The Silver Ribbon: A Dark Retold Fairy Tale of Elle

Once, in a kingdom alive with markets and whispers, there lived a young woman named Elle, celebrated for her beauty and her wealth. Her hair shone like gold coins in the sun, and suitors traveled from distant lands, eager for a glimpse of the girl whose beauty could stop the heart. From among these noblemen and merchants, Elle chose the wealthiest, a man whose coffers overflowed with jewels and silks.

Their marriage was short, for shortly after Elle bore him two daughters, tragedy struck—the man fell ill under mysterious circumstances, his body weakening with each sunrise until he was no more. A quiet rumor swept through the city, but none dared to speak openly against the widow with the sorrowful smile.

Soon, the suitors returned, circling her wealth like crows over fields. Among them came a man who had not been there before, for he had been married. A grieving widower himself, he came with his young daughter, Sylva, a quiet girl with thoughtful grey eyes. Elle, seeing the man’s fortune, quickly spun her charm around him, and soon, she and her daughters moved into his grand home.

The first days passed under a fragile peace until Elle, with hidden intent, began to feed her new husband small doses of poison, just as she had once done before. Within months, he, too, succumbed, and the grand house fell under Elle’s rule.

Sylva, once the beloved daughter of a kind man, found herself living among strangers. Elle’s daughters, echoing their mother’s cruelty, forced Sylva into the servants’ quarters, calling her only “girl,” stripping her of her name as they stripped her of her comfort.

They gave her the hardest chores and coldest rooms. Each day Sylva carried water, scrubbed floors, and cooked meals for a family that barely noticed her, save to correct or scold.

One bitter winter day, Elle found Sylva alone in the room that once belonged to her. The girl was clutching something behind her back, her eyes wide and fearful. Elle snatched it away, discovering an old, faded ribbon, the last piece Sylva had of her mother. Elle’s laughter filled the room as she dangled the ribbon like a trophy, calling her daughters to witness the “disobedience” of the quiet girl.

“She may keep it,” Elle decided with a cruel smile, “but if she wishes to keep it, she must sleep outside tonight in the snow.”

That night, Sylva wrapped herself in rags and stepped into the cold, clutching her mother’s ribbon to her chest as snow fell softly upon her shoulders. Her breath clouded in the moonlight as she whispered prayers to the stars.

The next morning, Elle opened the door, hoping to find the lifeless body of the girl. But instead, Sylva stood there, alive, clean, and radiant, with a strange calm in her eyes. Her pockets hid something that sparkled, and when Elle’s daughters tore through her clothes, they found a jewel, brighter than anything Elle owned.

“Where did you get this?” Elle demanded.

Sylva only smiled softly, refusing to speak. In a rage, Elle snatched the jewel, banishing Sylva back into the cold.

Night fell, and Elle’s sleep was haunted by dreams. She saw Sylva standing with a shadowy figure, whispering words that turned to smoke, plotting to return and reclaim what was stolen.

At dawn, a loud knock shook the house. Elle opened the door, and there stood Sylva, her hair now shimmering silver, her eyes like polished moonstone, holding two more jewels in her pale hands.

Elle’s greed consumed her. She grabbed her daughters. “Hold her!” she commanded, determined to discover the secret.

Sylva did not resist. She placed her mother’s ribbon upon the floor, now glowing faintly with a silver light, and gestured for them to stand upon it.

“There is room for three,” Sylva said, her voice calm as she looked at Elle and her daughters. “I want to show you the place I’ve been.”

Elle, trembling with greed and curiosity, stepped onto the ribbon with her daughters. She looked up to question Sylva, but no words would leave her mouth. Sylva’s eyes rolled back, showing only white as she began to chant words lost to time.

The ribbon beneath them began to stretch, growing into a pathway of silver light. The room dissolved around them, replaced by a darkness alive with whispers and distant stars.

With nowhere else to go, Elle stepped forward, her daughters clinging to her skirts, as they followed the silver path into the dark.

They walked, the air heavy with a strange sweetness, until the darkness parted to reveal a land of quiet lakes and glowing flowers, where the moon hung low enough to touch, and the stars hummed softly in the sky.

Here, the ribbon became a bridge, and Sylva stepped onto it, her feet bare, her silver hair flowing like water.

“This is where I have been,” she whispered, “a place where kindness is rewarded, and cruelty is washed away.”

The ribbon pulsed, and Elle’s daughters clutched each other in fear. Sylva looked at them with eyes soft as dawn.

“You took everything from me,” she said, “but here, you will see what remains when everything else is gone.”

With a final breath, the ribbon glowed brighter, and the darkness swallowed them whole, leaving only the soft hum of stars.

Moral of the Story:

Greed and cruelty cannot steal peace from the pure of heart, for true light finds those who hold love and memory close, even in the coldest nights.