Hero's rescue of the Damsel was inevitable. But he planned to enjoy her company while it lasted.)

This plan, though, went unexpectedly awry, when the Hero chose to fake his own demise from the terrifying Metal Dragon the Wicked Sorcerer had created to guard the Dark Castle and run away to become a bard instead of a hero.

"Oh," said the Wicked Sorcerer, his eyes round and shocked, his fingers clutching uncertainly at the edge of his cape.

"Oh, dear," said the Wicked Sorcerer's Minion.

"Now what?" said the Damsel.

The Wicked Sorcerer hesitated.

"Well, I-suppose you'll have to stay he said until some sort of alternate rescue can be arranged."

The Damsel expressed her dislike of this idea vehemently, demanding that he let her go, but the Wicked Sorcerer was adamant that to do so would reflect badly on his bad reputation (he did not mention his other reason for desiring her continued presence).

The Wicked Sorcerer's Minion sided, interestingly, with the maiden, urging his master to release her and return to his usual pursuits.

But still the Wicked Sorcerer refused, whereupon the fair Damsel gave a cry of outrage and threw her slipper at his head.

"What are you doing?" the Damsel asked, moving to stand at the worktable beside the Wicked Sorcerer.

"Why do you care?" he asked, still rather disgruntled over the slipper to his head.

"There's nothing to do in this boring castle, the Damsel said, folding her arms. "I figured I might as well watch you do your magic tricks."

"Magic," the Wicked Sorcerer said, spitting the word out as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. "What I do is not magic."

The Damsel blinked at him.

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"No," said the Wicked Sorcerer, gesturing animatedly. "Magic is just a word for I don't know how this works. But the things I make, I know exactly how they work."

The Damsel looked at him for a long moment, her expression considering, the weight of her gaze making the Wicked Sorcerer fidget awkwardly.

"How does it work, then?" she asked at last.

The Wicked Sorcerer stared at her—was she—truly wishful of knowing?—and then, seeing the look of interest in her eyes, opened his mouth to explain.

"Take Minion's suit for example," the Wicked Sorcerer said to the Damsel, during another of their conversations on the subject, "a metal body to make a fish walk on land like you or I—magic, you would say, my lady!"

"No," said the Damsel, "I wouldn't."

"Well that is where you would be—wait, what now?" said the Wicked Sorcerer, "What do you mean, no?"

"I have been listening to your lectures, you know," said the Damsel dryly.

The Wicked Sorcerer blinked, and felt himself blushing, which was a thing that no self-respecting Wicked Sorcerer ought to do.

"I—" he said—"I mean you as a general—not you, specifically, my lady! But—come now, play along! You say—magic!, my lady, and then I say—"

"I have got a name, you know," said the Damsel

"—yes, yes I know," said the Wicked Sorcerer after a long pause.

"I would have you use it," said the Damsel. She smiled gently, raising her eyebrows. "Come, it isn't difficult to say."

Still the Wicked Sorcerer was silent.

"Tell you what," said the Damsel. "You use my name, and I'll play along with your lecture game; how's that?"

For another long moment, the Wicked Sorcerer was silent, and then—

"Roxanne," said the Wicked Sorcerer.

She smiled at him approvingly.

"Magic!" she said.

"Yes," the Wicked Sorcerer breathed, and then added, "I—I mean! No! Not magic at all! As we have previously discussed, the Minor Lightning, when harnessed by wires, can be used to give life and movement to simulacra. Why, then, should it be different for Minion's body?"

"So Minion is able to direct the movement himself?" Roxanne asked, intrigued. "How does that work?"

The Wicked Sorcerer beamed at her.

"That," he said approvingly, "is a very clever question! And I'll tell you—"

(Of course the fair Roxanne did not blush at the praise. Damsels do not blush when praised by the Wicked Sorcerer, unless it be a blush of outrage. Of course.)

Many knights and soldiers and adventurers rowed or swam their way across the lake from the city to the Dark Castle of the Wicked Sorcerer to rescue the damsel Roxanne, but none were successful.

"Honestly, I was embarrassed for him!" the Wicked Sorcerer said, as Roxanne attempted to smother her laughter. "So I said 'tell you what, you go study up on some proper banter, and come back later'."

