The Aria and the Ivy – A Magical Origin of Winter
By Jemma Hathaway | Retold for TaleTreasury.com
Long ago, in a kingdom shrouded by mist and magic, there ruled a wicked queen whose heart was colder than snow and darker than a moonless night. She cared only for herself—her beauty, her riches, and her power. Love, kindness, and joy had no place in her palace of stone and silence.
One day, the queen heard whispers of a mysterious beggar girl who lived in the poorest quarter of her realm. This girl, they said, could sing songs so hauntingly beautiful that miracles followed in her wake. It was said her voice could make flowers bloom in the dead of winter, and that her songs carried magic powerful enough to move the heavens.
The queen, consumed by envy and curiosity, demanded to see this girl for herself. Her guards scoured the streets and brought the girl to the castle in chains, not as a guest, but as a possession.
The queen ordered her to sing—and when the girl opened her mouth and began her aria, a miracle occurred. As her voice filled the grand hall, a single sprig of ivy unfurled in the air, blooming into lush green tendrils that curled and climbed around the chamber walls. The magic was undeniable. The queen, fearing the power might be shared with others, declared the girl would remain in the castle, hidden away.
She locked the girl in the tallest tower, a cold stone chamber with only a narrow crack in the wall for sunlight to slip through. Every day, the queen ascended the long staircase to hear the girl sing. And each day, more ivy sprouted, weaving itself around the stone, flourishing in tune with the girl’s voice.
But as time passed—day by day, song by song—the girl’s heart grew heavier with sorrow. She longed for freedom, for the sun on her face, for the laughter of strangers. Her arias turned from joyful to mournful, and the once-vibrant ivy responded. Its leaves blackened. The vines thickened and twisted, hardening into unyielding armor that coiled around every turret and tower, shrouding the castle in a cloak of bramble and despair.
A thousand days passed.
News of the imprisoned songstress spread far and wide. Many came to rescue her, knights and noblemen, adventurers and dreamers. But none could pierce the wall of gnarled ivy. Their hearts, though brave, were not pure—for each sought to keep the girl’s magic for themselves. And so, the ivy turned them away.
Then, on the thousandth day—the First of December—a boy named Jack approached the castle gates. He bore no sword, no title, and no desire for riches. His heart was open, his spirit warm. And as he drew near, something astonishing happened—the black ivy began to crumble to dust beneath his feet, revealing a path.
Guided by instinct and light, Jack climbed the tower stairs, discovering the great iron key hanging from a hook beside the door. He turned it. The lock clicked. And for the first time in years, the girl stepped into the sunlight.
Hand in hand, they fled the cursed castle. But just as they crossed the boundary, a terrible spell awakened. The wicked queen, cruel and cunning to the end, had laid a curse upon the tower: “He who frees the girl with a heart of warmth shall feel the frost of my vengeance.”
Jack gasped. His breath fogged in the air. His skin paled, his heartbeat slowed. His very blood turned to ice, freezing in his veins. Before the girl’s horrified eyes, he transformed—his face becoming smooth and crystalline, like sculpted ice.
Overcome with grief, the girl knelt beside him. And from that sorrow bloomed her most powerful song. She lifted her face to the sky and sang with all the heartbreak and hope in her soul. The melody soared across the land, bending even the tallest trees as they bowed to listen.
The ivy returned, blooming again in shades of green and gold. It swept across the castle, weaving through towers and turrets, and finally encasing the queen in her own chamber, sealing her away forever with her bitterness and regret.
The girl wept, cradling Jack’s frozen hand. But he blinked, a slow shimmer in his icy eyes. Though the curse could not be broken entirely, it could be softened by love. Jack would remain frozen—but only for thirty-one days and thirty-one nights each year.
The girl smiled through her tears. “My name is Carol,” she said softly, “and I will spend every frozen day with you.”
So they did. From that day on, each December, Jack and Carol wandered from village to village, home to home. Jack would bring the chill of winter—his footprints leaving delicate frost—and Carol would knock on doors and sing. Her sweet songs filled hearts with joy, and wherever she sang, a ring of ivy would bloom on the door as a symbol of hope, warmth, and love.
And that, dear reader, is why, during the thirty-one days of December, we sing carols on our doorsteps and hang ivy wreaths and garlands from our doors. It is not merely tradition—it is magic. The magic of Carol and Jack Frost, who turned sorrow into song and winter into wonder.
🏆 Moral of the Story:
True magic lies in selfless love and pure-hearted intention. Beauty, when shared freely, can heal even the coldest curse—and from the depths of sorrow, joy can bloom.
