Once Upon a Fairytale

Prologue

Once upon a time, on the edge of the Fiery Forest, where the leaves of the trees always wore the colors of autumn, there stood a house.

For some, perhaps small, for some, perhaps too big.

In any case, it looked like a small castle.

A turret towered above the treetops. Ivy stretched along the stone walls, changing color with the seasons.

And in this house lived a merchant with his wife and a little daughter, who was the joy of their life.

The name they gave her was Iris, after her mother's favorite flower.

And just like those flowers, Iris blossomed into beauty and splendor with each passing day.

Her parents raised her differently than the people of the city would have liked.

She was free-spirited and wild. She played in the meadows, wove flower wreaths, caught butterflies, and ran under the treetops, looking for fairies.

She read too many books for some people's taste, enjoying getting lost in oceans of ink and letters, discovering other worlds.

Her mother taught her independence despite social conventions.

Their hearts were filled with happiness. They never lacked anything. All they ever needed was a loving home and one another.

Until one day, that happiness vanished.

Iris' mother fell seriously ill. For days, she lay as if soulless in bed, barely conscious.

Her face as pale as death. Cough stealing her breath.

At first, it seemed like a common flu, but as time passed, it didn't get better.

Even the best doctors her loving husband could find couldn't help her.

They had no idea how much time she had left, but they didn't give her much.

And so, when she felt too weak, she had her dearest daughter called, longing to see her one last time.

"Mother, please don't leave me," Iris sobbed. "Don't leave me alone."

"I will never leave you, my beloved Iris," her mother said in a weak voice. "Even though I am no longer here, I will always watch over you. You may not see me, but I will always be in your heart and in your memories."

"But what if I forget?" said Iris.

Her mother pulled a golden snake-shaped hairpin from her hair and used it to tie back the unruly strands of Iris' hair that kept falling into her eyes.

"This is my last gift to you, Iris. With this hairpin, you can become whoever you want. Just a simple wish is all you need. Remember, all the miracles we have created together. Don't let the magic fade within you."

Her last gift.

But there was something else she had to tell her. A secret, dark and terrifying, that has haunted their family for generations like an ominous shadow. A secret she would learn when she gets older. When she would be ready. But there was no time left.

She took off the silver chain with the moonstone pendant from her neck. Her face contorted in pain as if every movement caused her agony. She fastened the necklace around Iris' neck.

"Never take this necklace off your neck, Iris. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Don't take it off even when you sleep or swim in the lake. Never. You must never take it off, Iris."

There was an urgency in her eyes that Iris didn't understand. As if her life depended on it. She didn't remember her mother like this. The way she gripped her wrist tightly, demanding that oath.

"I promise."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she wanted to look strong in front of her mother.

"It protects you from evil. Avoid looking into those golden eyes. You will find no good in them." She dared not tell her the whole truth, with her father standing behind. "You must not listen to the whispers..."

She coughed as if she were choking. Her lips suddenly turned red with blood.

"Mother!" Iris was overcome with terror.

"Take her away!" her father ordered the servants.

The servants led Iris out of her, although she refused, wanting to stay with her mother until the very last moment. They had to drag her out of the room. The door slammed behind them, and she never saw her mother again.

Iris was only ten years old when she lost her mother. She was still too young, had to grow up and face the realities of life too soon.

It was a sad day when the earth covered her mother's body. The sky became overcast with dark clouds as if mourning with them. The land fell silent with sorrow, over her bones lying in the ground and her soul lost somewhere in another world. Everything was covered with a gray veil of grief.

At her funeral, Iris saw a strange man standing in the background, whom she had never seen before.

She looked with interest at the stranger dressed all in black, while everyone else was dressed in white, in celebration of a life once lost. Their eyes met.

He winked at her, gave her a fleeting smile.

Only as they were leaving did she see the stranger approach her mother's grave and place flowers on it.

Dahlias. Red as blood. And from that moment on, whenever she came to place fresh flowers on her mother's grave, red dahlias grew around.

Every day of the year. In summer and in winter.

They basked in the rays of the sun and decorated the wasteland of cold snow.

Something about the stranger stuck in her memory, especially the golden glint in his eyes, which she could see even from a distance.

?

Iris grew into beauty and splendor. She learned her mother's craft, never forgetting the miracles they were creating together.

She sewed gorgeous dresses and created beautiful jewelry.

The magic of thread and needle was innate in her hands.

It reminded her of her face and voice, which she never wanted to forget.

Even though the memories hurt sometimes.

And while she lived in reality, all too real and sometimes cruel, at least in her books she could dream, immerse herself in other worlds that seemed so incredibly distant to her.

There she could travel across oceans, far away to the stars, where fairy tales become reality.

But she was no princess to be rescued by a prince from a high tower, from the ghosts of her past.

"Read to me, Iris," her father would say.

He loved listening to her voice when she read. Her voice sounded like her mother's. She reminded him of her in many ways. Every time he looked at his beloved daughter, he saw the face of wife he loved so much, her smile, her golden hair. She carried within her her indomitable spirit.

