Or So They Say: Chapter 1

The men got closer and closer as the panicky miller banged frantically on the door of the castle. His heartbeat pelted harshly in his ears, only interrupted by the impending racket of steel chains and curse words. The miller pounded harder. He had not bothered to pray before but found himself mumbling pleas for his life. His pursuers were unrelenting, seemingly charged by their vicious desire to reach him.

Just as the men made arrived at the foot of the stairs, the entrance to the castle parted ways. The miller took no time for courtesies. He barged inside, ramming into the shoulders of two castle guards and falling to the floor. They staggered from the impact against them. Readying their weapons, the guards began to question the men at the scene.

“What is the meaning of this?” one of the guards asked anyone who would answer.

“I am being chased!” the miller shouted, “They are trying to kill me!”

“This filthy buzzard owes us coin!” one of the men shouted back.

“Yes, and we intend to collect!” another chimed in.

The guards retracted their weapons, shaking their heads.

“Depart from here. The lot of you. This is not a matter for the king,” expressed the guard.

“I mus- I must… I am here to speak with the king!” the miller stammered, lifting himself from the floor.

“He lies!” shouted one of the men. “He has no words for King Midas! He only seeks refuge from his fate!”

“No!” objected the miller, “I do indeed! It is quite urgent!”

The guards looked the miller over. His attire was not that of one who was to be in the king’s presence. However, there were no gains from withholding his request. The guard motioned for the men outside of the castle to back away from the door. They stared at the miller with heat in their gaze. He chose not to look in their direction, instead taking the time to construct words to present the king.

The throne room was a wide area, covered with paintings of black and chipping gold flakes. The long carpet that reached from the door to the throne was blood red, lined with fading gold fringes on either side. Lemon and lavender filled the air. However, while the miller came closer to the throne, the scent of sandalwood arose. Once in front of the king, the miller fell to one knee.

“Rise,” demanded King Midas. “State your business.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” replied the miller, attempting to conceal the filth his dirty pants left on the carpet.

The miller swiftly examined King Midas as he had never been in his vicinity before. The large man had aged harshly, being in his fifties while resembling someone in their mid-seventies. He sat sunk in his throne and displayed little interest in the miller’s presence.

“Your Highness,” the miller started, “I come seeking a loan.”

The guards next to the miller snickered at his words. King Midas softly waved his hand at the guard to silence while keeping a smile himself.

“A loan?” questioned the king.

The miller nodded.

“Yes, a- a loan. You see, my business has failed. I borrowed from friends I once had. But I have not been able to make restitution. I only seek to rectify my debts by-”

“Repaying debts with debts is a fool’s game,” King Midas interrupted. “No loan will be given to you. However, I could consider a trade.”

King Midas smirked at the guards. They chuckled under their breath.

“Sure, yes. A trade,” the miller replied. “I can trade. I have a mule I sold to someone. I could retrieve it once again. It is a fine mule. Or perhaps I could return to a man I once helped some years ago. I could request payment from him for the favor I did. Possibly a dozen chickens or a cattle.”

The king and his men became less concerned with shielding their laughter as the miller went on. Seemingly done with their fun, the king motioned for the guards to escort the miller out of the castle. As they grabbed his arm and began pulling him away, the miller became even more desperate. He exclaimed one last offer to the king.

“I have a daughter!”

The guards let go of the man’s arm after interpreting the king’s slight interest. King Midas pondered the miller’s words.

“What would I want with a needy man’s progeny?” the king asked.

“My daughter, sh- she’s special,” stammered the miller. “She c… she can turn mere straw into gold! With a single spinning wheel!”

The guards began to laugh again, but that time, the king was less humored. He stared at the miller, searching his intentions, as it had been known that King Midas had been allured by gold in the past.

“How is it, that man can be so poor, but have a daughter with such an extraordinary talent?” King Midas investigated.

“W- we used all the straw that belonged to us,” lied the miller. “And no family nor friend believes me enough to take from their animal’s feed. This is why I have no coin.”

King Midas contemplated the miller’s story. He recalled the glory his kingdom once had years prior. The fall of his prosperity was known throughout all the lands. Remembering this upset the king. He felt as though the miller could be attempting to make fun of him with such an outlandish offer. His once curious face transfigured into something more resentful.

“I accept,” stated King Midas.

The astonishment came forth from the men in the room with sharp gasps. The king continued.

“Bring your daughter to me. Tonight. If the girl can do as you say, turning straw into pure gold, I will marry her and pay your debts in full. However, if what you say is false, in any way, I will end her life and yours at sunrise.”

