There was once a beautiful Princess who lived in a golden castle with her doting parents and an old aunt as a governess. The Princess was as golden as her castle. She let down her long hair over the battlements and admirers threaded daisies and buttercups through the shining locks.
They begged the Princess to come out of the golden castle but she never would. She smiled at them sweetly but she shook her hair free of their flowers. At dusk she swept up her hair, coiled it neatly in a golden crown on top of her head, and went inside the castle.
She assured her doting family that she would never be charmed away from the golden castle but every night in her turret room she would paint a portrait of a handsome Prince. She was so talented a painter that the governess felt inadequate instructing her, so the Royal Family hired a special tutor, an impoverished young artist.
The Princess started when she saw him. He looked exactly like her portrait of the imaginary Prince. She couldn’t help falling in love with him. He threaded rosebuds and forget-me-nots throughout her long hair, and hung ripe cherries on her tiny ears.
The Royal Family was distraught when they saw their Princess, fragrant with crushed flowers, stained with sweet juice. But the Princess seemed so very happy they tried to rejoice for her sake. They prepared an elaborate wedding feast and the Princess and the artist made their vows and went to live in a city garret many miles away from the golden palace. It seemed very empty without the Princess. The very gold tarnished.
Then the Princess sent word that she was going to have a child. But the Princess did not bloom. The spring went from her step. Her long locks lost their shine and seemed thinner every day. Strands spiraled to the ground as she walked, enough to bind into a long golden cord.
The artist was very frightened. He picked the Princess up in his arms and carried her all the way to the golden palace. He begged the Royal Family to help him take care of her. They put their darling child to bed and nursed her tenderly but the Princess grew steadily weaker. The child within her seemed to sap all her strength.
Then the Princess started screaming in great pain. She screamed hour after hour until at last the child was born. It was not a tiny golden Princess. It was a mewling goblin creature with hair the colour of hellfire. As it burst into the world the Princess gave one last gasp and died.
The artist flung himself on her breasts and wept. The King and the Queen clung to each other in their despair. The governess cried brokenly. The newborn child cried too but no one could bear to touch it.
They buried the Princess in the palace garden, planting a willow by the graveside. The artist lay on top of the grave, whispering through the earth to his decaying love. He could not endure their separation. He took the long golden cord of hair and hung himself from the willow tree.
The King and the Queen and the governess grew stooped and silent with grief. Dust carpeted the marble floors of the golden palace. Spider’s webs grew thick as nets. The only sound was the constant wailing of the goblin child.
Oh, how it wailed…
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