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In the cold winter, the queen would sit in the garden under the elder tree. The maids would fuss, but the queen said the cold didn't bother her. Doing her needlework, she pricked her finger. Upon seeing the blood drops in the snow, she wished that a child of her womb would possess those traits: red as the blood, white as the snow, and dark as the elder bark she was so perched under.
With the berries of the tree, the queen's stomach began to round. It was during those longer summer days when the queen sat below the tree and bled. In the coming months, a rose bush grew and sprouted where the child should've lain and now rested.
In the next winter, the queen once again pricked her finger, and she wished again for a child red as blood, white as snow, and dark as the elder bark she was so perched under. This time, the snows had not finished melting before the queen was struck with terrible feeling under the elder tree and bled once more upon the roots. In this sullied spot, another rose bush grew.
In the third winter, the queen was cutting an apple and sliced her palm. While bandaging the wound, she noticed the blood upon the snow and wished for a child as red as blood, white as snow, and dark as the elder bark she was so perched under. This time, she swelled with the fruits, and when the time came for them to drop, she bled with the leaves in the crisp autumn air. She wept, for she had almost delivered a child to term. They buried the body between the rose bushes, and come next year it was certain a new bush would appear.
The cycle so went that the queen would sit under the tree in the winter, injure herself, and wish that she had a child as red as blood, white as snow, and dark as the elder bark she so loved. Seven winters went by before she remarked out loud to her husband that she should like a child as red as blood, white as snow, and dark as the elder tree she sat beneath each winter. That spring, the queen's womb did not grow with the berries of her tree, and she collapsed, distraught.
The queen began to waste away. Soon, not even her maids could get her to leave the shade of her elder tree. The king doted on her and attended her every whim. She grew weak as the summer sun started to wane and would hardly respond for her despair.
The time of the fall downpour came, and the queen spewed as much liquid as the skies. Suddenly, she would walk the gardens, admiring the red of the garden leaves against the wispy, white clouds. She would do needlework and embroider snowflakes upon rich, red fabric. She ate for two, and the king was happy to have his wife back.
When the winter came, the queen was confined inside. No matter how she haggled and pleaded, the maids would not let her go out in the snow for the sake of the baby incubating in her womb. She missed her tree so dearly that her maids cut a branch and brought it to the queen. She would stare longingly at it while she rubbed her stomach and spoke to the child in her womb. Eventually, the spring came, and no blood poured out of the queen. The maids were hopeful for this baby.
In the harvest that the child was born, there blossomed seven white roses below the elder tree. She came out wailing like a banshee, and so blood-flushed was her skin that all the queen's pains of childbirth were forgotten in the wake of gazing upon her.
Not only did the blessing of a baby have dark hair and white skin, but it was said that the maids were so entranced by her eyes the first time she opened them, they fell to their knees before their queen to plead her name. And thusly the princess was named by the castle staff.
She was showered in flowers and all manner of beautiful cloths as a baby, and her first rattle became the elder branch, though the queen was aghast that the maids let her touch it. And as time passed on, the princess grew up beautiful--blessed, it was rumored, by her siblings looking down upon her from the skies. Her mother was oft absent, spending her days patrolling her garden and caressing her cutting, for the rose bushes grew brambles so plentiful that not the littlest creature could reach the elder tree trunk. Her father, likewise, was busy with his kingdom and responsibilities, but the princess grew up happily, tottling after the queen's maids and the little woodland creatures that wandered the gardens. She sang with the birds and petted the squirrels, always having a nice word for the foxes that would slink by in bushes. They were her friends, and the only few that had time for her childish fancies.
The tutors were impressed with the child, for she excelled in languages, arithmetic, and all the instruments they set before her, but she had no passion for those arts. All she wanted in life was to sing in the woods, nurse injured wildlife, and be with her wild friends. But her mother disapproved greatly of the unlady-like behavior.
The king, wanting always to be with his daughter, but unable to abstain from his many responsibilities, noticed her interest in the animals and gifted her rabbits for her tenth birthday. The princess was ecstatic at his gift and spent her days thereafter with the rabbits.
Perhaps the king had noticed the growing tension between neighboring kingdoms and wanted his daughter to have something to remember him for because it was only in the next summer that he headed tearfully off to war. The queen watched him armor up and mount his steed and gazed after the trail of the cavalry long after the sound of hoofbeats faded from the palace's ears. And so, castle life continued, this time without the princess' distant but loving father to help her grow.
