Week 2 Story: A daughter's sacrifice

In a charming village in a place not far from here, there lived a quiet family on a quiet farm — a mother and her three daughters.

One Friday morning, the mother set out on her monthly journey to the market. The market was in a far-off town, and at least a day's journey there and back. She could not spare any of her daughters for the journey, and so, before she left, asked if she could bring them any treats back from the market.

Her two oldest daughters asked for fabric for new dresses and ribbons for new hats. When she got to her youngest child, Mary, the girl asked for one thing only.

"If you could only bring me three roses from the market mother, I would smile for a week" Mary posed sweetly. 

Her mother was taken, and left with a smile, determined to bring her daughters back their goods. 

That evening, as the mother returned with her buggy full of goods from the market, she was struck with the realization that she had forgotten one thing: Mary's roses. 

By this point, it was growing dark; the mother was weary and the path was a hard one through a deep wood. She began to weep quietly, knowing Mary would be disappointed and there was nothing she could do.

Suddenly, out of the dusk there appeared a towering castle that she had never noticed before. 

As she drove her buggy by the wide-open gates of the castle, she noticed, just inside the gates, the most beautiful rosebush. The bush was full of flowers in full, sweet bloom, far more beautiful than any she could have bought at the market. 

A smile lit her face — maybe the day could be saved. She dismounted her buggy and stepped through the gates.

As she gripped the stem of one of the flowers, she heard an ugly snarl behind her. She whipped around just in time to behold a terrible and ugly basilisk. By the time she could gather her wits, it had pinned her to the ground by her throat.

"Please!" she wept, "Please, I only wanted three roses!"

"Why should I give even a single rose to you, a stranger and a thief?!" growled the hideous basilisk. 

"It is for my daughter — my youngest, my sweet Mary," she cried. 

The basilisk paused for a moment, then relaxed his grip. 

"I will make you a deal — I will spare the life of a thief if you can bring me one thing in exchange: Mary. Go back and bring her to me, or you will not live another day with your daughters," he said, releasing her.

The mother scrambled back to her cart and drove as fast as her horse would carry her to her tiny farm. Mary was waiting by the fire when she burst through the door. 

Sobbing, the mother told her all; of the hideous basilisk, of her near brush with death, and of his horrible demand. Calmly, quietly, Mary took her by the hand.

"My mother, I would do anything to preserve your life," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Let me go to him, for you."

As dawn peaked over the hills surrounding the castle the next morning, Mary's mother quietly deposited her on the steps of the castle of the great basilisk, who glared down from the castle's enormous wooden doors.

A basilisk. Courtesy of Marie-Luise Carl.
Source: Wikipedia Commons.

As the weeks and months passed, Mary found that her new life in the castle was not entirely painful. The basilisk lived with servants in the great space, and provided well for her with lavish dinners and a fine bedroom.

Mary had but one duty in the palace: to feed the basilisk as he sat on her lap each day for three hours at a time. At first, she was disgusted — the basilisk slurped greedily from the bottle she fed him from. 

But soon, she began to look forward to their time together. The basilisk would tell her stories and ask her questions as she sat with him. They came to understand one another.

One day, when Mary came to the basilisk's quarters to feed him, she noticed he looked pale, and his skin was molting in places. 

"My dear Mary, I must ask something of you," the basilisk whimpered, clearly in pain. "I must ask you to cut off my head."

Mary recoiled, horrified.

"I could never!" she cried. 

"You must," he said. "I cannot to continue to exist in this form."

The basilisk spent an hour convincing Mary to pick up the sword by his chair, and finally, to cut off his head in one fell swoop. 

As Mary cut the head from the roiling basilisk, a tear fell from her eye. The, she felt the ground begin to give way beneath her. She realized a change was overcoming her body. 

She looked to the basilisk and realized he had changed too. His body had become a smooth serpent, green and shimmering. 

As she looked at her own body, she saw the same change overcoming her own body. Soon, she was scaly and limb-less, a great serpent herself.

"Oh, I feared it would be," cried the former basilisk. "I must now give you a choice my dear!"

"You may have your former body back — you may have your former life back, in fact," the serpent said to Mary. "All it will take is you walking out the doors of my castle right now. You will never speak another word to me, and I will live my days in solitude."

Mary looked at the serpent and at herself, pausing.

"I could not leave you now. I... I love you," she admitted. 

The serpent's eyes filled with tears, as did Mary's. The next week, they were married in a fine serpent ceremony, surrounded by great bouquets of roses.

Author's note: In the original story, "The Three Roses," the beginning and middle of the story are the same — a daughter must sacrifice her service to a fierce basilisk in order to free her mother. In the original, Mary is only at the castle three days. My edition gives her a bit more time there to fall in love with the basilisk. In the original, the daughter ends up cutting the head off the basilisk, who then transforms into a snake. Then, Mary must cut the head off the snake again to reveal a handsome prince. She and the prince are married and live in the castle. I wanted a different fairytale ending; one where Mary and the basilisk still fall in love, but one where Mary must sacrifice for love. 


Bibliography. "The Three Roses" from The Key of Gold by Josef Baudis. Web source.