25 October 2022
Rumpelstiltskin always struck me as such a weird story. Why on earth would a father make such an outrageous, easily disproven claim? Why does the fact the girl can’t actually do it never come up in her marriage later? What does Rumpelstiltskin even want with a child?
This version only directly addresses one of those; what if, after watching Rumpelstiltskin for those several nights, the protagonist does learn how to do it? How does that change her story and her relationships with the royal family? The other two will likely get touched on, assuming I do continue the story. I think it’s likely, after Nanowrimo ends; this was a fun one.
Desiree’s father was an idiot. That was the only explanation she could think of.
Such were her thoughts as she sat, locked in a room full of straw, with a promise that she’d be dead come morning if it didn’t all magically turn to gold by the time the king returned.
As she paced, she briefly considered using the lanterns to light the whole place on fire, just to spite everyone. That wouldn’t do her any good, though, and even if by some miracle it worked, she’d be hurting the wrong people. With a groan, she sank to the floor and leaned her back against the spinning wheel.
A moment later, there was a loud POP!, and a strange man appeared from thin air. He was short, not even five feet tall, and sported a long, red beard. His hair flew about in all directions, and his clothes looked tattered at first glance; however, when Desiree looked closer, she realized they were made of fine silk, and the rips and tears had been artfully arranged, and even embellished in places with fine embroidery.
He shot her a crooked smile and said, “Now, that’s unusual. Most damsels like yourself in distress are reduced to tears by the time I arrive.”
Desiree gave him a flat look. “And who are you?”
With a flourish, the strange man bowed to her. “I am merely a humble tradesman, here to repay my debt to your father.”
Desiree snorted and gestured around the room. “Well, unless you can either spin straw to gold or grant my dolt of a father his proper share of wits, I’m not sure what you can do to help.”
“Alas, the second is impossible. I tried, once; I think that ruined what little wit he had left.” The man winked at Desiree, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “But the first? That I can do.”
He shooed Desiree away from the spinning wheel, and like a maestro taking his place before a grand piano, he flared his coat, took a seat, and began to spin.
Desiree watched with wonder as the straw began to turn into threads of gold beneath the strange man’s fingers. It was as if he plucked the very color from the straw, discarding the rest, and spun it until it shone as bright as summer sunlight. She was so enraptured, she didn’t even notice when the sun’s rays began to peek through the eastern window.
The man, however, did notice. He finished off the last bit of straw and bowed once more to Desiree. “Well, that is that, and my debt is repaid. Farewell, Desiree, daughter of Oscar.” Then he snapped his fingers and disappeared.
Moments later, the door to the cell opened, and the king, accompanied by two of his guards, strode in. He glanced at the pile of gold in the corner of the room. “There’s less than I thought there would be.”
Desiree was incredulous. “You forced me to spend all night locked up in here, with threat of death if I didn’t spin all the straw into gold, and now you’re complaining there’s not enough? What on earth were you expecting?”
The king, at least, had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “Yes, well. Well done.”
Desiree sighed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. It’s been a long night. May I return home?”
The king blinked a few times. “Ah, you probably would miss your family. Very well, you may go see them; my son will escort you. But return here by tomorrow night. There’s much work to be done.”
Cold sweat dripped down Desiree’s back, and once more she cursed her father for a fool.