Take a sad or happy moment from your life, one that really stands out to you, and turn it into a fairytale (an old classic or one you make up on your own). Don't focus on a happy ending, as fairytales rarely had them. And because I (Laurie) want to make this a bit more difficult, the fairytale must be written in second person (you, your, yours).
You must remember the days, little seamstress, when you thought you lived the best of lives in the best of worlds, and the idea of becoming a queen never crossed your mind. You walked around blindfolded, and the blindfold had been imposed by none other than yourself. Oh, seamstress, you were so embedded in your simple life that you did not think it possible to find something better beyond the mountains which surrounded you.
Poor girl, you were so blind that you screamed in despair when you were commanded to leave the kingdom for a year. A year! Everything you had built around you was about to crumble down as you left it behind for a new village where you knew nobody, where you were nobody. Didn’t you feel this was death for you, child? Didn’t you long for time to speed up in order for you to go back home, to be the same little seamstress in the same little village amid the mountains?
It must have been hard for you, so lonely, so worthless. People surrounded you, but they were only footsteps for you. There was a calm river to walk by, but it was only a point of indistinct noise for your exceptionally sad ears and idle eyes. However, right in the middle of your dim solitude, just a while away from the point of desperation, a long-haired prince came galloping from afar. His silken robes glimmered under the sun, and his outlandish deep eyes resembled almond shells which contained the whole night sky. He approached you slowly, timidly, amused by the blindfold which seemed so easy to remove and yet remained on your dazzled head. You were convinced in your blindness that the sound of hoofs meant nothing. It must have been a passerby, one of the many who simply stared at your face and walked away. Even when you heard his striking accent speaking to you, you tried not to listen and held on tight to your dear piece of coarse cloth.
You kept holding on to it, even when he lifted you and took you away on his black horse, trying to show you the world you insisted missing. He took you over tiny creeks and majestic rivers, he took you over golden wheat fields and jade forests, and still he couldn’t get you to see. However, one amber afternoon, he caught you off guard, delighted with cold wind on your cheeks and warm sunshine on the palm of your hands. He didn’t have to ask you: this was the right time to wake you up. It didn’t matter if you hated him for what he did; he snatched the blindfold from your head!
Did you gasp?
Did your formerly idle eyes fill with tears as the horizon suddenly stretched to infinity?
What did you feel then, eh, little girl?
And please tell, sweet mistress, what did you feel when you stare at the prince’s abysmal eyes? And when he asked you to close yours for no other reason than to feel a kiss softer than the wind on your cheeks, warmer than the sun on your hands?
You wouldn’t go back home then, would you?
You must remember, Your Majesty, the days when you thought you lived the best of lives in the best of worlds, and the idea of remaining a seamstress was always in your mind. Now that you have opened your eyes, now that you see, your heart will never be able to go back home, for now you do believe in the existence of better days beyond all unsurpassable mountains.