"And what did he say?" Roxanne asked, when she had herself under control.

"He said 'AHRGAHAHAHRAHAAAAAA!'" said the Wicked Sorcerer, "and, well, as I told him, I didn't really know where to go with that, so—"

Roxanne lost her battle with herself and burst into laughter.

The Wicked Sorcerer stopped talking to stare at her with wide eyes and parted lips.

"I've never heard you laugh before," he said, and did not say it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

"Well, you're funny," Roxanne said, still snickering, "I never knew you were so funny, before."

(Roxanne laughed often in the days that followed. The Wicked Sorcerer saw to it that she had reason to.)

"Yes, there's daddy's good flying metal demons!" the Wicked Sorcerer said, as the swarm of them surrounded him. He reached out a hand and ran it across the crystal dome of one particular simulacrum, the Minior Lightning crackling harmlessly beneath his fingers.

"Oh," he heard someone say, and turned to see Roxanne standing in the doorway, looking surprised.

The Wicked Sorcerer gestured to her in invitation. She hesitated a moment, and then moved towards him, clearly a little wary of the flying simulacra that parted to let her pass.

"They won't hurt you," the Wicked Sorcerer promised, but was quite surprised when she seemed to take him at his word, holding up her hand to touch the dome of one of the simulacra.

It made a pleased noise and rubbed along the palm of her hand, Minor Lightning dancing at her fingertips.

"They're beautiful," Roxanne said.

"Oh," said the Wicked Sorcerer, almost inaudibly.

You should let her go, he thought, not for the first time.

"You know, I've been here for months now," Roxanne said one day at breakfast. "It seems silly that I don't know your name."

The Wicked Sorcerer stared at her across the breakfast table.

She piled raspberries onto her honey-covered oatcake and took a bite.

"You do have a name, don't you?" she asked, licking her fingers.

"I—yes," the Wicked Sorcerer stammered. "I—I have a name."

Roxanne poured out a cup of tea, added cream and honey, stirred it, the silver spoon making a delicate tinkling noise against the fragile china. She took the spoon out of the teacup and set it aside.

"Well, would you tell me what it is?" she asked, handing the cup of tea to the Wicked Sorcerer.

The Wicked Sorcerer stared down at the cup of tea in his hands, as if he had never before beheld such a thing.

(there were little blue flowers painted all along the edges of it)

"—Megamind," he said, "I—my name is Megamind."

"Megamind," Roxanne said, and his heart gave a painful twist. "I like it."

You should let her go, he thought, when he was able to think words once more.

(I like it, she said she—she said she—)

You should let her go.

"Where did you come from?" Roxanne asked, one day, and Megamind stared at her, because no one had ever before asked him that question.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then he answered.

"Step forward now and to the side and back—" Roxanne said, as one of Megamind's inventions played out a slightly tinny-sounding waltz for them.

(from the doorway, Minion watched, unnoticed by either of the dancers)

"You're doing well," Roxanne said, after a minute, her voice quiet. "You're a good dancer, Megamind."

"You explained it well," Megamind said just as quietly, "you're a—good teacher."

Roxanne made a soft, dismissive noise, avoiding his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, "thank you. I—appreciate you saying that. I know I'm not as—anywhere near as—clever as you are, so it must be rather—tiresome for you, having me around, asking—silly questions and—"

"Don't be nonsensical," Megamind said, voice low. "You're the cleverest person that I know. And—I—enjoy answering your questions, Roxanne. You can—ask me anything you like."

(They had both stopped dancing now, without noticing it, but neither of them had stepped away from the other. Minion, in the doorway, held his breath in concern)

"Megamind," said Roxanne, looking into his eyes. She drew a little closer, lips parting."Megamind, do you—"

Fortunately, the music came to an end just then, breaking the moment. Both of them blinked and stepped back, dropping their hands, gazes flicking away.

Minion slipped out into the hallway.

Oh, this was bad. This was—so bad. He was—going to have to talk to Sir about this, because it was bad.

Roxanne hovered in the curtained alcove, ears straining to catch the words that were passing between Megamind and Minion, only able to make out bits and pieces of the conversation.