The miller agreed, masking his nervousness as much as he could. The king then waved his hand as a form of dismissal. An armored hand pressed the miller in the direction of the exit. Cautious murmurs between the two guards came against his ears and fell to the floor. Their speech muffled as the king’s demand clangored within him. Once outside and seeing no sign of the men that hunted him previously, the miller hastily made his way to his home.

A strong burst from the door slamming shut scared Gothel. The young girl dropped the dish from her hand, breaking it into just clay fragments. Her father stood at the entrance, looking on.

“Wash yourself,” the miller blurted. “We must go.”

“Father, what is the matter?” asked Gothel, fearful.

“Nevermind that. Just do as I say!”

“But father, I need to fetch wate-”

“Do you have clean garments to wear?”

“This is the cleanest thing. What is wrong, father?”

“Just forget it! Come!”

Gothel shrieked as her father gripped her tightly by her arm and drug her out of the house. Her breathing sped up as they hurriedly ran through the darkening back streets and alleys. Her heart throbbed through her chest, filling her throat. The look of anguish on her father’s face frighted Gothel even further. He mumbled to himself words that sounded like the prayers her mother used to say. Her alarm deepened, as she had never heard her father pray before. Just before it became too much for the young girl, the two finally reached the castle doors.

The heavy-handed strokes to Gothel’s hair made her wince. He straightened her clothes the best he could and then took a moment to adjust his appearance as well.

“Father,” Gothel started, “What is happening? Why are we at the king’s castle?”

“Quiet!” the miller barked, wiping the sweat from his head before knocking on the door.

After a few seconds, the castle doors opened. Two guards stood before them. They checked over the barefoot young girl and her father. They were visibly not impressed with what they saw. Stepping aside, the guards allowed the two in before closing the large door behind them.

It was nearly nightfall, and the interior of the castle was lit with candles that lined the walls. The windows the miller had seen before animated in the flicker of the flame. The darkened castle felt more gloomy. The ominous atmosphere chilled Gothel. She attempted not to look around, burrowing her gaze forward through the area.

Gothel and her father were taken to the throne room. King Midas, who had presumably just finished a meal, lazily stood from his tall thrown. He groaned aloud as he rose. Gothel and her father dropped to their knees without hesitation when they reached him. A lump in Gothel’s throat stopped her breathing when she saw the shadow of King Midas hovering from them. “Rise,” he grumbled in a milder tone. When Gothel stood to her feet, she was met with the king’s curious stare.

“You are this man’s child. Yes?” asked King Midas, wiping his hands on a napkin and tossing it toward the miller.

“Yes, I am, Your Highness,” replied a trembling Gothel.

King Midas took a long lingering deep breath, evaluating Gothel’s every inch. She did her best to remain still while feeling the examination over her entire being.

“What is your age?” King Midas questioned.

“I am of eighteen years, Your Highness,” Gothel answered.

“And you’re aware of the offer your father has made of you? He states you are able to… make gold from mere straw.”

Gothel intensely resisted a glance toward her father. She attempted to keep her uncertainty from being discovered. However, the king’s cold, rough index finger lifted her dipped chin. Their eyes met and her quiver confirmed his suspicions. He furiously snatched his hand away. “Take her to the spinning wheel!” commanded King Midas. A guard immediately seized Gothel and roughly dragged her away.

Gothel could not tell where she was being led, as her tears blurred her vision. However, she recognized it was getting increasingly dimmer as they moved forward. The long hall became eerily quiet, other than the aggressive steps of the guard. Each movement was accompanied by an echo that rang in Gothel’s ears. When they finally stopped, she took the time to wipe her face, revealing an old wooden door. The feeble-looking entrance was seemingly misplaced in the beauty of King Midas’ castle. However, Gothel felt it was fitting for her.

The guard took his torch and lit a small lone candle on a table. The humble light revealed a room filled with straw. In the center of the room was an old dusty spinning wheel. The guard shoved Gothel toward the chair next to the table. He snarled at her with a sickening grin. “The king wants all this straw turned to gold by sunrise,” the guard jeered. “If your father has a false tongue, I’ll make sure to take it out before he can ever use it again.”

The guard slamming the door upon his exit nearly extinguished the candle’s subtle flame. Its soft glow just barely illuminated the room. However, the amount of straw was quite visible to Gothel. She plucked the cobwebs from the spinning wheel as she contemplated what to do next. The room had no windows to climb from. Nothing shielding her from what she knew to be her end.

Anger toward her father brought Gothel to tears. She wept bitterly at how careless he was with her life and longed for her deceased mother, who used to love her dearly. Gothel cried continuously through the night, wishing for the sun to come and finally take her away. As Gothel became more depleted, a subtle soft voice perforated through her whimpering.

“Why are you crying, poor miller’s daughter?” the voice asked softly.

