More Than All The Gems on Earth: A Retelling of Diamonds and Toads

My mother beats me black and blue while I cast diamonds at her feet. The gems fall from my lips with every apology and plea for mercy, and they scatter across the rough-hewn floor like bits of broken glass. My mother would crush them if she could, and she hates them all the more because she cannot destroy them. The vipers from my sister’s lips slither among the diamonds, cold-blooded creatures born of poison words.

“You did this!” Mother screams, twisting my arm in her iron grip. “You spiteful little wretch! You’ll pay for this!”

It has always been this way–my sister makes the mistakes and I am punished for them. Olive’s task had not been difficult. She had only to walk to the well and give a drink to the old woman who asked. A mere moment of kindness. Yet Olive failed to give even that, and received toads and vipers as her reward.

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Those Who Sleep: A Fairy Tale

He descends the stairway, sword in hand, slashing at the brambles that block his way. His blade was made for battle, long ago, but there have been no wars for generations, and the prince thinks it is glad to have some work to do. The light grows less and the air grows cool, but he is warmed by his work and alight with joy. The place he has sought for so long is mere strides away. The brambles and the blood they draw are nothing, nothing, compared to what waits within.

He grew up on tales of the immortal princess, and drove a hundred storytellers hoarse with the telling of them. She was gifted by the fae, the legends say, and charged to protect the kingdom from all harm. He can see her now, in his mind's eye, as he has always imagined her--golden-haired and fair-skinned, smiling softly as she sits at her spinning wheel and spins the threads of protection that have kept their kingdom peaceful and prosperous for years beyond count. He has seen for himself the fruits of her work--long, stormless summers, bountiful harvests, gentle winters, and peace from their enemies on all sides. Now, he is moments away from seeing her, and offering himself to her service as so many men have done before.

At long last, he breaks through the branches, and stumbles into a circular room of gray stone. Windows near the ceiling, just above the ground, let in long streams of dusty sunlight. Thorny branches, cousins of the ones he has just slaughtered, cling to the walls and send threatening branches toward the center of the room.

But in that centerpoint, there is no smiling princess. No golden-haired beauty to hear his pledge of loyalty and devotion. There is only a bed, barely higher than his knees, completely covered with wicked thorns.

For a moment, he doubts he has found the right room, but the stories were all clear. This castle, though crumbling and overgrown, is the heart of the kingdom, the princess' domain. Which means that the figure, barely visible on the small bed, can be no one but the princess.

He tiptoes toward her, holding his breath. When he reaches the bed, he peers through the thorns, and his heart twists at the sight he sees.

OP this is beautiful. So many wonderful truths to be drawn here