Tale 21- The Girl spinning Gold

 Walking through a town, the Traveler’s ears suddenly caught wind of a song, someone playing a gentle melody which she soon found herself following until reaching the source. A young woman, likely in her early twenties, was sitting and plucking at the strings of an ornate harp, decorated in carvings of angels and flowers. Staring for a moment, she noticed something strange. The harp itself was absolutely beautiful, but the strings were something else, glittering in the light and glistening as she plucked, the sunlight catching them and decorating them with sparkles. The woman noticed her listening and gave her a slight smile. “They’re made from gold, you know?” she spoke, the Traveler leaning in closer to take a look. The woman beckoned, the girl obliging and taking a seat next to her. Gently, the woman showed her how to pluck the harp, the Traveler clumsily trying but not having the elegance or technique necessary- she was younger, and had never touched a harp before- but the woman just gave a little giggle. “Don’t fret, young one. You’ll learn with time.” she smiled, plucking gently at the strings and prompting the Traveler to follow, until they had begun the basics of a melody. “Do you want to hear how these strings are made?” she asked, the Traveler nodding, both an interesting story and one for the books. The woman gently plucked the strings as she spoke, gentle, and ready to tell the tale of ‘The Girl spinning Gold’

‘Far away, in a town close to the ocean, there was an old witch living in a dreary castle. One night, she lured a young girl toward the highest tower, with promise of a reward being granted, and the young girl accepted, climbing the thousands of steps in the castle. Opening a door, she found herself in a room full of gold, ingots, crowns, every piece shimmering in the light reflecting off the fireplace. Stunned, the girl was entranced by it all, when the witch snuck up behind her and locked her in, informing her that unless she spun all the gold in the room into thread, she would never be free. Now, the witch had many customers who needed the gold thread, so she often forced the child to work all day and all night. But, someday, when that girl finishes turning each heavy piece of gold into shining strings, she will be released from that room, and free at last.’

The Traveler could feel her emotions coiling up inside her. The woman, humming, began mindlessly plucking at the golden strings, before one of them came loose. “Ah, I suppose I will have to get some more golden thread.” she smiled, before looking at the Traveler, who refused to stare back. This was wrong. One should not perpetuate the cycle of pain by being an accomplice to it, but rather should do everything in their power to help the victim of said pain escape. Her hand clenched around the quill. No matter who she turned to, nobody really helped her escape the painful cycle. And in the same way, she knew she couldn’t save this girl. As much as she would like to, she had her own freedom to obtain first. Both of them walked in chains, entangled by threads of fate as if they were mere flies in a web. Angered at this woman’s attitude, the Traveler stormed off without another word, using a hand to hold down her hood due to her severely agitated expression.

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