"The prince looked at the sleeping beauty lying in bed.

She was beautiful, he said." Iris read to her father.

"As if the sleeping beauty he had heard about in the legends had cast some kind of spell on him.

He couldn't resist. Prince sat down on the bed next to her.

A hundred years of dust rose into the air.

He leaned closer and closer and kissed her on her perfectly shaped lips.

As if he had breathed life into her. The sleeping beauty woke back to life, and with her the entire cursed kingdom. "

"Isn't it beautiful? A kiss of true love that will save the whole world. A love so powerful that it will transcend the boundaries of worlds and time." Iris was melting over the story. "I would also like to experience such love someday. Like you and mother."

"You will experience it someday, Iris. You too will find your prince. Somewhere out there he's wandering, looking for you," her father said.

Something was weighing on his heart. You could see it in him. The way he nervously played with his fingers, the way he tapped his foot. A secret.

"I need to ask you something, Iris."

"Then ask." She paid attention to him.

"What would you say if you had a sister?" he finally asked her the question after a long moment of nervous hesitation.

"I don't think I understand what you're trying to tell me, Father," Iris said, confused.

"I've found a new wife," he explained. "She's the widow of one of my business partners. I want to marry her. She has a daughter about your age. I'm sure you two would become friends."

"Do you love her?" she asked him.

She thought about her mother. Is it possible to love two people in one life?

"Yes," he replied. "I will never forget your mother. She will always be the greatest love of my life, but I think it's time to move on. But I care about your opinion, Iris."

"I think the only thing that truly matters is whether you're happy, Father."

"I am. I really am."

"In that case, so am I."

Iris's father remarried and brought home her new stepmother and stepsister.

The stepmother looked elegant. Dressed in gorgeous robe fit just like for a queen.

Proud attitude. On the other hand, her daughter looked like a child.

Dressed all in pink. Her hair was decorated with a large bow.

She looked around with a look of astonishment on her face, attention fleeing here and there.

"You must be Iris, right?" her stepmother gave her a fake smile. "Your father has told me a lot about you. You are said to be a good seamstress."

"Father must have exaggerated my abilities," Iris said with a forced smile.

Her mother had taught her to always be kind and respectful. And she also didn't want to ruin her father's happiness, no matter how much she despises this moment. His eyes were shining, a sincere smile graced his lips. She hadn't seen him like that in a long time.

"He said you are the best in the kingdom," said the stepmother.

"She is," her father praised her. "She inherited her talent from her mother, as well as her beauty."

"You could make a dress for me too," her stepsister Anastasia said enthusiastically. "I love dresses."

"I could," said Iris.

Their lives have never been the same ever since.

The stepmother liked to organize lavish parties for people from the high society she would like to belong to.

Cards were played, gentlemen squandered all their money on gambling.

Wine and champagne flowed in streams. Laughter echoed through the rooms of their mansion.

It was a big change, perhaps too much. Iris had a hard time getting used to it.

People having fun, dancing to the melody of cheerful music.

Unknown drunken men pulled her skirts and invited her to dance.

Persistent, she had to throw the wine in their faces and they just laughed at it.

Later, they lounged in flower beds. The celebrations lasted until early morning when the first rays of light drove them home.

"Aren't you having fun?" Iris found her father hiding in his study, buried in papers.

"You know I don't really like parties, but your stepmother enjoys them. At least it brought life to this house. It's been quiet here for too long," he said.

"What would mother say?"

"She probably wouldn't recognize it here anymore."

"I don't recognize it here either. It's as if mother's spirit is disappearing from these walls."

"She will never disappear, Iris," her father said. "As long as she lives in our hearts, she will always be with us."

The stepmother watched them through the crack in the half-open door. She listened. And she was jealous that she would never be anyone's great love again. Always only the second one.

?

Iris's father had to go on business trips. Stepmother's whimsicality dragged him away more often and further away.

Iris's father had to go on business trips. Stepmother's capriciousness dragged him away more often and further away.

"What should I bring my girls when I return?" he asked as they said goodbye.

"Jewelry and satin gloves. And some nice fabric for a new dress. Brocade," said Anastasia. "And don't forget parasol. I don't want to get burned under the harsh summer sun."

The father only smiled at his stepdaughter's greed. An insatiable desire for material things burned within her, while his own daughter remained silent.

"And what would you like, Iris?"

"Mostly, that you return home safely," she replied.

"Is there anything else you would like?" he asked her.

"Anything that reminds you of me."

"As always."

He got into the carriage and set off. He leaned out the window and waved goodbye to his family.

Iris ran after the carriage, wishing her father would never have to leave again.

As if only the power of her thoughts could stop him.

She didn't want to say goodbye anymore. It was tearing her apart. That was what she really wanted.

"I'll be back before you notice I'm gone!" he exclaimed.

"I'll be waiting for you!"

