The Sleeper and the Spindle

You don’t need princes to save you. I don’t have a lot of patience for stories in which women are rescued by men.

There are choices," she thought, when she had sat long enough. "There are always choices.

Learning how to be strong, to feel her own emotions and not another's, had been hard; but once you learned the trick of it, you did not forget.

But the path to her death, heartbeat by heartbeat, would be inevitable.

Well,” said the third. “Somebody’s got to do the honours.” “I shall,” said the queen, gently. She lowered her face to the sleeping woman’s. She touched the pink lips to her own carmine lips and she kissed the sleeping girl long and hard.

She wondered how she would feel to be a married woman. It would be the end of her life, she decided, if life was a time of choices.

Names. Names. The old woman squinted, then she shook her head. She was herself, and the name she had been born with had been eaten by time and lack of use.

It would be the end of her life, she decided, if life was a time of choices. In a week from now, she would have no choices.

There are choices, she thought, when she had sat long enough. There are always choices. She made one.

She called for her fiance and told him not to take on so, and that they would still be married, even if he was but a prince and she a queen, and she chucked him beneath his pretty chin and kissed him until he smiled.

A la reina le había costado aprender a ser fuerte, a sentir sus propias emociones y no las de otra persona; pero quien aprende esa lección ya nunca lo olvida. Y ella no deseaba gobernar continentes”.

children. Perhaps she would die in childbirth, perhaps she would die as an old woman, or in battle. But the path to her death, heartbeat by heartbeat, would be inevitable.

Hizo llamar también a su prometido y le dijo que no se preocupara, que tenía intención de seguir adelante con la boda aunque él fuera sólo un príncipe y ella una reina, y, tras darle unos tironcillos bajo la hermosa barbilla, lo besó hasta lograr que sonriera.

Goed,' zei de dwerg met de bruine baard. 'Als we pal naar het westen lopen kunnen we aan het eind van de week bij de bergen zijn, en dan ben je binnen tien dagen weer in je paleis in Kanselaire.' 'Ja,' zei de koningin... Er zijn keuzes, dacht ze toen ze lang genoeg had gezeten. Er zijn altijd keuzes. Ze maakte er een. De koningin begon te lopen en de dwergen volgden haar. 'Je weet toch wel dat we naar het oosten lopen, hè?' vroeg een van de dwergen. 'Jazeker,' zei de koningin. 'Dan is het goed,' zei de dwerg. Ze liepen naar het oosten, met z'n vieren, weg van de zonsondergang en het land dat ze kenden, de nacht in.

Wake her how?” asked the middle-sized dwarf, hand still clutching his rock, for he thought in essentials. “The usual method,” said the pot-girl, and she blushed. “Or so the tales have it.” “Right,” said the tallest dwarf. “So, bowl of cold water poured on the face and a cry of ‘Wakey! Wakey!’?