Fairytales

A friendship based on lies

Beneath the vast dark gray bridge, lay crumbled notes and apple cores, scattered between growing moss and flowing river. It was the path the students at Wheelbarrow High traveled from school to home, and over the past three years, evidence of the tradition had been accumulating.
The school year just began a week ago, but the swamp already reeked from last year. It smelled worse than alleyway dumpsters and looked worse than the cafeteria after a food fight.
Deep inside the swamp, hidden among the filth, lived a troll. He had green skin covered in warts and clothes ripped to a muddy brown. He’d lived there his whole life—alone—the worst presence he could experience. That feeling of loneliness was bitter like the taste of a grape lollipop left on your tongue for too long.
As the final bell rang, students flooded out of the school. They were buzzing with chatter as the first week back to school ended. Quickly as most of the students dispersed, three of them fell back. Their voices were louder than emergency sirens. Not just because it was the end of the first week, but because of the tradition.
Every year, the newest students were expected to continue it. A prank. Something to impress the upperclassmen, something that proved they belonged. And every year, it's the duty of a random group of incoming freshmen to rejuvenate the tradition and make the prank just as funny as the year before. The first year, they released wild chickens—the troll freaked out. Last year, the children threw trash and gunk into the swamp. This year, the freshmen intended to discover a new prank. A new joke. It was the only way the upper-level students would accept them.
When most of the crowd had disappeared, the children lingered by a nearby staircase. It was hidden between a cluster of trees that led into the swamp.
They moved carefully down the steps until their shoes touched the damp, mossy ground. The air felt thicker there. Quieter.
Across the shallow river, the troll sat.
When he saw them, his body tensed. Goosebumps rose across his skin as he instinctively shrank back. His eyes flickered between them, unsure. He had seen this before. The first year, they had released wild chickens into the swamp, laughing as he stumbled and panicked. The year after that, they had thrown trash and rotten food at him, watching as it piled around him. When the three students stepped closer, he didn’t move.
But then they did something different. They smiled. Slowly, they reached their hands out toward him, as if inviting him closer. As if they wanted something more than a reaction.
The troll hesitated. All they had done before was hurt him, but he thought maybe this year would be better. He’d always searched for friendship, so the troll reached out to hug the three students. But something in their faces made him pause. For just a moment, they didn’t look cruel. They didn’t look like the others. They looked kind. And the troll—who had spent years alone, waiting for something, anything to change—felt something unfamiliar stir inside him. Hope.
For a second, everything was still. Then—
Cold liquid splashed across him. The students jumped back, laughing as bright pink paint dripped down his skin. It clung to his warts, soaked into his clothes, turning everything into a loud, burning shade of flamingo pink.
They pointed at him, waiting for him to laugh too. But the troll didn’t laugh. He just stood there, dripping and silent, as the sound surrounded him. Why had he thought this time would be any different? The laughter faded as the students ran off, leaving him alone once again.
The first time, he laughed along. The second time, he had said nothing. But this time felt different. Because this time he had believed them. For a moment, he had thought they were reaching out to him. That maybe they wanted him there. And slowly the troll began to understand something he had never wanted to believe. Maybe they laughed because he really was meant to be the joke. And from that day on, the troll never tried to leave the swamp or hope for anything more, because he believed he didn’t deserve it.

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• i love the repetition of casual and joke cause it feels really raw and real

  Comment by rose on March 24, 2026

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The beauty of a Queen

A castle stood in the middle of a small Danish village. It was built from red bricks and topped with a green slanted roof. Intertwined between some of the bricks were deep green vines and white roses with their petals curling from the edges.
Inside the castle, thirty rooms were draped in brown and white curtains. Each color was as dull as the hollow hallways. Between the brown walls, lived two princesses: Serenity and Isabel.
Isabel had long golden hair and ocean-like eyes, while Serenity had hair dark as night and eyes darker than chocolate. Both were outwardly beautiful but sometimes Serenity never felt that way. She’d make jokes occasionally and put Isabel down in hopes that her beauty could outshine Isabel's.
One evening, as Isabel was twirling in yet another gown for her upcoming coronation, her sister yawned from behind. Occasionally, she’d clap while her sister spun and twirled. But, after the 10th gown, she was over it.
That’s when an idea crossed Serenity's mind. Serenity always loved pulling pranks on and she came up with one that would be unbelievable. One time she transformed Isabel’s speech into a baby talk. Another time she turned her feet into duck feet. But this time, Serenity wanted to do something bigger. Much bigger.
Serenity hurried down the stone staircase into the castle basement. Shelves of dusty bottles and jars lined the walls. She grabbed herbs, powders, and strange glowing liquids, mixing them together until a thick potion filled a glass bottle.
When the mixture was finally finished, Serenity held it up to the candlelight. A slow grin spread across her face. This would be the best prank yet.
Later that day as Isabel gets ready for a family dinner, Serenity walks in. “Isbel my dearest sister! I have a drink for you.”
Isabel touches her heart. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“You're about to be crowned and you deserve only the best,” Serenity finishes as she hands her sister the potion.
Isabel chugs the drink in one go and immediately touches her head. “Oh my—” The glass drops from her hand, as she stands up in distraught. “This is—” A large fog of smoke consumes the room. The grey fog encapsulates everything in the room.
Then slowly, the smoke began to fade. And Isabel stepped out of the fog. But it was not what Isabel Serenity knew.
Her golden hair was gone. Her smooth skin had turned rough and green. Her body was larger, her face twisted and monstrous. Standing in the middle of the room was a large, grotesque troll.
For a moment, Serenity simply stared. Then she burst into laughter. “You got pranked!” she squealed, pointing at her sister.
Isabel frowned.
And as the next few weeks passed by, Isabel never turned back into her usual self. She gave her coronation speech—as a troll. She got crowned—as a troll. And she travelled the villages to visit the villagers—as a troll. People laughed, mocked, and jeered at her ugly appearance. She doubted her worth, felt like an unworthy queen, and her confidence plummeted.
But as the days passed and Isabel remained trapped in that ugly form, Serenity began to understand something she hadn’t before. Some jokes last much longer than laughter. And some pranks can never be taken back.