She stopped only when the carriage disappeared under the treetops. She watched it disappear into its depths and disappear into nothingness. And her stepmother and stepsister watched her closely like vultures ready to feast.

"How childish," said Anastasia.

"Like a wild animal," said the stepmother contemptuously.

When her father was away, the tension between Iris and her stepmother and stepsister grew.

At first, they used her to mend their torn clothes, then they made her their personal seamstress.

She was constantly sewing new clothes for them, helping them dress.

When the maids needed help in the kitchen, they sent her.

A bowl of cookies fell on the floor and she had to clean it up.

Iris never complained. She always tried to be kind, as her mother had taught her.

She believed that a good heart would go further than poison in the soul.

But that poison could spread and poison the whole body.

?

One gloomy evening there was a knock on the door. It was raining heavily as if the skies had opened. The rumble of thunder echoed across the landscape. The bright glow of lightning cut the night with purple light. Iris ran to the door, hoping to see the familiar face behind it.

But she found only her father's servant standing there. Worry and sadness written on his face, unable to meet her eyes.

"Miss Iris, it's a pleasure to see you again," Jacques said.

"Where is Father?" Iris asked, confused. He was supposed to be with him. Why did he come back without him?

"I have bad news for you, miss," he said.

The stepmother and stepsister approached the door with interest, waiting for the news he brought.

"Your father became seriously ill on the journey. He didn't make it and died. I'm sorry."

As soon as those cursed words left his mouth, Iris felt something in her chest shatter, the sound of the crack echoing in her ears.

A black veil of grief suddenly covered the whole world.

She wanted to scream, to cry, but the fountains of her tears seemed to dry up.

Her stepmother and Anastasia gasped in shock.

"His last wish was for me to bring you this, Miss Iris."

Jacques handed her a glass rose. It reflected the soft glow of the candles, casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the walls.

"Thank you, Jacques," Iris said in a weak voice and closed the door.

"What are we going to do now? We're ruined." The stepmother was having a panic attack.

"Does that mean I won't get my jewelry or my parasol?" Anastasia was indignant because she didn't get anything.

And while they thought only of themselves, Iris' loss was heartbreaking.

She had lost her mother and now her father.

Her head was spinning, she had to lean against the wall.

She slid to the floor, unable to catch her breath.

Her heart was beating wildly as if it wanted to burst through her chest and run away.

Somewhere far away, somewhere where grief would not reach her.

She felt as if shards were cutting her from the inside, leaving her to bleed freely.

She was drowning. However, only a single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, betraying the hurricane inside her.

She had only recently celebrated her sixteenth birthday and, as a gift from fate, she had lost her father. Why did life take him away from me too, she asked the breeze. She was left completely alone in the whole wide world.

When Iris' father died, her stepmother and stepsister no longer tried to pretend to be kind.

To save money, they dismissed all the servants.

They made a maid out of Iris. She cooked, cleaned, looked after the garden and the animals.

They banished her from her room to a turret, where everything was covered in dust and cobwebs.

"It's cold there, madam," Iris objected.

Autumn adorned the landscape. When it rained, it was damp there, when the wind blew, it howled like a haunted house. In winter, the frost crept under one's skin.

"Then take a blanket," her stepmother said indifferently.

Iris obeyed. She packed her meager belongings and went into the turret.

Light filtered in through a single, solitary window.

One pane of glass in it was broken. She tore the sheet from the old divan she might have slept on.

Dust rose into the air, almost suffocating her.

Iris sighed deeply. At least I have a nice view, she told herself.

They used the turret as a kind of storage place.

Iris rummaged through the junk that had been lying there forgotten for years.

She found many of her mother's things. She found her portrait, which her father had hung down and hid there when he brought stepmother into their house.

Her face seemed so foreign to her, slowly fading from her memories.

At least this way she could remember her forever.

She also found a nest of ravens there, well hidden from human sight.

She watched them hatch from the egg and grow, their feathers shining blue in the sunlight, and even as they learned to fly.

Like magpies, they loved everything shiny.

And when the cold crept in at night, Iris slept in the kitchen by the fireplace. The smoldering embers provided a pleasant warmth. In the morning, she would wake up dirty with ashes. Her stepmother and stepsister would scold her for it.

"How do you look? We'll have ashes in our tea."

"I'm sorry, madam." Iris lowered her eyes and went to wash herself.

She couldn't stand the sight of the girl looking at her from the reflection of the water. She hated what they had done to her. In anger, she overturned the bucket of water, letting her reflection sink into the stone pavement. Shaking. Silently screaming.

One of her last joys left was the roses she received every birthday.

Her favorite. White as snow, so innocent.

A small reminder that she was not forgotten.

That out there was someone who still remembered her.

She didn't know who was giving them to her, she only knew that when she woke up in the morning, there would be a rose waiting for her in the vase.

A mysterious gift from a mysterious giver.

And the most mysterious thing about it all was that roses don't grow in the winter.