Gothel jolted up from her chair, searching the room for who was present with her. She peered into the stillness of the dark. Suddenly, a blackened spirit formed in front of her, making itself be seen. “You weep so heavily,” the spirit man stated. His voice was delicate. Soothing. This calmed Gothel. However, the spirit’s intentions were evil. He knew of Gothel’s plight but kept his knowledge hidden from her.

“I- I was offered to the king. By my father,” advised Gothel.

“Offered?” the spirit man questioned.

Gothel nodded. The spirit man groaned at the thought.

“Such carelessness for such a lovely soul,” the spirit added.

Gothel had not been given kind words since her mother died. The gentleness of the spirit man helped ease her.

“What are you called?” Gothel asked.

“I am Khrysos,” replied the spirit man. “What was the offer presented to the king?”

“I am to turn all of this straw to pure gold,” replied Gothel, stretching her hands at the vast amount of straw in the room. “My father has been one to scheme. And now, it will cost us our lives!”

Gothel held back tears verbalizing the absurd task. Resentment toward her father resurged. Her clenched fists became so tight, pain rushed up her arms.

“Fret not,” said the spirit man, “for I am of a time before this one. I am able to do what you need.”

“You are able to make gold from this straw?” questioned Gothel, puzzled.

Khrysos gently nodded. He muttered a laugh that was almost a whisper.

“I am able to fulfill the king’s request and save the lives of you and your father,” Khrysos advised, “But it must be done at a cost.”

Gothel looked away despairingly. She knew she had nothing to pay. Everything she had of value had been sold by her father for food. She nearly gave in to defeat when suddenly, she recalled two items her mother had given her as a young girl. They were of no monetary worth, however, Gothel felt she had no other choice but to try.

She reluctantly removed the old necklace she cherished so much, using her tears to wipe its cheap white stone clean the best she could. She then removed the rusted steel ring she had never taken off since her mother placed it on her finger. With warm tears running down her face, Gothel extended the items out to Khrysos.

Khrysos smiled largely as he took the pieces of jewelry from Gothel’s tremoring grasp. His teeth were perfectly shaped and made of glistening solid gold. With a black boney hand exposing long gold fingernails, he placed the necklace and ring deep within his black void of a chest. However, Khrysos slowly shook his head at Gothel.

“The price that must be paid is much more costly,” Khrysos finally shared.

“What then?” Gothel asked desperately.

Khrysos lifted a finger at Gothel without a word, only motioning for her to wait. His grinning face in the dimly lit room brought the fear back into Gothel. Before she could question him further, Khrysos rapidly rushed toward Gothel. The spirit soaked into her, merging into her young body. The possession took her breath away but returned it with power. Gothel’s gasp was hushed by exhilaration. The spirit moaned within her, making her body its own. When she looked at her hands, she saw her once brittle dingy fingernails had transformed into gold.

Gothel was beautifully out of control. She had never felt anything so powerful. Animating her body, the spirit within Gothel took full responsibility for her. Her movements felt like a forbidden dance, elegant and flawless. A feeling Gothel had never experienced in all her days.

The spirit had begun work on the straw. Soon after, every single piece of it was spun to strands of bright shimmering gold. The glow illuminated the entire room. When the act was done, the spirit departed from Gothel and vanished from the room without a word. However, she was pleased to discover her fingernails remained golden.

Boisterous laughter came from deep within Gothel’s belly. She could not contain herself when looking at the room full of golden strands. Her joyous emotions were quickly interrupted when she noticed the light set of footsteps that approached the room. After a moment, the door opened and the bright light from the hallway squinted her eyes. The brilliance was soon eclipsed by the large frame of King Midas. Standing behind him was a castle guard ready to escort Gothel to her execution, and her pitiful trembling father. Before anyone could get a word out, sharp gasps sucked the air from the room.

Gothel admired the flabbergasted looks on everyone’s faces, as she knew they were all sure of her demise. The only one not in dismay was King Midas, whose broad smile mirrored the gold as he ran his hand through the fine substance. Refusing to take his eyes off the gold, King Midas instructed his guard to pay the miller and expel him from the castle. The miller looked up at the guard and then inquisitively at his daughter one final time before being marched away.

Gothel had never felt as odd as she did at that moment. She had never known success. All of her life had been survival. Gothel reached for the charm on her necklace to remind her of her mother out of habit. The bare skin under her fingers brought her great pain. However, she recognized her old life dying off warranted no time to mourn. She had been reborn.

King Midas kept his word and immediately married Gothel, making her queen of the land. Soon after, the two bore a daughter. Queen Gothel was tasked with making increasingly more gold for the king. She worked tirelessly for long hours of the day, only stopping to take care of the infant. As time progressed, Queen Gothel began to resent King Midas intensely.