The seasons changed too quickly that year. The rainy season started and drowned the fields before they could be harvested. The peasants had experienced hard times previously, but it was with a prayer that they wished the winter would be short. The queen became increasingly agitated in her everyday life when the frost failed to settle and would take to criticizing her daughter at every move.
"Stand up straight!" she would yell, "No princess slouches like a commoner!" The princess disliked the pomp and the circumstance--for they were no more better off than the commoners when the food had to be rationed--but what pained her most was her mother's incessant pinching of her cheeks.
It was well known around the kingdom of the queen's wish for a child. Rumors of the idealized baby and the princess' lacking were prevalent. For, as she grew, the child's hair lightened under the sun, and her skin tanned gold in deference to it. There was no flush to her cheeks, except when she was truly happy--and she was scarcely happy around her mother. They were indeed polar opposites; the princess, a child of the summer, only happy in the lax sunshine, and the queen, a woman of the winter, poised and stiff as the ice she preferred keep her company.
Even as she wished her daughter to embody serene and royal ways, the queen was unwilling to supervise her closely. The hardship kept the queen bogged with duties, and the princess ran more free than ever. Unfortunately, the winter cold lasted long, and summer came quickly and brought with it unprecedented drought. The fields were bare and barren--unlikely to take the seeds of the year's planting, and the queen was forced to dismiss the maids and the lesser of the housestaff.
It was suggested (by more than one advisor, before she retired them) that the queen should send word to her husband to bring home the troops and put them to work in the fields. She was proud, capable, and she did not. As such, the princess easily began to work kitchens and clean the halls, and all available hands were sent to toil over the hard soil.
Being bent over gave the girl a crick in her neck and a slump to her shoulders, nevermind the calluses that formed on her hands, but she enjoyed the gentle teasing and instruction her old nursemaids laid out. They had less time than before to offer the child, but as she worked among them, chatter came about easily. In contrast, her mother scarcely noticed her absence and only scolded her for her poor presentation when she finally fell into her dinner chair after a long day of work. It seemed like she never got a break, but oh how her mother rejoiced at the changes wrought in the princess. Sequestered in the kitchens and hallways all day long, her hair lost its lightness from the sun. Her cheeks were flushed blotchy from the steam of the big pots. Even her manner was subdued as she had no energy but to eat her meals gently and quietly.
"Oh how poised and ladylike!" Her mother would remark occasionally, "What a beautiful woman you have become."
After the famine had lasted for several seasons, the castle's stores finally ran out. The queen was disappointed, but not overly worried. The princess had been the only worker in the castle for some time besides the cook, but the queen seemed not notice that dust never gathered in the corners, and their meals still came from the kitchens steaming with the help of the child's ferrying. Without the staff's companionship, the princess merely continued to labor for need of it. Unquestionably, she did not like the work.
The cook, as old and achy as she was, one day asked the girl to go to the forest to forage. The child had an affinity for nature and could surely find food faster and easier than her old bones. The princess was very hesitant, but accepted. The cook led her to the edge of the woods and waved her off.
Worried about getting lost, she scattered some pebbles along the ground behind her as she crept cautiously through the underbrush. The game had long been hunted scarce by starving citizens, but still the shadows were lengthened ominously, and the trees creaked menacingly. Leaves crunched occasionally under invisible feet, and the princess was fearful.
When it seemed that all hope was lost for the girl, as she was unable to find even one bush not picked clean, a fox crept out of the undergrowth and gently nosed her despairing form. She cried upon his fluffy coat until the time that her eyes dried, and then he led her gently through the forest, nudging her periodically to drop some stones, until they reached a blackberry bush overflowing with ripe berries. She rejoiced and filled her pouch with all the berries that it could carry, uncaring of the juice that stained her fingers and lovely dress.
As seemed true to the cook's suspicions, the girl was adept at finding and collecting berries. She marveled quietly at the princess' blessings and began to prepare a jam to lather the daily bread. As such, the queen was not surprised to see jam and fresh berries at dinner, and henceforth the child went out many days of the week to collect more food.
They lived in that fashion for some time, before the queen's birthday came upon them. As she had lived as a queen for many years, and in wealth for her whole life, she understandably expected some pomp and circumstance in her occasion. No matter that they were little better than poor, the queen wanted a feast at the very least.
