Once there was a princess who was very sad. Though everyone in the kingdom tried all they could to make her happy, only one thing eased her sadness. Each day, the princess would walk out to the wide range of windswept hills behind the castle, and wander the hills for hours, crying out her sadness to the wind, until the sun sank below the earth and the princess could no longer bear the cold.
It made everyone ache to see their princess in such a state. The king and queen spent all their money bringing experts from the farthest reaches of the kingdom to treat their daughter, but none of them could figure out what was wrong. The people of the kingdom threw parades and parties in honor of their beloved princess, but failed to make the princess smile. Knights, ladies, and lords journeyed from every corner of the world to woo the princess, singing her songs and presenting her with their various deeds, but these too were unsuccessful.
Eventually, overwhelmed with guilt, the princess shut herself up in her room. She refused to see everyone, and only left the castle once a day, to wander the hills and cry.
Only one person was allowed into the princess’s room: The princess’s handmaiden, a girl just her age, from the village closest to the castle. When the princess stayed out in the hills too long, past the first touch of darkness, it was the handmaiden who strode through the cold winds to find her. It was the handmaiden who would gently lead the princess back to the castle, run her a hot bath, and rub her blistered feet with oil. And when the princess fell asleep in the tub, exhausted from her endless grief and wanderings, it was the handmaiden who helped the princess into bed, tucked the many blankets beneath her chin, and pressed a sorrowing kiss to the princess’s forehead.
The handmaiden had reason, then, to believe she loved the princess more than anyone. More than the incompetent, blundering king and queen; more than the distant people, who thought of the princess more as a goddess than a person; and certainly more than the self-obsessed knights who fought amidst themselves, beneath the princess’s window, for a chance to speak with her. And because she viewed her love so highly, the handmaiden decided that enough was enough—she was going to take matters into her own hands.
One early morning, when the princess was fast asleep, the handmaiden quietly slipped out of the castle and made her way down to the village below. The handmaiden followed the village road for a mile past the last house, until she found a spot where the forest bordering the village leapt up to meet a bend in the road. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and entered the woods.
It was no hard thing to find the local witch. All the handmaiden had to do was follow a trail of gently glowing mushrooms. The mushrooms led her through a thicket of bushes, over a small creek, and past an overturned tree to a cottage surrounded by a low stone wall. The handmaiden strode to the cottage door with as much determination as when she sought her lady, and rapped four times—never knock thrice on a witch’s door—against the giggling wood.
A child opened the door. “Excuse my appearance,” said the little boy, hair sticking out all to one side, “spell gone wrong and I can’t quite shake it. How can I help you?”
The handmaiden’s faith wavered slightly, but she followed the witch nonetheless and sat down for tea. “Please,” said the handmaiden, “I need to learn magic.” Though she assumed the witch was well acquainted with the plight of her ruler, the handmaiden explained the situation in grave detail.
“I see,” said the witch, thoughtfully sipping her tea. “And you say nothing has helped? Why don’t you ask for a spell for perfect health, or an adoring pet, or true love? That usually does wonders for these melancholy types.”
But the handmaiden shook her head. “It won’t be enough,” she said. “The princess herself doesn’t even know what she wants. I need to be able to do whatever it takes to make her happy, whenever she needs it.”
A twinkle came into the witch’s eye. She knew mettle when she saw it. “It will be very difficult,” she warned, “are you sure about this? You will have to give up much to gain the kind of power you desire.”
“I would give anything,” said the handmaiden.
And so the lessons began.
***
The witch hadn’t lied. The handmaiden’s lessons were harder than any work she’d ever done before. Harder than the time she’d had to boil all fifteen different sets of the princess's bedding by hand after a nasty bedbug infestation, or when she’d had to rescrub the entire floor of the first inner courtyard because one of the princess's greyhounds had gotten inside. Harder than the time last autumn, when the princess had fallen into a briar patch, and the handmaiden had had to soak the princess's hair in rose-scented almond milk. The handmaiden had picked out the tiny burrs tangled in the princess’s seafoam tresses one by one, with a set of metal pinchers so small that the handmaiden's fingers shook to hold it still.
