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  My sisters all gave their gifts first, of course. Being in the presence of young things always gets them so fluttery and excited that they forget their manners, forget that I, the oldest, should always be first. I suppose their majesties the parents were similarly afflicted; that’s probably why I didn’t get an invitation, they were just so carried away with the glory of their little cooing bundle of cells that they forgot to invite me. But I could not let the child suffer for their negligence. There was no telling what my sisters might do to the poor thing, and they are my responsibility. I have to clean up their messes.

            Finally it was my turn, I was by the cradle and I could see what my sisters had done to the poor baby. She was beautiful and charming and even her hiccups sounded musical. I looked out over the kingdoms of the world and saw that there was not one person there who would see her as anything but a way into a royal family, a bargaining tool with which to make alliances and bribes. When people came to court her they’d be courting her looks and her land, never her. She would love them (my sisters had seen to that) and they would break her heart. I have several hearts, all of which have at some time been broken. It hurts every time. This tiny human only had one heart, not a single spare. Humans are so careless that way. They’re luck to have things like me to look out for them.

            At first I thought I’d let her die on her sixteenth birthday. With any luck her heart would still be in one piece then, and she’d never have it crumble to pieces , crushed by some careless prince. I gave that as my gift, sixteen years with a whole heart, then walked away. But I paused in the hallway outside the nursery.

            I could hear the parents sobbing, and I knew those sobs, I had heard them coming from my three parents when my youngest sister took on the form of a dragon, went to England, and never came back to us. I knew then that I couldn’t buy the child’s happiness at the price of her parent’s misery. I took on the form of my youngest sister, her true form, before she gave herself wings and scales and went off to meet her death on Saint George’s sword. I marched back in and, quite theatrically, amended my gift: the baby would not die at sixteen, but plunge into an enchanted sleep, only to be woken by her true love, someone who would do his best not to break her heart. My sisters didn’t think it at all odd that the youngest of our number had somehow resurrected herself. I don’t think they noticed when she died. They are rather self-absorbed. Their majesties were effusively grateful. It’s nice to be appreciated occasionally, even if the person thanking you thinks they’re thanking someone else.

            I showed up on the girl’s sixteenth birthday, right on time (though I didn’t get an invitation for that either.) I let her enjoy the festivities for a while, but the way one of the visiting princes was eyeing her made me nervous, so I lured her away from the party with a trail of pretty frivolities, a butterfly here, a bright flower there, until she was at the door of the tower where I was waiting. She walked in.

            I let her play with my spinning wheel to distract her while I prepared the spell. Of course she had no idea how to use it, silly pampered thing, and she cut her soft hands on the spindle. I bandaged her up, then sent her to sleep.

            I realized that she would be lonely, if she was woken a century from now and found that everyone she knew had been dead for years, so I sent the rest of the court to sleep too. They would wake with her, in a hundred years or a thousand, and by then there would be a new king and court and the princess would no longer be merely a means of clambering to the highest position on the social ladder.

            I know from experience that true love alone is not enough for a successful marriage, so I sent monstrous roses rocketing out of the ground around the castle. Only a determined, courageous person would be able to hack and scramble through them. I started rumors that bloodthirsty ogres lived in the castle in the center of the thicket, so that only a person smart enough to realize that bloodthirsty ogres would have to emerge to eat would even attempt to brave the brambles. Finally, like my sister before my I became a creature of fire and claw, and I will wait here, in my rose forest prison, to meet face to face anyone who makes it past my flowers and lies, to make absolutely sure that the they are worthy of my goddaughter’s love. I do not know how long I will have to wait. Humans are such imperfect creatures. But I don’t have anything better to do. It’s not as if I ever get invited anywhere.

Description

  My sisters all gave their gifts first, of course. Being in the presence of young things always gets them so fluttery and excited that they forget their manners, forget that I, the oldest, should always be first. I suppose their majesties the parents were similarly afflicted; that’s probably why I didn’t get an invitation, they were just so carried away with the glory of their little cooing bundle of cells that they forgot to invite me. But I could not let the child suffer for their negligence. There was no telling what my sisters might do to the poor thing, and they are my responsibility. I have to clean up their messes.

            Finally it was my turn, I was by the cradle and I could see what my sisters had done to the poor baby. She was beautiful and charming and even her hiccups sounded musical. I looked out over the kingdoms of the world and saw that there was not one person there who would see her as anything but a way into a royal family, a bargaining tool with which to make alliances and bribes. When people came to court her they’d be courting her looks and her land, never her. She would love them (my sisters had seen to that) and they would break her heart. I have several hearts, all of which have at some time been broken. It hurts every time. This tiny human only had one heart, not a single spare. Humans are so careless that way. They’re luck to have things like me to look out for them.

            At first I thought I’d let her die on her sixteenth birthday. With any luck her heart would still be in one piece then, and she’d never have it crumble to pieces , crushed by some careless prince. I gave that as my gift, sixteen years with a whole heart, then walked away. But I paused in the hallway outside the nursery.

            I could hear the parents sobbing, and I knew those sobs, I had heard them coming from my three parents when my youngest sister took on the form of a dragon, went to England, and never came back to us. I knew then that I couldn’t buy the child’s happiness at the price of her parent’s misery. I took on the form of my youngest sister, her true form, before she gave herself wings and scales and went off to meet her death on Saint George’s sword. I marched back in and, quite theatrically, amended my gift: the baby would not die at sixteen, but plunge into an enchanted sleep, only to be woken by her true love, someone who would do his best not to break her heart. My sisters didn’t think it at all odd that the youngest of our number had somehow resurrected herself. I don’t think they noticed when she died. They are rather self-absorbed. Their majesties were effusively grateful. It’s nice to be appreciated occasionally, even if the person thanking you thinks they’re thanking someone else.

            I showed up on the girl’s sixteenth birthday, right on time (though I didn’t get an invitation for that either.) I let her enjoy the festivities for a while, but the way one of the visiting princes was eyeing her made me nervous, so I lured her away from the party with a trail of pretty frivolities, a butterfly here, a bright flower there, until she was at the door of the tower where I was waiting. She walked in.

            I let her play with my spinning wheel to distract her while I prepared the spell. Of course she had no idea how to use it, silly pampered thing, and she cut her soft hands on the spindle. I bandaged her up, then sent her to sleep.

            I realized that she would be lonely, if she was woken a century from now and found that everyone she knew had been dead for years, so I sent the rest of the court to sleep too. They would wake with her, in a hundred years or a thousand, and by then there would be a new king and court and the princess would no longer be merely a means of clambering to the highest position on the social ladder.

            I know from experience that true love alone is not enough for a successful marriage, so I sent monstrous roses rocketing out of the ground around the castle. Only a determined, courageous person would be able to hack and scramble through them. I started rumors that bloodthirsty ogres lived in the castle in the center of the thicket, so that only a person smart enough to realize that bloodthirsty ogres would have to emerge to eat would even attempt to brave the brambles. Finally, like my sister before my I became a creature of fire and claw, and I will wait here, in my rose forest prison, to meet face to face anyone who makes it past my flowers and lies, to make absolutely sure that the they are worthy of my goddaughter’s love. I do not know how long I will have to wait. Humans are such imperfect creatures. But I don’t have anything better to do. It’s not as if I ever get invited anywhere.