Once upon a time, in the very long ago and far away, there was a little girl so wonderful that the sky couldn't help but weep for love of her every year on the anniversary of her birth.

She remembered ribbons, bright and curled by the sharp edge of a penknife. Strong, deliberate strokes from Anandine's hands turned straight, flat paper into curls thicker even than Emilia's (and a lot prettier, she'd added dutifully-- they were having a fight). Rapt she'd watched the pass of those hands, stronger and sturdier than those of her mother or sister though she was between them both in age, and thick with callouses. It was surely magic, she'd thought then, to turn something so simple and plain into something so wonderful. And all of this magic, just for her!

She'd stood just outside the doorway, not daring to go inside --we don't make friends with the help, Aurelie-- but not being able to pull herself away until she heard her name sharp from the other room. Then she'd scampered off, her skirt flying out behind her like her hair, long and red.

Her sister had been waiting there for her, arms open to scoop her up and carry her to bed. With a tenderness she knew from no one else, her sister would gently tuck the quilt around her thin shoulders, pressing a kiss to a white forehead. Then she'd settle in next to her as best she could and softly tell her the story of the princess with red hair and green eyes, who was always fearless and beautiful and good.

She could hear the rain tapping on her windowpane, insistent and soft, and let the sound carry her into sleep. The sky wept for love of her...


More than half a lifetime from that time she would think of those ribbons again, cheery curls of paper she had forgotten until now. Of the hands that had shaped them, patient and warm. She wondered about Anandine then-- who had she been? What had been her dreams, her aspirations? Did she have a family now, someone to love her? Or was she alone, still toiling under the heavy demands of Aurelie's parents?

Her mouth twisted bitter in the dark of the night. Funny, really, to think that the hands that shaped those ribbons were probably less calloused than her own, now. She'd thought her very unfortunate as a child. As an adult, it struck her that Anandine had more freedom than she would ever know. The freedom to make choices about her life and where it would go, to have a family or not, to pick up and leave. Not all her choices would be easy, but they would be there.

Outside the rain fell, but deep in the thick walls she could not hear it.

Once upon a time, in the recent and too close for comfort, there was a woman who didn't know if she was beautiful or terrible or nothing at all, and the sky wept for her because she wasn't strong enough to do it herself anymore.