fed;
golden thread is spun.
I must admit, I spin the finest gold. The king could be naught but thrilled with it. When morning comes, the girl is freed. Within the shadows, I spin a different kind of magic and the king announces his son will take the maid for his wife. The maid is thrilled as is the prince.
The handsome young man gathers her close and calls on the head guard. “Destroy the spinning wheel for my future wife will never have to spin again.”
The burning of the wheel heralds the beginning of the preparations for the wedding, and the whole country rejoices.
I make my way home, content to wait for my promised reward. I have lived so long, I have developed a patient demeanor. A year is little more than a collection of months, the passage of one season into another. As I searched for my revenge, years upon years passed before my eyes. I quiver, anticipating the sweet taste of man’s downfall. Soon, I will hold a small life in my hands and feed it bitterness. I will show it no mercy, give it no comfort. I will treat it as man has treated me.
Its mother will go mad, its father will die a broken man, and the kingdom will fall into chaos. Justice will finally be mine.
I attune my ears for the sound of a babe crying from the castle. A year passes, then two and the king dies. His son is crowned along with the beautiful maid. Another year passes and then another. I worry. Has the maid found a way to stop a babe from appearing?
I mix my magic and hold it in my hands. “Work silent and quick and without being seen. I demand a child be given to the maid, now our queen.” I blow the magic into the air and it rises, swirls into a coil of sparkling magic before it bursts forward and out of the forest.
Time passes, and then one day, that magic captures a wee cry and carries it over the land to my ear. My heart leaps with joy.
I find the peasant-now-queen in her bedchambers, babe at her breast and love shining from her eyes. A picture of happiness I never knew. When she sees me, she gasps and clutches the infant closer. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”
“Do you not recognize me?”
Fear sharpens her face. “Nay. Be gone.”
She does not fool me with her lies. She knows who I am and why I am here. I take a step closer. “You’ve a fine son. A healthy babe. He will do well.”
“You cannot have him.”
I scowl, not surprised by her deceitfulness. “You gave a promise. No one forced it from your lips. It was freely given. You cannot recant now.”
Her eyes well up with tears. “He is the love of my life; my husband’s pride and joy; the people’s hope for a future. I cannot give him up.”
Within her eyes I see another’s misery. I try and blink it away, but it will not go. “Am I to forgive a debt not paid?”
“Take whatever you want from me, but please, leave me my son.”
“He is all I want.”
She buries her face in the little babe’s neck. “Please. Do not take him from me. Take anything else. Anything.”
“I am touched by your pleas.” I am…and that scares me. A sliver of mercy rises, and I find myself saying, “I will give you three days to discover my name. If at the end of three days you discover my name, you can keep your child.”
A glimmer of hope softens her misery. “Your name in three days?” Hope colors her voice.
“But, if in three days you fail, you and your son are mine.”
She gasps. Eyes wide, she stammers for words.
I smile at my cleverness. “Three days.” As I go to the door a little ditty escapes my mouth.
“The hope of one
It comes undone.
A name most sought
Shall come to naught.”
My giggling fills the room, and she breaks down and cries. I turn and put a dirty finger to my mouth and shush her. A labored breath catches in her chest as she looks my way. Tears sparkle on her lashes. I wink and say, “We begin tomorrow.”
When I return to my home, I kick at the dirt and scratch the bark from the trees. What possessed me to give her
golden thread is spun.
I must admit, I spin the finest gold. The king could be naught but thrilled with it. When morning comes, the girl is freed. Within the shadows, I spin a different kind of magic and the king announces his son will take the maid for his wife. The maid is thrilled as is the prince.
The handsome young man gathers her close and calls on the head guard. “Destroy the spinning wheel for my future wife will never have to spin again.”
The burning of the wheel heralds the beginning of the preparations for the wedding, and the whole country rejoices.
I make my way home, content to wait for my promised reward. I have lived so long, I have developed a patient demeanor. A year is little more than a collection of months, the passage of one season into another. As I searched for my revenge, years upon years passed before my eyes. I quiver, anticipating the sweet taste of man’s downfall. Soon, I will hold a small life in my hands and feed it bitterness. I will show it no mercy, give it no comfort. I will treat it as man has treated me.
Its mother will go mad, its father will die a broken man, and the kingdom will fall into chaos. Justice will finally be mine.
I attune my ears for the sound of a babe crying from the castle. A year passes, then two and the king dies. His son is crowned along with the beautiful maid. Another year passes and then another. I worry. Has the maid found a way to stop a babe from appearing?
I mix my magic and hold it in my hands. “Work silent and quick and without being seen. I demand a child be given to the maid, now our queen.” I blow the magic into the air and it rises, swirls into a coil of sparkling magic before it bursts forward and out of the forest.
Time passes, and then one day, that magic captures a wee cry and carries it over the land to my ear. My heart leaps with joy.
I find the peasant-now-queen in her bedchambers, babe at her breast and love shining from her eyes. A picture of happiness I never knew. When she sees me, she gasps and clutches the infant closer. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”
“Do you not recognize me?”
Fear sharpens her face. “Nay. Be gone.”
She does not fool me with her lies. She knows who I am and why I am here. I take a step closer. “You’ve a fine son. A healthy babe. He will do well.”
“You cannot have him.”
I scowl, not surprised by her deceitfulness. “You gave a promise. No one forced it from your lips. It was freely given. You cannot recant now.”
Her eyes well up with tears. “He is the love of my life; my husband’s pride and joy; the people’s hope for a future. I cannot give him up.”
Within her eyes I see another’s misery. I try and blink it away, but it will not go. “Am I to forgive a debt not paid?”
“Take whatever you want from me, but please, leave me my son.”
“He is all I want.”
She buries her face in the little babe’s neck. “Please. Do not take him from me. Take anything else. Anything.”
“I am touched by your pleas.” I am…and that scares me. A sliver of mercy rises, and I find myself saying, “I will give you three days to discover my name. If at the end of three days you discover my name, you can keep your child.”
A glimmer of hope softens her misery. “Your name in three days?” Hope colors her voice.
“But, if in three days you fail, you and your son are mine.”
She gasps. Eyes wide, she stammers for words.
I smile at my cleverness. “Three days.” As I go to the door a little ditty escapes my mouth.
“The hope of one
It comes undone.
A name most sought
Shall come to naught.”
My giggling fills the room, and she breaks down and cries. I turn and put a dirty finger to my mouth and shush her. A labored breath catches in her chest as she looks my way. Tears sparkle on her lashes. I wink and say, “We begin tomorrow.”
When I return to my home, I kick at the dirt and scratch the bark from the trees. What possessed me to give her
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