Fairy Stories & Other Tales

Once upon a time an old woman lived by herself in a castle made of glass.   Each pane was beautifully crafted, and she could gaze out at an ever-flowering garden or stare at her reflection for as long as she desired.   The castle was enchanted so that each day it filled freshly new with flowers and with the finest foods, each a delicacy to the woman’s taste.   Her wardrobe was curtailed to the latest, most flattering of fashions, her walls strung with intricate tapestries and detailed paintings suited to her preference, and for furnishings, only those pieces of the rarest woods and delightful craftsmanship could be seen.   There was no thing that went untasted, or undiscovered; no jewel unseen nor unworn; no fabric unfelt.   An enchantment of all extravagances against which there was no parallel.             There in the glass castle, she lived alone, having been tempted in her youth by the wonders of the enchantment, and sacrificing her lover for its gains in an instant.   Thus, s

The warm glow of light beckoned, and Laura moved toward it softly.   She moved toward most things that way, he noticed.   And that was why he let the flames lick the sides of the steel that framed the fireplace.   It was a privilege to make such small decision decisions, he thought not for the first time.               He could see the tension seep out of her body, the immensity of weeks of frustration slip slowly away, as she sank into the cushioned sofa.   That, too, he had orchestrated, for he had learned that even the small act of sitting carried with it different needs—sometimes a hard chair for intense thought, mild cushion for discussion, and a place of sinking depth for comfort.             It was all he could do to keep from saying something soothing, something to take away the ache that was written on her face.   But he had to be careful.   One slip, one word that betrayed his cognition, and his program would be dismissed faster than a snap of the fingers.   And then