A thought landed in my head earlier today, about Sleeping Beauty and the spindle ‘curse’. What if it really wasn’t a curse, or perhaps one that she chose to fulfill. Having grown up in the forest (in most versions) and knowing nothing of her origin, being dragged off to the palace to assume her rightful position would have been a huge shock. The freedom she would lose by being a princess and marrying a man she did not know; at sixteen, I know I would have rather died first than do it.
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Perhaps there was no evil witch who cursed me to die from a simple spindle prick; and those fairies could have just been spinsters, ‘aunties’, wishing for me all the princessly virtues they desired for themselves. And my parents; good, noble but superstitious, banishing spindles from the kingdom and me from their hearth.
I knew none of this, of course, growing up a wild child of the woods with my three old, single aunts spoiling me into ruin. Dirt under my nails, bare feet in the grass, cold water on my naked skin; who would ever want to give that up?
Sixteen was the magic number and my “aunts” dragged me from my forest home into captivity; to a life I had never known, left in a cavernous and cold chamber to wait to meet the parents who gave me away.
I don’t deny that there was strong magic involved; a sleep so long, without the passage of time touching you, that is certainly powerful magic. But maybe it was me who fulfilled that ‘curse’, did you ever consider that a princess could make a choice?
I slipped from the room and wandered, winding up, up, up until I found a small stone chamber, bare but for a worn cot, a stool and a wheeled contraption I had never seen before. A wizened old woman sat upon that stool, working the foot pedal, spinning the wheel, pulling the thread; she did not look at me when she spoke: You seek an escape. I confessed that I did, pouring my heart out to the stranger. Help me, I begged her; I want my life to remain my own, I cried, the tears streaming down my cheeks. Help me change my fate.
She smiled kindly and beckoned for me to come closer; Have you ever seen a spinning wheel, my dear? she ignored my tear stained face, continuing to spin tranquilly; I admitted that I had not. In a hushed voice, she told me that the wheel she spun upon was enchanted and that it had the power to grant my wish. All I had to do, was touch the spindle and seal the spell with a drop of my blood.
What will happen, auntie? I wondered aloud not expecting a reply and not receiving one. Entranced by the steady spinning and whir of the wheel, I tapped the pointed spindle with my outstretched finger, wincing but I held fast, waiting for three drops of blood to drop over the tip.
The room began to spin and my stomach danced about, threatening to spill its contents. I sank to the floor as the world around me gradually faded away. In the void of sleep like death my life remains my own.
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