GLASS HILL
This is the rough draft (more like an outline) of a re-telling of a fairy tale I'm working on. I have a whole story in mind, but I needed to get some of the details down, so I started re-writing it in classic "fairy tale" style... as I figure I can add the details and actually write the story later. But, I thought you, dear reader, might enjoy seeing some of the process that goes into my outlining stage of a story. Enjoy!
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It wasn’t her fault she was so beautiful, and it wasn’t her fault the wizard cursed her father’s kingdom, and it wasn’t even her fault that the glass hill was created, but she had to sit up there anyway, with a basket of apples - a full bushel no less! - and watch as every idiot in the kingdom tried to reach her. She would have to marry the one who made it, and not one of them could be bothered to wonder what it might be like for her, sitting up there on the tippy-top of the slippery slope, in a dress made all of silk and satin, and her afraid of heights... and allergic to apples... but those aren’t the sorts of facts that make it into the fairy tales.
Days of this went by. Every morning she was carried to the top of the hill by a full dozen of her father, the king’s prized falcons. Every afternoon she watched as men and horses tried their best to clamber up the side of the glass hill to reach her and retrieve one of the apples from her basket. Every evening she was brought down again and returned to her tower bedroom where she spent a fitful night having nightmares about sliding down the crystal monstrosity outside her window.
The daily routine was beginning to wear on the princess. Her golden curls began to hang limply, her face grew gaunt and the circles under her eyes darkened. She began to look more kindly on the crowd at the base of her hill, hoping that even one of them might make it more than a few steps up the side... no matter what he looked like or how he acted. But it seemed hopeless, and her nerves were beginning to fray.
One day, late in autumn, when many of the young men who were not knights or princes had returned to their homes to help their families harvest their crops, a new face arrived in the crowd far below. Or perhaps “face” isn’t the correct term, as from her vantage point far above it all she could see that he was helmeted and that he kept his visor down. He wore a suit of armor all made of some shiny yellow material... his horse was dressed to match, a vanity that made the princess roll her eyes in amusement. Better that he leave all that heavy armor behind, she thought, he surely wouldn’t make it up the hill more than a step or two. But to her surprise, when it came his turn, he galloped straight up the hill without stopping. As he drew nearer, she could just see his brown eyes through the slit in his visor: narrowed in concentration, sparkling with a sense of mischievous humor, and bright with clever intelligence. A shock went through her as she realized he was already a third of the way up the hill, with no sign of struggling or weariness or slipping. Her lips parted in shock and her spirits lifted, perhaps the monotony would now end! (and perhaps the winner of this contest and her hand would not be detestable after all) But then, inexplicably, the new rider turned his horse around and began to ride straight back down again.
The princess’s parted lips allowed a small “oh!” exclamation of dismay to escape, but the rider did not heed her. She looked around frantically, nobody else had made it this far, nobody else was likely to, and this rider had given up after one closer look at her. She saw a vision of herself growing old and dying on this hill, a vision of herself growing weary and falling asleep and sliding to her death, a vision of the curse never ending... and she did the only thing she could do: she quickly dumped an apple out of the basket in her hands. It rolled down the hill, slipping and sliding surreptitiously, unnoticed by anyone, as everyone’s attention was fixed upon the brilliantly shining armor, every thought bent on wondering why he had turned around, and the apple bopped and bounced on a slight imperfection left by the horse’s hoof and then tumbled neatly into the knight’s boot just before he reached the bottom of the hill and rode off into the forest and out of sight.