Fairy Tales

Genre: Fairy Tale
Summary: Kiv wanted enough money for himself, but ended up with more than enough.
Words: 248

Setting: ?
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale, depending on your definittion Romance
Summary: A woman wakes up after 100 years with patchy memory, and still hopes to find her bethroted
Words: 987

I remember passing through a town that swore they’d had a “sleeping beauty”, who had been on display in a glass coffin in the city hall for a century. They had at least half a dozen stories how she got there - her parents insulted a fairy, her father cursed having a daughter rather than a son, you know the kind.

All the stories agreed that she did wake up after a hundred years, and was, like you are when you sleep too long, not entirely clear in the head.

And here’s a story of what happened afterwards.

The guests at the Princess's christening were in awe, and her parents proud as could be, as the three wise women of the Realm had accepted their invitation. All noise stopped when the trio stepped up to the cradle to give her good wishes, in solemn voices sweet as summer wind.

“She shall have a mind clear as ice, so she can detect the flaw in any plan, thing, or person,” said the first.

“She shall have a heart strong as steel, so she won’t be hurt or swayed by trifles,” said the second.

“She shall have a tongue sharp as a knife, and wield it expertly,” said the third.

The suddenly stricken silence was broken by the door opening, a messenger bursting in unanounced and out of breath. “The wise women are dead. I saw their bodies in a ditch...”

The impostors let their glamour disperse, showing skin pale as snow and eyes dark as night sky. One smiled at the messenger, the other two bowed mockingly towards the parents, holding all present spellbound long enough for their parting words.

“She will be strong, and smart.”

“She will do all our Realms proud.”

All three faded like a mirage.

Based on the prompt "The fairy godparents aren't the nice sort of fairy." by rix-scaedu.

The witch queen was satisfied with her newest work. She smiled at the master artisan as she handed him the heavy purse he had earned for delivering a working basis. Creating a truly perfect duplicate of a door in the Empress's palace was impossible - if for no other reason, then for the wood grain - but the fifth attempt had been close enough to link them.

Nodding and smiling as the artisan bowed, the witch queen considered rumours about herself. A mirror that could take her wherever she wanted if she stepped through it... would that things were so easy.

You'd like to hear a fairy tale from me? Really? Well, all right.

Many generations ago in a village in Kandral was a boy who thought he was smarter than he was. He went out into the woods without telling anyone, wanting to prove he could hunt on his own. Instead he got lost. His parents thought he was with his cousins, his cousins thought he was with his parents, so nobody missed him until night fell.

In the dark and with no idea where he was, he became very afraid. He called for help.

Someone arrived, a figure with skin and hair shining like a moon. It talked sweetly to the boy, until he was not afraid any more. The fae asked the boy to tell it about his family, in exchange for being led to a street, and got a lot of complaints how his parents liked his brothers and sisters, who he said picked on him, more, and no-one took him as seriously as he deserved.

"Ah, this is sad," said the fae, and nothing more.

They walked in silence until they reached a path. The boy recognised it after a moment.

"Here, take this," said the fae, and handed him a seed, big as a nut and shimmering golden. "Plant it somewhere near your pastures. It will grow into something wonderful. It will bring joy to your life."

The boy thanked the fae and ran home. He hid the seed, and it was a week later, after all the anger, relief and excitement about his disappearance and reappearance had worn off, that he snuck off and buried the seed in a hedge, a bit hidden. He did not want it out in the open, so he could be the one to "find" whatever would sprout.

He never saw the plant, because it grew much faster than he had thought, but much more hidden. Roots spread far, sending up shoots that the goats liked to eat. It did not harm the goats, but their milk turned to slow poison. Soon the boy's parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and many of their neighbours fell sick, and died. The fae's poison never harmed the boy who had received the gift of getting rid of those he maligned.

When the story came out, the remaining people of the village decided they had to cleanse the area with fire to get rid of the plant. The boy, mad with grief and guilt, jumped into the flames, and burned to ashes.

What, you don't like it? So leave me alone about fairy tales. That's the kind of story about fairies that I know.

My grandfather told me this happened when he was little.

Alarm spread through the village, in short warnings the grown-ups didn't bother to explain to their children. The children were gathered in the homes together with the old, while the able-bodied armed themselves and went out in groups to warn anyone scattered.

Cooped up indoor in broad daylight, the children heard the stories about this particular threat for the first time. A pale spirit of sorts, as calm and shining as a cloud-free and wind-still midwinter night. And as deadly.

They were interrupted by calls of a returning search party. They brought one of the older girls home, dead and cold. Not a mark on her.

Everyone waited out the day and night, fearful or mournful.

By mid-morning the next day, some parents decided the children should see, and took them to the place where the hoofprints had been spotted.

Most fae were capricious, but my grandfather never forgot, the unicorn was most dangerous of all.

After weeks of searching, Mara had finally found the spirit pond. She knelt and recited the traditional verses that attracted the spirits. They communicated with each other, an echo of which tickled the human's mind, faint like sounds just at the edge of hearing.

She ended her invocation: "By the seekers' pact, I ask, grant me a wish."

What is your wish? the spirits asked in her thoughts.

"I want to be able to see the future. I-"

She perceived that the spirits did not want to hear her reasons. She didn't guess that they knew them already. They could see the thoughts of helping beloved people avoid death, and buried beyond those the wish to be special and respected. After a short exchange among themselves, the spirits agreed.

Very well. Their satisfied mood seemed benevolent to the human. You will have your wish when you wake up. Now sleep, child.

Making her tired enough to curl up on the spot was nothing. The actual magic would take a bit more effort.

And time.

On the ground of the slowly silting pond a stone egg waited to be found and cracked. It would be a huge surprise.

Archaeologists don't expect to dig up living people.

"You! You said you were a cursed prince!"

"Um, yes. The prince of frogs." He had the grace to sound apologetic. "The curse is that I'd die horribly if I don't turn a human into a frog once a year."

"So, you did that, now you can reverse the transformation, yes?"

He hesitated, stunned. "The terms don't mention if the transformation needs to be permanetnt. The thought it wasn't permanent just never occurred to me."

"What, are you stupid?"

"Lady, I'm a frog. What do you expect?"

Sometimes, survival was a struggle against nature. Finding shelter from the elements as well as food was essential.

Sometimes, the elements were all on your side, and food was there for the taking.

Nico wondered if it counted as person-against-nature or person-against self when she just could not stomach fruit that called out "Eat me! I'm ripe and juicy!" from its trees.

It was one reason why she disliked places that seemed taken right out of fairy tales.