Mimicking Style

    It’s customary for him to buy flowers on his way home. He was a widowed merchant, and his three daughters were the suns in the sky. There was nothing special about that day. He took his routine route home. Though he was running late that day. In his hurry home, he forgot to purchase flowers for his daughters. It was then that he saw a wild rose bush. Its petals were uninhibited in their growth, and the resulting blossoms were rich in both fragrance and color. On impulse, he strode over and plucked one.

   A hissing in the background that had grown increasingly louder as the merchant plucked it finally climaxed as he reached to pick another. It was then, the merchant found himself in a bind. Only after he promised to give one daughter in exchange for the one rose was he released. He returned home safely, later than before and with a sullen face. For days he would not eat, repenting for his greed.

    His daughters were worried. They begged him to eat, but he would not. Eventually, they concluded that one of them must have displeased him and approached him one by one. The eldest and second daughter both went and returned, father’s predicament escalating with each rejection. It was then the youngest child’s turn.

    Approaching her father, her head knelt solemnly.

   “Father, have I displeased you?” She asked.

   “Do you love your father? Then hear me out, child. Upon my return from the long merchant trip, I picked a rose from the serpent’s garden to give to you. The serpent then asked for repayment after I told him of you all, and then insisted a ransom of a hand in marriage. But your sisters’ have already rejected this invitation and you are the only one left—“

   “If you eat your meals, and care for your health, then I will become the serpent’s bride.”

    Thus after, he ate. On the fifth day after his return home, servants of the serpent bothered for the bride. They bothered the family everyday until her family could not bear it and left to go to her groom. The wasps led her through the forest and brought her to a castle built for her reception. Spacious rooms were already furnished and filled with silk clothes and jewelry.

    Then I approached her and saw her shrink. This wound has rendered me undesirable, but I am accustomed to it. We sat at dinner that night and she told me she was grateful and would perform the duties of the house. The many next days, I made sure she was in comfort. If her joints were sore, rose water baths. If her head hurt, jasmine tea. Fondness developed in her gaze for me, and I knew she loved me.

   But she left. She could not stay. Where has she gone? I’m thirsty. Where is she? If only I wasn’t wounded.

(She late returned with water for our empty well. She found me lying, dying on the ground and ran to me crying out. My wounding curse was lifted and finally I am human with my beautiful wife once more.)