In secret, while the king would travel away, Queen Gothel would seek knowledge of deep magics and sorceries. She had many luxuries from being a queen. However, nothing could satisfy the longing within her for the spirit’s feeling she had felt the year prior. She grew much in her learnings, even casting spells on her child for various prosperities and protections.

On one late night, while all the others in the kingdom were sleeping, the queen rose to gaze at the bright moonlight that shone through her chamber window. Then suddenly, a familiar voice spoke gently behind her. Startled, she quickly turned. Khrysos stood over the cradle of Queen Gothel’s daughter.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” greeted Khrysos.

“Khrysos,” replied Queen Gothel in shock.

Khrysos beamed.

“You recall my name,” Khrysos said, walking towards the queen.

He looks down at her hand, admiring her gold fingernails.

“What else do you recall, poor miller’s daughter?” he questioned, slowly pacing around her.

Queen Gothel froze. Her body became as stiff as stone. Khrysos stood in front of her and looked her in her eyes, smiling “There’s no need to fret,” advised Khrysos. “I’m only here for my gift. Do you have a gift for me?” The queen frantically looked around the room, raising her arms at all the things that belonged to her.

“Choose,” Queen Gothel suggested. “Choose any of my possessions you would like.”

“Possessions,” pondered Khrysos. “An interesting choice of words. That seems to be what got us here. That is what saved your lowly life. Correct? So… could I have this all?”

“The riches of the kingdom. They are yours if you wish.”

Khrysos gazed upon Queen Gothel with an amused curiousness. “No,” Khyrsos finally replied with a smirk. His decline surprised the queen. “No, I have something else in mind.” That instant, his face shifted into something monstrous. He pointed sharply at the cradle with hunger in his eyes that he never lifted from the queen. “I WANT THAT GIRL!” Khrysos exclaimed joyously.

Queen Gothel shrieked. She sprinted to her child and pushed her hand toward the spirit man. “Anything, everything, I have belongs to you. But not this child.” Queen Gothel pleaded.

“That was not our deal,” grunted Khrysos.

“That is the deal now. Accept it or leave this place!” demanded Queen Gothel.

Then, Khrysos let out a growl. He quickly passed his other over the air, revealing a sleek golden blade. He lunged hard toward Queen Gothel. His magical weapon raised above him without his touch, preparing to strike down on the queen. Before Khrysos could attack, Queen Gothel raised a hand and shouted an ancient spell she learned from one of her sorcery teachers.

“RUMPELSTILTSKIN!”

Khrysos squealed, and his long golden blade plummeted to the floor. He fell to his knees and began to choke. Black smoke puffed from his lungs and quickly dissipated in the air. “The devil told you that,” Khrysos managed to get out. The reddish eyes within the dark frame of his face flicked like candles in the wind. “THE DEVIL TOLD YOU THAT! THE DEVIL TOLD YOU THAT!” he roared. The exclaims from the spirit man extinguished with one final belch of black smoke before his presence faded away forever.

The black smoke released a heavy thud before it too faded from in front of Queen Gothel. She looked closer at what caused the sound and discovered her mother’s necklace and ring had returned. Queen Gothel hastily retrieved them, looking the items over. The stone of the necklace had turned from an off-white to pitch black, darker than night itself. The thin metal that lined the piece had become pure gold. Similarly, the steel of the ring had turned black, with gold lining its edges and speckles of shimmering gold in its center.

Queen Gothel’s heart became heavy. She felt ashamed of what her mother would have thought of her. Seeing all she had given up for a power she never asked for. Hate and resentment began to maul her stomach. She thought of the men that placed her where she was without her permission. At that moment, she vowed to protect her child from the wickedness of men like their fathers.

Queen Gothel lifted herself from the floor. She furiously scrubbed the tears from her face, pledging those were the last ones she would give the world. Raising her head with pride, the queen placed the necklace back around her neck and the ring back on her finger. The familiar weight of them was satisfying to her. Picking up the golden blade left behind by Khrysos, she made her way to the bed King Midas was asleep in. Without resistance from anything within her, she plunged the blade deep into the chest of the king.

“I will tell your people you died with a heart of gold,” Queen Gothel whispered to King Midas as he breathed his last.

The young child’s crying alerted the queen. Her wailing simmered into a light whimper as her mother lifted her from the cradle, rocking her gently. Queen Gothel smiled, for the first time in a while, knowing life would be for the child like it should have been for her. The baby’s repaid smile warmed Queen Gothel’s heart. The queen stroked the girl’s hair and whispered into her ear with delicate lips.

“Oh, what great things we shall accomplish, my sweet Rapunzel.”