The Sleeper and the Spindle
Neil GaimanEn Eski The Sleeper and the Spindle Gönderileri
En Eski The Sleeper and the Spindle kitaplarını, en eski The Sleeper and the Spindle sözleri ve alıntılarını, en eski The Sleeper and the Spindle yazarlarını, en eski The Sleeper and the Spindle yorumları ve incelemelerini 1000Kitap'ta bulabilirsiniz.
You may think you know this story. There's a young queen, about to be married. There are some good, brave, hardy dwarfs; a castle, shrouded in thorns; and a princess, cursed by a witch, so rumour has it, to sleep forever.
But no one is waiting for a noble prince to appear on his trusty steed here. This fairy tale is spun with a thread of dark magic, which twists and turns and glints and shines. A queen might just prove herself a hero, if a princess needs rescuing.
It was the closest kingdom to the Queen's, as the crow flies, but not even the crows flew it.
But there was no such pass to be found, and so, although the kingdoms shared a common border, nobody crossed from one kingdom to the next.
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The queen woke early that morning. "A week from today," she said aloud. "A week from today, I shall be married."
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It seemed both unlikely and extremely final. She wondered how she would feel to be a married woman. It would be the end of her life, she decided, if life was a time of choices. In a week from now, she would have no choices. She would reign over her people. She would have children. Perhaps she would die in childbirth, perhaps she would die as an old woman, or in battle. But the path to her death, heartbeat by heartbeat, would be inevitable.
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Each hammer blow sounded like a heartbeat.
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She cursed the babe at birth, such that when the girl was eighteen she would prick her finger and sleep forever.
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"What's happening?" said the smallest of the dwarfs.
"Sleep!" said the sot by the window.
"Plague!" said a finely dressed woman.
"Doom!" exclaimed a tinker, his saucepans rattling as he spoke. "Doom is coming!"
"We travel to the capital," said the tallest dwarf, who was no bigger than a child. "Is there plague in the capital?"
"It is not plague," said the sot by the window, whose beard was long and grey, and stained yellow with beer and wine. "It is sleep, I tell you."
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"A witch!" said the sot.
"A bad fairy," corrected a fat-faced man.
"She was an enchantress, as I heard," interposed the pot-girl.
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