A Holiday Fairytale, Part One
Illustration by Ainsley Cutter
Author’s note: Inspired by my daughter who has been reading re-worked fairytales by young adult author Marissa Meyer, I decided to write my own fairytale over the holidays. I will deliver it to you in parts. Check out Marissa Meyer at https://www.marissameyer.com. Sign up to receive my monthly WordPress blog directly to your inbox and follow me on Facebook- Sonja Roberts, Author https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100088358737509&mibextid=LQQJ4d
Happy holidays!
Deep in the woods in a small clearing surrounded by the snowy Alps, were two chalets. In one, lived a princess with a musical voice and lovely soft hands and kindness in her heart. In the other, lived a witch with darkness in her soul and a touch of madness in her brain. One chalet was neat and tidy, the other shabby and unkempt. In between, lay a garden that the two women shared, and that is where they were most often found: the witch pulling herbs and bits for her potions, the princess carefully cultivating vegetables to make soup for the lost travelers who frequently passed by.
One day as the sun grew high enough to break over the mountain peaks and pierce through the thick pine trees, a stag stumbled tiredly into the clearing. He had been lost, you see, wandering for days through the forest and he was plagued with exhaustion and hunger.
“Greetings,” the stag panted tiredly, his usually proud, deep, voice little more than a whisper. “I wonder if you could spare me a moment’s rest and a bit of nourishment. I have been lost these many days in the dark wood and feared the wolves would set upon me if I stopped.”
The stag could only see the backs of the women, for they were both bent over their garden. One voice, beautiful and melodic, replied first.
“Certainly. Come to my chalet and warm yourself on a bed of moss by the fire. You may enjoy a hearty soup and rest until you are strong again.”
Another voice, dark and raspy quickly chimed in.
“I’m sure you would prefer my chalet. It is always the favorite for lost travelers.”
The two women turned to face the stag and he gasped. The woman closest to the neat and cozy chalet was the most stunning human he had ever seen, with long tendrils of gleaming chestnut hair, an angelic face without a single imperfection, and a smile that revealed glowing white teeth. She stood tall and graceful, gesturing her gloved hand toward the immaculate chalet that glowed with warm light from within.
The other woman hunched with age, her hair white and matted. Her eyes were cloudy. Her smile crooked with missing teeth. Her face was pocked with scars and a wart grew on her nose. She gestured toward the sagging chalet that had only an old blanket as a door and the faintest wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. The dimmest of candlelight could be glimpsed through the filth of the windowpane.
The stag bowed his head slightly toward the hideous woman, for he didn’t wish to be rude, then he drew to his fullest size, displayed his glorious antlers, and walked confidently toward the beautiful woman, longing for the moss bed and delicious meal, and more than anything, to be in the company of such beauty.
The next day, the two women were again working in the garden when a man stumbled into their clearing. He shivered from cold, and his stomach ached with hunger, and he begged for shelter and nourishment. As they had the day before, the women offered up their chalets while bent over their work, and when they turned to face the man, he shuddered with revulsion at the old lady and fell instantly in love with the beauty. He puffed his chest and flexed his arms, then followed her into her pristine home, sparing barely a glance toward the hideous woman and her chalet. He could not wait to warm himself by the fire while sipping a nourishing soup; but most of all, he longed to be in the company of such a beautiful woman.
As the days passed, several more lost creatures came upon the chalets in the mountainside clearing. A hare, his coat sleek and white, a wolf, her eyes commanding, a lynx, his ears intent. One by one, they chose the chalet of the beautiful woman, barely acknowledging the offer of the other.
At last, a small girl arrived tired and disheveled, but unafraid. She observed the two women, bent over in the garden.
“Excuse me,” she began breathlessly. “I became separated from my family when a wild boar chased us off the path. I wonder if I might shelter here for the night, for I hear there are many disappearances in this part of the forest.”
A melodious voice carried to the girl’s ears, offering her a bed of moss by the fire and a nourishing soup. Another voice, a grimy rasp, offered her a chalet which was “the favorite of the travelers”.
“How kind of you both. How shall I ever choose?” asked the little girl as she watched them work.
The women turned to face her. The little girl gasped at the beauty of the woman closest to the well-kept chalet. Then she studied the old, hunched over, bedraggled woman.
“What a lovely spot you have in the forest. I’m Greta. What are your names?” she inquired, for she had been taught excellent manners by her mama.
The ugly, disheveled woman near the run-down chalet responded first, her dry lips cracking with the effort.
“I am Maria. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Greta.” To Greta’s astonishment, the voice that spoke was like music to her ears. Maria held out her hand and without hesitation, Greta clasped it in greeting. Despite having just worked in the garden, it was soft, clean, and warm. Greta saw that the woman’s eyes were kind and sincere.
“I am Hilda,” interrupted the beautiful woman, her voice harsh and raspy. She pulled Greta’s hand into her gloved one, pulling her toward the beautiful chalet. “Let us go inside. I am certain you would much rather stay in my chalet than in that hovel,” she waved her gloved hand toward Maria’s chalet.
Greta’s mother had always told her that true beauty came from within. She marveled at how she had assumed the beautiful voice had belonged to the beautiful woman.
“I will stay with Maria,” Greta declared, “but thank you for your kind offer.” As she pulled her hand from Hilda’s grasp, Hilda’s glove slipped off, revealing a hideous hand with blackened fingers and twisted fingernails.
Hilda’s look of disbelief quickly turned to rage.
“Are you sure?” Hilda croaked. “Surely you will freeze before morning.”
“I am sure,” Greta replied, taking a step toward Maria. She was now very eager to be out of Hilda’s presence. “Maria has offered a bed of moss by a warm fire and nourishing soup. That sounds wonderful.”
Hilda’s beauty was fading rapidly as anger marred the perfection of her face.
Maria held her hand out for Greta once more, and Greta took it, savoring its soft warmth, and followed Maria into the shabby chalet, happy to be out of Hilda’s sight.