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A tower of pain

Large trees just beginning to blossom towered over small people in a peaceful village. The trees left traces of flowers: yellow, pink, orange, and blue, which powdered roofs like sprinkles. Next to some houses lay bright green, freshly trimmed grass. Not a single grass was out of place, and not a single house was dull. Almost every home was perfect. Except one.
In the very center of the village stood a tall stone tower that belonged to the enchantress.
Her life wasn’t as beautiful as a yellow flower blooming or as luscious as bright green grass. Her hair was always messy, she wore black every day, and every other sentence she spoke slipped into strange, confusing gibberish.
The tower was filled with rooms cluttered with random objects—an old dollhouse, ripped up stuffed toys, broken dressers, and an abnormally large collection of tennis rackets. Every inch of the tower was cluttered with objects of all sizes. Only the very top room still had a little space left, just enough for a few more objects.
The enchantress had lived there alone for nearly her entire life. And the tower had been filling for years. Each rude remark someone made about her became something new inside the tower. Every act of mockery, every cruel laugh, every mean word people directed toward her turned into another object added to the growing pile. Over time, the tower became a collection of pain.
One beautiful spring morning, as flowers were falling onto rooftops and grass was growing bright green, the enchantress woke up. She was celebrating her 436th birthday. Usually, she felt sad on her birthday, when she glanced at photos, dreamt of walks to the park, and ate popcorn alone, and this year was no different. After all, people thought the enchantress was odd and didn’t deserve others to celebrate her. But today, the enchantress felt something different, and she wanted to ease the pain, walk in the park, and hope that today, people could be different. Today was her birthday of all days; they had to be nice. Maybe they could all forget who she used to be and finally welcome her? Finally accept her? Finally, treat her like she always longed to be treated? One day, as the enchantress sat outside her house, she decided to brave the outside world to help her ease the sadness she felt that day.
As she stepped outside and entered the village, a voice from afar mocked her. “Wearing your hair that ugly? Someone should put a paper bag, maybe that'll help!” Random voice calls—their voice as loud as a bell—followed by a cackle. The enchantress frowns at the words as she adds a bell to the top of the tower. And when the enchantress looked down at her hands, she noticed thin cracks spreading across her skin.
As time continued to pass, the enchantress passed by a group of small girls. They all laughed loudly at the enchantress. “Are you even going to cast a spell on us? You're too scared even to enchant anyone!” They all snicker—laugh as sharp as shards of glass from a broken mirror—while walking away from her. The ecnahntress frowned as back in the tower, pieces of shattered glass appeared in the top room, filling another empty corner. And when the enchantress tried to speak, her voice came out harsh and jagged, like glass scraping against stone.
Finally, as the enchantress was walking home again, she bumped into a woman and quickly apologized. The woman scowls at her and eyes her up and down. “Watch where you're going! This is why no one wants you.” The words struck the enchantress harder than anything she had heard before. She slowly turned toward her tower, ready to add another piece to the collection. But when she opened the door and looked inside, she froze. The tower was full. There was no room left for another cruel word.
And suddenly, the cracks in her skin spread across her entire body. The enchantress stood still in the middle of the village as her skin hardened and turned gray. Within moments, she had turned completely to stone. Her tower stood behind her, overflowing with every cruel word she had ever been given. And from that day on, the villagers finally understood something they had never thought about before. Cruelty does not simply disappear. It grows. And if it grows long enough, it can harden a person forever.