During breakfast, inspiration struck her mind, and she ordered the kitchens to kill and prepare one of the princess' rabbits for dinner. They were naturally meant for food, and so her daughter should be well receptive to the idea. The child fled at hearing this and sequestered herself away to parse through her emotions. Hours later, during lunch preparations, she cried and pleaded with the cook.
Moved by the young princess' distress, the cook hatched a plan. She maneuvered to the girl's level and said, "If you find for me some small game, I can deceive the queen that it is one of your rabbits."
The next day, one day still before the queen's birthday, the princess set off to the market, hoping to make a trade with her berries. She had never before been into the town, but there was no one else to do the chore.
There were few stalls, all run down, but she was not deterred. She was intent on approaching one quietly when a hand fell upon her shoulder.
"Best be covering your hair missy," a kindly middle-aged man chided, "The queen would get rather sour if she catches you more beautiful than the princess."
The child was startled and confused, having never been touched by a man not her father and never approached by a stranger at all. "The princess…?" she could only parse out, hearing of herself from the man.
"Aye," he looked upon her gently, "you must be new 'round here. Ya picked a bad time to come--famine's lasted years now. The princess--Missy--they say the queen wanted a child as red as blood, white as snow, and dark as elder bark. Her daughter disappoints, 'parently." He laid a hand over the girl's head, hiding her hair and providing a grounding presence in the same action. "Best cover up 'less the queen sees ya and gets mad."
The princess shyly did as he bade, and inquired politely as to where she could find a seller with small game. It was an absurd request--unknown to her--because only a fool would sell what he might eat in the harsh famine. Nevertheless, the man was a hunter and would gladly make the trade of berries for meat.
Throughout the transaction, the huntsman thought of deceiving the child, but in the face of her unwavering trust, he was unable. Too pure was she, but god smite him if he would be the one to sully her good nature.
The deal complete, he shouldered his rifle and set off to the woods to honor his bargain. Game was scarce, but not entirely hunted. He caught sight of a trail of pebbles, glittering like starlight in the scattered cover of the trees, and followed it for a ways. The rustling in the bushes signaled his prey and the payment of his bargain.
He heaved the fox over his shoulder and brought it home with him, skinning and carving it from the bones. He wrapped the meat for the child in the marketplace and set to work tanning the hide for a new hat to last him the winter.
He delivered the packages to the child in the marketplace in due diligence the next day, and the girl and the cook were delighted at the speed of the huntsman's delivery. They set to work on the queen's dinner immediately.
Meat had been a rare commodity for some time. Just so, the fox, prepared so, was indistinguishable from one of the princess' rabbits. It tasted delicious, and the queen enjoyed her birthday dinner greatly, pausing only to remark on how her daughter could improve her looks. But the queen had delicate sensibilities, and soon her body protested the deceit even as her mind did not. She became very sick.
The queen took leave to her rooms, where, as she stumbled from a sudden coughing fit, she knocked down her beloved elder cutting. She had not allowed the child to touch it in childhood, for it was so precious to her. Down it fell, and it broke in three pieces. Seeing the tragedy, the queen fainted. And she could not be revived.
The princess, riddled with guilt over her deceit, blamed herself wholly. She did not leave her mother's side for three days. On the fourth, it snowed--in summer--and the girl took her mother from her bed and dragged her onto the balcony. She hoped beyond hope that this was a sign, and her mother would awaken to witness it.
Seeking comfort that her mother never gave, the princess first cradled the queen's branch pieces, then looked to the elder tree--not once in her lifetime had a soul approached its trunk; the brambles that surrounded it were too thick and thorny. It saddened the girl to know that the cutting was her mother's most treasured item, and it would surely be impossible to replace. But the towering tree's spindles of bark comforted her, and she drew closer, aching to see the sunlight filter through that maze-like canopy. Fortunately, it seemed as though the rose brambles parted for her, and she glided to the base of the elder tree, looking up through her tears all the while.
She was distraught, coming into the knowledge from the huntsman that she had never been the child her mother wanted, and she was now surely the cause of the queen's fatal illness. She was overcome with sadness and desperation and could find no solution to her problems. There was no one she could turn to, and her presence only caused others grief. The princess wept for a long time before making a decision.
When the queen did awaken from her death-nap, she beheld her beautiful daughter splayed upon the dark roots of her beloved elder tree, the princess' skin white from frost and exsanguination, her dress and torso coated in crimson blood, the roses of the queen's almost-children stained a vibrant red, and she wept lovely tears at the sight.