(snooping and spying are not really activities becoming to a damsel, but I imagine it's clear to you by now that Roxanne was not the ordinary sort of damsel)

"—fallen in love with her—" Minion said accusingly, and Roxanne's heart flipped over.

"—Minion, don't—overreacting—"

"—bad idea!" Minion was saying. "—curse!"

"—forgetting your—"

"—who you really are—" Minion said.

There was a long silence, and then Roxanne heard the clanking sound of Minion's footsteps, felt the curtain wave gently as he moved past. She waited a moment, then peered out from between the curtains.

Megamind was standing looking into a full length mirror, staring at his own reflection. As she watched, he made a pained noise and turned away from his image in the glass, arms wrapping around his own body, going to stand at the window instead, looking out at the stars in the night sky.

He stood like that for a long time.

Later, after he finally left the room, Roxanne tiptoed from behind the curtain and stood before the glass herself. Dawn was breaking, gray light coming through the open window, shining silvery on the mirror.

A curse, she thought, and who you really are, and fallen in love with her and—

She looked at her own reflection, pale and determined in the light of dawn.

(You should let her go, Megamind thought, alone in his room, staring at the bare stone walls, unspoken words ringing in the silence. You should let her go.)

Roxanne lay in the field of delphiniums behind the Dark Castle, next to Megamind, both of them looking up at the stars.

"Which one is yours?" she asked.

"You can't see it from here," he said.

The waves of the lake washed in and out. On the other side of the water, the city lay, but here everything was quiet and peaceful, the world narrowed to the two of them, the blue flowers, and the scent of the delphiniums.

(you should let her go)

"Roxanne," Megamind said, and then paused, the words I love you burning inside his mouth like a bright, shining star. He swallowed them down, and they stuck in his chest, next to his heart.

"You're—free to go," said Megamind instead, and closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of her rising and leaving, not wishing to see her go.

He heard the rustle of her skirt, of the flowers-she was leaving; she was going; he would never see her again.

A soft touch on his cheek. Megamind's eyes flew open. Roxanne was leaning over him, her head framed by the stars, her hand on his face.

"Thank you," she said, "but I—I'd really rather stay."

She leaned down then, and brushed their lips together, light and soft. After a moment, she pulled away, looked down at him.

"Oh," she said, hand falling from his face, "you—look the same." And Megamind thought his chest would crack at the disappointment in her voice.

"So sorry not to live up to your expectations," he said, voice cold.

Roxanne bit her lip, eyes filling up with tears.

"I thought—your curse," she said, "but—so—you don't."

"Don't what?" Megamind said, voice like ice.

"—don't love me, too," Roxanne said in a small voice, tears spilling over.

Megamind took a sharp breath.

"Of course I love you," he said. "There—there isn't any curse."

(Roxanne was staring at him, the tears on her cheeks sparkling in the starlight. He wanted to brush them away, but did not.)

"There isn't any curse," he said, voice brittle. "This is—who I am. This will—always be who I am. And I'm—sorry for that, Roxanne, truly. I'm sorry that I—cannot be otherwise, even for you. I'm sorry that I—cannot be someone that you could love."

"…you love me?" Roxanne asked.

"Yes," Megamind said, the tone a confession, an apology.

"And this—" she raised her hand to touch his face again. "—you'll always look like this?"

Megamind nodded.

"—oh thank goodness!" Roxanne burst out.

Megamind stared at her, and she laughed a little tearfully.

"I mean, I'd love you no matter what you looked like, Megamind," she said, "but—"

"I don't understand," Megamind said blankly. "You want me to—look like this? But I'm—why would you—I'm blue, for evil's sake; why would you—"

Roxanne put her other hand on his face as well, ran her palms over the round, smooth shape of his head, then leaned down to kiss him again.

"Your skin is the color of delphiniums in starlight, Megamind," she whispered when she broke the kiss. "How could I ever wish you otherwise?"

"—oh," said Megamind, sounding quiet and shocked.

He reached up to thread his fingers in her hair, and then sat up so that he could kiss her this time.

Once upon a time, there was a Wicked Sorcerer who was neither wicked nor a sorcerer. And once upon a time there was a Damsel who was clever and good and prone to snooping.

And he fell in love and she fell in love.

And the two of them lived happily ever after.