Rose

Content notes: mention of fi nger pricking, curse, natural death

Rose carried the last bucket of water from the pump to her kitchen and wished once more that she still had her old spindle at hand, to prick her finger and sleep for a thousand years. Or maybe just the seven hundred and eighty-six she had left over from the last time. She was so tired after a long life.

She had long since moved out of the castle, leaving thrones and balls and politics to the next generation. Now she lived by herself, a widow, in a nice cottage at the edge of the woods, in peace and quiet. Sometimes too much quiet, she was thinking, when she heard a knock at the door.

A small, elderly lady stood there, a hat in her hands, in a dress that reminded Rose of her youth.

“You might not remember me,” the pale, frail lady said, “but I have come to apologize as I have caused you great harm.” Rose bade the lady come inside, as this sounded like a matter best discussed over tea. And scones.

It turned out that the lady was the fairy who had cursed Rose all those many years ago, the one who had enchanted the spindle, as if Rose had just now summoned her with her thoughts.

“I know that at that time I overreacted. I knew it once the curse was spoken, but as these things go, once out, it cannot be undone. I have now reached an age where shame and pride are less important than saying the things that need to be said while there is time, so I just wanted you to know that I am sorry, even though this changes naught.”

Rose handed her another scone and smiled, the lines around her blue eyes deepening. “Without your curse, I might have never met my true love, would not have had my wonderful children and this full life. I am not much for might have beens. What is done is done, and seeing how I ended up, I cannot be angry with you for getting me here.”
The old fairy would have been moved if that was something that happened to her, but she was intrigued, and they ended up talking the afternoon away until long after the scones were gone and the second pot of tea was emptied. As Rose had found this a pleasant change, she invited the fairy to come back some time.

And back she came, and more than once, though she took care to leave time between visits.

It soon became clear that neither woman had many friends still alive, and they settled into an odd rhythm together. When the fairy asked what Rose enjoyed doing to pass the time, Rose sighed. “I used to bead, but alas, my eyes are not what they were. So I crochet a bit, but it does not have the same allure.”

The fairy wished she still had all of her powers, but time had taken a toll on them, too. Still, she could not help thinking that she wanted to help. Not to right past wrongs, but because Rose was kind and the fairy wanted her to be happy.

When next they met, the fairy brought a lens made of glass, some modern contraption to make small things appear bigger. Together they tried to find a way to mount this lens onto the table, so Rose could have her hands free, but it did not work well. The fairy took the lens away again, promising to think of something.

As she sat and thought and stared at the lens, she had an idea, and quickly, before she changed her mind, she set to work. Her powers had waned but were not all gone, so maybe she could do this.

She took the edge of her words and cut the lens in two.

She took the heat of her pride and softened the glass and worked it into shape.

She took the bands of steel from her heart and formed a frame.

The next time she went to see Rose, she offered her the framed lenses that she could rest on her nose, so she would have her hands free for beading.

The fairy felt shy while giving the gift, as all her defenses had gone into it and she felt very exposed and unsure. But when Rose tried on the glasses, there was such warmth and joy radiating from her smile that it engulfed the fairy and held her safer than any armor could.

Soon after this, the fairy stopped visiting Rose, but only because they moved in together. Rose taught her how to bead and how to trust, and the fairy brought her blessings to the cottage.

They lived out their days as friends, and when Rose died one winter’s day, the just-finished beaded pendant of a fairy on a rose still on the table, there was no trace of her friend, save that all the roses in the garden were in full bloom and continued to bloom on that day every year for as long as there were people around to notice such things, and then for a good while longer.