But just like those times, the handmaiden felt the difficulty was worth it. Anything was worth it, for the hope of seeing the princess smile.
Finally, after a whole year of training, the witch announced that the handmaiden's dream magic had reached an appropriate level of skill, and that she was free to leave if she wanted.
The handmaiden thanked the witch profusely for her tutelage, but confessed her longing to go back to her work. After promising the witch that she would visit, the handmaiden left immediately for the castle, her strong, tired fingers itching with a new and eager power.
After giving some unbelievably believable excuse to the Head of Household, the handmaiden sprinted up the dozens of spiraling stairs to the princess's room, overjoyed to begin brightening the princess's melancholy days.
But when the handmaiden burst into the room, she found the princess relaxing in a chair by the open bedroom window, embroidering a long strip of cloth that fluttered in the slight breeze. The princess looked up, gasped, and leapt from her chair. Then she gasped for an entirely different reason and bent over, grabbing her stomach.
The handmaiden rushed to her side.
"How glad I am to see you," said the princess, smiling up at the handmaiden, "I've missed you so. Where have you been?"
Tongue tied, the handmaiden helped the princess sit back in the chair. With wide eyes, she saw the taut roundness of the princess's belly beneath the white and ivory layers of her dressing gown, and the glint of gold on the hand resting protectively over the princess's swollen belly. And when the handmaiden found the courage to look into the princess's face, it was her rosy cheeks, shining eyes, and gentle smile that startled the handmaiden the most.
"Nevermind. I'm just so glad you've come to say goodbye," the princess said, warmly squeezing the handmaiden's hand. "You're just in time! My new husband, the king, comes for me tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow," echoed the handmaiden, fingers itching listlessly by her side as an unnamable feeling tore through her chest. "Princess, I will pack my bags."
The laughter with which the princess speared the handmaiden's chest was bright, joyful, sparkling, and sharp as a shard of crystal. "Oh, there is no need. As Queen I am sure I will have more ladies than I know what to do with."
And before the handmaiden could say another word, the princess dismissed the handmaiden from her service.
***
A year later, the new queen of the neighboring kingdom gave birth to a baby girl. The happy parents gathered their smiling daughter in their arms and named her Laughter, for the joy her tiny face brought bubbling out of them. And for a time, they were happy.
One night, when the castle was dark and quiet, a shadowed figure slipped into the young princess's nursery. The figure sidestepped the snoring nurse and bent over the princess's cradle.
The baby opened her eyes and smiled sweetly up at the somber face of her mother's ex-handmaiden. She gave a bubbly little laugh as the handmaiden reached down and placed a tainted finger on the tiny rosebud lips.
"Never again," whispered the handmaiden.
Immediately, the soft spoken words bled the smile from the baby's face. The dark room rang quietly with the sudden silence of snuffed out laughter.
The handmaiden nodded once, grimly. Then she disappeared out the window, never to set foot in that kingdom again.
It was her first and last work of magic.
***
There once was a princess who was very sad. Though everyone in the kingdom tried all they could to make her happy, only one thing could ease her sadness.
At the end of each day, the princess would leave to wander the meadows in the deep valley behind her castle. The great, reddening sky, the grass scratching her legs, and the ringing calls of the evening birds would stretch her chest near to breaking. Filled with a deep sense of yearning, she would force her way through the thick grass, searching for something she could not name, for someone she could not remember meeting.
She would call out a name she did not know until her voice was hoarse, cry for a love she had never known, until the color seeped out of the sky.
The heartbreak the princess nursed was as foreign to her as another language, as bewildering and strange as magic. And yet, simultaneously, it was as familiar to her as the morose beat of her own heart. As the warmth of her mother’s touch.
The sorrow clung to the princess for her whole life, until she was very old. Only in the soft finality of her last breath did it depart.