And there stood Ludmilla, stroking the bell. “Ah, the jester. Come to bow before your queen?”
Finally, they reached the Forest of Bones—a bleak, white landscape of petrified trees that looked like the ribs of ancient giants. In its center, on a pedestal of obsidian, sat the Singing Bell. It hummed a low, mournful note that made Bartok’s soul ache. bartok the magnificent script
And then he realized something. The bell wasn't singing a song of youth. It was singing a song of truth . And there stood Ludmilla, stroking the bell
“A heart,” Bartok said softly. “Because you don’t need a spell to be young. You need to remember what it feels like to care for someone other than yourself.” In its center, on a pedestal of obsidian,
“I’ve come for the prince’s heart!” Bartok squeaked, drawing his wand. It snapped in half.
“You’re wrong, Ludmilla,” Bartok said, his voice steady for the first time in his life. “I don’t have strength. But I have stubbornness. I don’t have magic. But I have a friend who carries me when I fall.” He glanced at Zozi, who poked his head out, looking surprised. “And I don’t have an army. But I have something you lost a long time ago.”
He waved a crooked wand. A puff of pink smoke erupted. The laundry basket vanished. Unfortunately, the laundry did not. The royal undergarments rained down upon the stony-faced guards like a ridiculous blizzard.