Miss Saint and the Seven Demons Inside Goldilocks

Have you ever done something wrong? A harmless lie to avoid trouble, or perhaps taking something that wasn’t yours just to survive the day? If so, you’re not alone. Everyone wrestles with moments of weakness. Everyone has their own demons—some louder than others.

Goldilocks did too.

You know her, don’t you? The girl with golden curls, curiosity in her heart, and mischief in her step. Most remember her as the little girl who wandered into a house in the woods, tasted three bowls of porridge, and found a bed just right before being caught by three bewildered bears. But what if I told you the truth wasn’t as innocent as the nursery rhyme made it sound?

Her story wasn’t one of a harmless mistake. It was a battle—a battle within.

Goldilocks hadn’t stumbled into that house by accident. She was driven by whispers no one else could hear. Her first whisper came from Gluttony, her ever-hungry uncle in the shadow of her soul. His voice growled in her ear the moment she smelled the warm soup inside the bears’ home.

“That one smells rich. That one’s sweet. Take a sip, take more—you deserve it.”

And so she did. She tasted the first bowl. Too hot. The second—too cold. But the third, oh, the third was perfect. She devoured it without hesitation.

But as the last spoonful vanished, another voice stirred—Envy, her aunt with green eyes and a cruel tongue. “They have food. A home. Comfort. And what do you have, dear girl? Nothing. So take what you deserve.”

She wandered through the cozy house, touching everything, trying everything—sofas, chairs, beds. Each moment felt justified by the invisible jury in her mind, all whispering, nodding, pushing.

When she finally found the smallest bed, just the right size for her, Sloth and Lust, her lazy and indulgent cousins, came to visit. Sloth wrapped her in blankets of fatigue, whispering, “Rest, no one will notice.” While Lust didn’t arrive with desire for another but a longing for peace, a false sense of belonging. “Let this bed love you. Let it be yours.”

So she slept.

But rest never comes easily to the guilty. The door creaked open. Paws stepped across the wooden floor. A growl stirred the air.

The bears had returned.

Startled from sleep, Goldilocks didn’t scream. No, it was Wrath who rose first—an old nanny who lived in the pit of her stomach. Anger shot up like wildfire. “How dare they interrupt your peace! This should be yours! Fight!”

But even her anger faded when she saw their eyes—confused, sad, not furious. Something deeper twisted inside her.

That’s when Pride, the grandfather of all her demons, stepped forward. Dressed in cloaks of self-importance, he placed a hand over her heart and said, “You did nothing wrong. You’re just a girl. This was just a mistake. You are blameless.”

She almost believed him.

Almost.

Because someone else had been watching all along. Someone quieter than the rest. A whisper even she had trouble hearing.

Me.

I don’t scream like Gluttony. I don’t seduce like Lust or rage like Wrath. I don’t hide behind Pride’s vanity. I speak softly. I smile while others shout. I am the one that lingers after the deed is done, that lures you with just enough warmth to make wrong feel almost right.

They call me Hope.

But I am no saint.

Because while Hope can lift, I can also mislead. I can wrap you in false comforts. I can whisper: “There’s a reason you did it.” I can make you believe that trespass is exploration. That theft is need. That sin is survival.

Hope doesn’t choose sides. I exist in darkness and light. And sometimes, just sometimes, I become the most dangerous demon of all.

Because even monsters dream of redemption.

🕊️ Moral of the Story:

Every wrong action is rooted in a reason—but reasons don’t erase consequences. The shadows within us whisper for attention, but it’s our choices that define who we become. Hope can guide, but it can also deceive. True strength lies in knowing the difference.