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The Gift of distractions

Just at the cornerstone of Ireland was a grand castle—light brown while frozen in time at the top of rugged cliffs. The actual castle was dense and covered in tall arches. The thick rubblestone walls were covered in beautifully arranged moss and small flowers.
Just outside the castle was a large village of people. The villagers often looked up toward the castle above them. They spoke endlessly about the royal family—their beauty, their elegance, and their fortune. But above all, they spoke about Princess Daphne.
Princess Daphne had long blond hair, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. She was the talk of the entire village. Not only was she the most loved, but also the most judged. Many villagers whispered about her because she could never hold a conversation without suddenly becoming distracted.
One sunny morning as the clouds were in the sky and the sun was shining brightly, the princess was walking with Prince Kingsley. “What lovely weather we have today, and—” As the prince continued to speak about the weather and kingdoms, the princess’s ears twitched at the flutter of wings in the courtyard. A flock of faerie birds circled low above the castle walls, unusually quiet. Their wings beat fast, and they darted toward the forest as if urging something away. “Hello? Princess Daphne, are you even listening?” She nodded politely, but her eyes stayed fixed on the birds disappearing into the trees.
Later that day the princess was speaking with a villager. “I was thinking of ways we could improve the valley, maybe we could build—” But Daphne’s attention drifted again. At the edge of the meadow, a group of deer stood frozen. Their ears were stiff, their bodies tense, all staring toward the distant hills. The wind had stopped. “Princess?” the villager asked impatiently. “Are you listening?” Daphne gestured for him to continue, though a strange unease settled in her chest.
As the evening approached, Daphne sat inside the castle speaking with her family. “I believe we should consider changing the harvest festival this year,” her father said. But Daphne noticed something else. The castle dogs had gathered together near the gates. They whimpered softly, their tails tucked low as they stared toward the darkening horizon. That was when Daphne understood. The birds had fled. The deer had frozen. And now the dogs trembled. A storm was coming.
“A storm!” Princess Daphne exclaimed, rising to her feet.
Her family exchanged confused glances. “Daphne,” her mother said, frowning, “you’re always getting distracted for what—”
But Daphne didn’t wait to explain. She rushed into the village and warned everyone of the coming storm. Blankets were gathered, animals were brought inside, and the villagers prepared their homes.
Later that day a massive storm rolled in, dark clouds covered the town, and wind began to blow twigs and rubble towards every corner. But rather than the village and castle being in distress, they were all prepared to deal with the storm. The people stayed safe, their homes protected, their animals sheltered.
And from that day forward, the villagers no longer mocked Princess Daphne for her wandering attention. For sometimes what the world calls a distraction is simply a way of noticing things others cannot.

Comments for this chapter

• i love this one! out of curiosity where did you come up with the name Aiofe for it (its really cool by the way)

  Comment by rose on March 24, 2026

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The storm of understanding

The shivering waves of Northern Canada swayed under the cold wind. In the distance, lavender fog blurred the sun and the mountains. The mountains, heavy with snow, towered over the restless sea. Above the waves, the currents twisted and howled, blowing brittle twigs and small leaves in every direction.
Yet beneath all that chaos—the crashing waves and winter storms—fish traveled in schools and whales moved in steady pods. Occasionally, hungry sharks and famished belugas snapped up passing fish. However, In the heart of the ocean, one creature with grey blubber and dark flippers swam alone.
Most of the sea animals didin’t understand Nelly the Narwhal. She was usually by herself, collected odd trinkets, and spent long stretches of time examining things no one else cared about.
One day as Nelly the Narwhal was swimming in her usual path, she came across a large seashell on the ocean floor. It was pink with delicate ridges covering it’s surface. She swam around it, picked it up, and studied it like she would a kelpfish final. “You can't possibly be fascinated in a seashell as lame as that!” A nearby whale bellowed. Nelly shrugged her shoulders. “You might never know if I need it!”
Later that day, Nelly swam to a nearby seaweed patch and caught a glimpse of a large clump of seaweed. Many pieces of seaweed were intertwined with one another—Light green, dark green, and some teal. Nelly begins to psychoanalyze the colors and the way they intertwine with one another. “If you stare at it longer you might turn into seaweed!” A clownfish jokes. Nelly smirks in response. “Ya never know, maybe this could be useful!”
Before heading home, Nelly noticed one final thing to add to her collection: a small seashell when held up to her ear sounded like peaceful ocean noises. A close-by shark scoffs. “Really Nelly? A seashell that sounds like the ocean. You’re weirder than I thought.” Nelly smiles in response. “Don’t judge! It might help me sleep on a rough night!”
The next day, the waters began to stir and the tide started to pick up. Currents started to shift in unpredictable spirals. The faint light from above started to dim, filtered out by the churning waves. Tiny bubbles raced to the top as the ocean began to grumble like a hungry beast. Even the normal steady swarms of fish frantically swam as the ocean bursted into chaos.
Beneath the chaos of the storm, Nelly was snuggled between the seaweed she collected the previous day. The seashell leaned against a large boulder to shield her from the strongest currents. And the seashell was pressed against her ear, filling her ear wtih soft and familiar ocean noises.
The other sea animals were not so lucky. The currents tossed them wildly through the dark water. Sand and stones clouded their vision, and many struggled to keep from crashing into jagged rocks. Some even tried to find the strange objects Nelly had once collected. But the storm was far too strong now.
And from that day forward, the sea animals no longer mocked Nelly the Narwhal. For the very things they once laughed at were the things that kept her safe through the storm.

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