Work Text:
There was a sickly boy, a prince, who knew he would die young. All his life a thicket of nurses had surrounded him, protecting him from life and other catastrophes. No one knew how he would produce an heir.
Once, though, he got loose from his nurses, trying to find the world. He was weak and discovered soon that it was too bright, too strong for him. A woman rescued him, took him home and looked after him herself--when he was found, it was too late: the boy was in love. From then on the nurses were farther away, but the woman who’d saved him was always at his side.
People whispered that she wanted his power, wanted to be queen (which was impossible), or failing that, his consort. The nurses hated her and she hated the nurses. But the boy loved her, and married her, and the woman was satisfied.
Until one day they had a daughter, and suddenly the prince had someone else to love. The prince’s wife grew jealous; she hated the child; tried tricking her husband into ignoring her. But the prince only became sad, and continued loving them both. They say he died of sadness, still wishing that his wife and daughter would grow to love each other.
Before he went, he left his wife all his power until the child should come of age, and he gave his daughter a box. The daughter treasured this box above all other possessions. Her mother was jealous of this too, and tried all her wiles and all the power now at her command to get the box and see what was inside, but the daughter was wary and hid it where no one could find it.
Finally, after long and bitter years, after the child had come of age and ruled with a soul twisted by grief and a mother’s jealousy, the mother made a last desperate attempt to see the box, tearing apart her daughter’s rooms to find where it was hidden. When the daughter found her, ridiculous in her rage amid the shreds of the daughter’s belongings, she laughed, not quite bitterly, not quite sweetly.
The box is where you cannot find it, Mother, she said. It is always near me. And she pulled a plain black box out of her robes and handed it to her mother, who opened it greedily, desperately, hoping for one last treasure.
The box is empty! screamed her mother. You have tricked me!
No, said her daughter. I haven't tricked you, and the box isn't as empty as you think. My father gave that box to me before he died and told me it would hold his soul when he was gone. That’s my father’s soul you are holding, Mother, said the daughter, and her mother wept with disappointment.