Fairy Stories & Other Tales

When the light of the sun hit the eyes of the village lass, she cringed. A casual passerby would have thought it odd, but the people of the village knew why she did so: for when the sun hit the full length of her each day, she turned into a statue of purest gold.     On cloudy days, she was safe from the frozen harm. At night the curse was broken with the first light of the brightest star. But on days of sunlight, she was trapped in a form that was particularly problematic, for gold is the ever-desired thing by those who prize security and comfort above all else. For when she was in her golden state, she could very easily be broken into a hundred pieces and used for the very things for which gold has always had a purpose. And it could not be stopped, such was the nature of the curse, by being kept indoors, for one way or another the sun's rays drew her forth from her home at dawn and changed her.     The village was a peculiar one in some ways. The grand...

 There was once a queen who sought to stop the hands of time, for she wanted her reign to go on forever.      For years she searched for the means by which she could end the ticking of the clock. Her quest carried her far and wide, in and out of magics and sorcery, around and about the edges of fate, and down and through the annals of the history of the world.     She learned and learned, and the more she learned, the further she fell from her goal, until she learned so much that she knew, quite abruptly and all at once, that her search was futile.     Sorrow did not claim her then.     Only the memory of wistful longing.     For though her pursuit had been in vein, she had spent a lifetime learning.

In a land twixt the realm of night and the reign of day, there lived a white stag.   Noble in bearing, regal incarnate, such a creature was born to the authority that he wielded over his land.   And so he lived and ruled all within his purview, unquestioned and held in awe by those who acknowledged him king.     So steady and routine was the nature of his rule that the stag was unprepared for the coming of a white doe to his land.      When first he looked upon the doe, his eyes were filled with wonder at the sight of her.   Upon a second glance, he noted the kindness and care she gave to those she encountered.   And the third time his eyes cast her way, he saw that where she tread, green things grew and blossoms began to bud, as though she herself begot Spring.     But his gaze sharpened when he saw the reverence paid her by his creatures.   A hardness fell upon his heart, and admiration gave way to jealousy....

The night revealed no moon. The rustle of the wind blew through the tall boughs of trees that hid the stars. And down on the ground a girl sat waiting for the world to right itself.   For that was what she did every night, since the day she had been chained to the thickest trunk of the tallest tree in the forest. She was tuned to the earth’s turning, and it was what kept the monotony of her imprisonment at bay. By keeping tap to the rotating rhythm, she could wait for day; for then her chains would melt, and she was free to do as she wished. Until, once again, night would fall, and she would come, bidden by some unknown spell, letting the chains wrap around her wrist.      How came she to be chained, she didn't know. But she had concocted a story of some loving parents who, for want of a fire in their hearth, had felled a young tree to the great forest’s displeasure. In that story, someone had loved her. In that story, a villain was at fault.    ...