The Cursed Quill – A Sleeping Beauty with a Twist

Once upon a time, in a verdant kingdom nestled between misty mountains and golden meadows, lived a King and Queen who had everything—except a child. For many years, their castle echoed with silence, and their hearts were heavy with longing. They sought answers from every oracle, temple, and holy site across the land. They offered gold, spices, incense—every worthy gift imaginable—to the gods.

Then, one autumn morning, the Queen felt a flutter of hope. The following summer, their daughter was born—a wrinkled, red-faced, pudgy baby girl with a mighty cry.

“Surely she won’t look like that forever?” the King asked, cautiously eyeing the child, still unsure if he should be relieved or alarmed.

“Darling, what does it matter?” the Queen replied joyfully. “We have a daughter!”

Despite his mild reservations, the King was overjoyed. He declared a grand banquet and summoned the three finest wizards in the kingdom to bless the infant with extraordinary gifts.

The Uninvited Wizard

As the royal dinner commenced, an unexpected guest arrived—an aging, disgruntled wizard with robes as tattered as his ego. He had not received an invitation.

“Come in! Join us!” the King said with forced cheer. “There’s room at the table!”

Grumbling but grateful for the food, the uninvited wizard took a seat.

Once dessert had been served, the moment arrived for the wizards to bestow their gifts.

“Make her the fairest in the land!” the King requested eagerly.

The first wizard raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather shallow. But no need—she will be lovely, like her mother.”

The Queen smiled and nudged her husband playfully.

“No,” the first wizard continued. “I gift her a mind as sharp as steel and endlessly curious.” He waved his hand over the crib.

The second wizard followed. “She shall have cleverness and humor in equal measure,” he added, waving his own hand.

Before the third could speak, the aged, bitter wizard slammed down his goblet.

“For my gift,” he growled, “I give her a curse. Since I was not invited—as the 17th greatest wizard in the land!—she shall fall dead if she ever touches pen and ink!”

He vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind only the scent of roasted boar and resentment.

The King and Queen turned to the third wizard in desperation.

“I cannot undo the curse,” he said solemnly. “But I can soften it. If she ever touches pen and ink, she shall not die—but fall into a deep sleep for a hundred years.”

Without wasting a moment, the King ordered every pen and inkwell removed from the castle. Parchments were burned. Quills were broken. Only chalk and slate remained.

The Scholar Princess

As the years passed, the princess blossomed into a radiant young woman. Just as the wizards foretold, she was graceful, wise beyond her years, and full of wit. Her laughter lifted hearts, and her questions made even old philosophers pause.

At fifteen, her tutors declared she had surpassed them. So the King and Queen hired the finest scholar in the kingdom to be her personal mentor.

Excited beyond measure, the princess visited the professor a day before their lessons were to begin.

She found him in his study, scribbling away with a strange object on parchment.

“What’s that you’re writing with?” she asked, tilting her head.

The professor looked up, startled. “Why, a pen. Haven’t you seen one?”

She shook her head. “I’ve only used chalk.”

“Would you like to try?” he offered, holding it out.

The princess reached for it—and the moment her fingers brushed the pen, her eyes fluttered closed, and she collapsed into a deep, silent sleep.

A Kingdom in Mourning

The castle plunged into despair. The King and Queen laid their beloved daughter in the tallest tower, wrapped in silk and surrounded by flowers. They aged quickly under the weight of grief, and when they passed, the kingdom descended into a dark age—rulerless, abandoned, and overgrown.

Time marched on. The wind whispered through the stone corridors. Trees pushed through cracks in the walls. And the legend of the Sleeping Princess grew.

The Not-So-Charming Prince

Nearly a century later, a young prince from a distant land, lured by tales of the slumbering beauty, ventured deep into the forgotten kingdom. He found the castle tangled in ivy, the halls crumbled and hollow, and at last, the tower where the princess lay.

Just as the final minute of the hundredth year passed, the prince leaned in to deliver the foretold kiss.

But the princess’s eyes flew open—and she shoved his face away.

Startled, he clutched his cheek. “My princess, you’ve awoken for me!”

She blinked at him. “Your princess?”

He explained the legend—the curse, the kiss, the fall of her kingdom. Then, with confidence swollen by centuries of fairy tales, he asked, “Will you marry me and rule my land?”

The princess stood, brushed the dust off her dress, and surveyed the tower.

“I just woke up after sleeping for a century,” she said. “I have a ruined kingdom to rebuild. Thanks, but no thanks.”

And with that, she descended the tower—not into a new life as a wife, but as a woman ready to reclaim her world.

Moral of the Story:

A woman’s destiny is not determined by curses, appearances, or expectations—but by her own choices. Sleeping Beauty didn’t need a prince. She needed time—and the freedom to wake up on her own terms.