Tale 78- The Magic Bottle

 Walking down the path to the next village, the air was growing slightly thinner due to the altitude, the Traveler having to take breaks occasionally to breathe. She found herself by a small lake with a few houses dotted around, washing herself briefly in the water and cleaning her shoes, which seemed as if they may fall apart. Sarafelle could likely sew them though, or she could find someone to repair them, as despite everything she had grown attached to her old cloak, rags and shoes. She did love watching Sara trying on other clothes and getting dressed up like a prince, but she was used to the clothes she wore now. It might be nice to repair them, though, as they had been torn up all that time ago, hence why she wore the cloak to cover herself. Well, that was one of the reasons, at least. As she finished cleaning her shoes, she slipped them back on and headed toward the houses, where a man was sowing some flower seeds in his garden. Not wanting to be rude, the Traveler tried not to stare, but he beckoned her over, both equally curious about each other. She offered to help him sow the seeds, to which he agreed, and the two planted the seeds for some beautiful roses in his garden, the man deciding to tell a tale as they worked, one which the Traveler would memorize and write later- the tale of ‘the Magic Bottle’

‘Once, there was a young woman who had neither family nor friends, a lowly orphan without a single soul to love her. Despite this, she tried to make as good a life as possible, and yet nobody would pay her heed or care for her, even with her efforts to appear beautiful and impress others with her kind heart. In desperation, she turned to a miracle, and found a magic bottle which was capable of granting any wish a person desired. The woman wished with all her heart to have a son, so that she could have someone to love and care for, someone to kiss goodnight and keep safe from the rain and wind, in the way nobody had ever been able to do for her. The woman soon became pregnant due to the miracle, and would sing to the child growing inside her, teaching him lullabies before he even had ears to hear them. However, the sweet singing soon ceased, for the mother died in childbirth, leaving her son a lowly orphan without a single soul to love him. Despite this, he tried to make as good a life as possible, and yet nobody would pay him heed or care for him , even with his efforts to appear strong and impress others with his brave soul. In desperation, he turned to a miracle, and found a magic bottle which was capable of granting any wish a person desired. The boy wished with all his heart to bring back his mother, so she could be loved and cared for, be kissed goodnight and kept safe from the rain and wind, in the way she couldn’t have ever done for him. But the boy thus ceased to exist, and the world was restored to the way it was when the woman was alive, with neither family nor friends, a lowly orphan without a single soul to love her. An endless cycle.’

The Traveler finished writing, before contemplating this concept. An endless cycle. Would the world only repeat the pain she’d gone through with another, another more vulnerable, weaker person? One who might not live to tell the tale or ever earn their freedom? A blue butterfly suddenly flew over her head, startling her and distracting her from planting. She wondered if there was a way to break a cycle, if educating others on the horrors and dangers of the world might be enough, or if they were merely doomed to repeat the events time and again. If not her being endlessly enslaved to a husband, someone else would be, and the Traveler was determined to ensure nobody she knew ever went through the horrors of such agonizing pain and suffering. Clenching her fists, she finished planting the roses and walked away, thanking the man for the tale.