Ludmilla laughed. “You have no strength. No magic. No army. You are nothing.”
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
“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.” Ludmilla laughed
When they arrived, the real Prince Ivan ran to him, hugged him so hard he squeaked, and said, “You are magnificent!” No army
Prince Ivan, a boy of seven with a mop of red hair, giggled from his throne. The regent, the villainous Ludmilla, did not. She was a statuesque woman with hair like spun iron and a heart to match.
“Behold!” squeaked Bartok, his voice echoing with practiced grandeur. “The Great and Magnificent Bartok will now make this basket of the royal laundry… disappear! ”
“I’ve come for the prince’s heart!” Bartok squeaked, drawing his wand. It snapped in half.