“The Story of The Star Makers”

Once upon a time, there lived an old woman with hair the color of shimmering gold. The old woman was a fairy who worked as a sorceress who created the most beautiful wishing stars. She crafted them from a thread of light and infused them with the glimmer of a dream. 

The old woman had three daughters. The oldest had hair black as night, the middle child had hair as red as sunset and the youngest had hair the color of moonlight. The three sisters each had an important job to help with the creation of a star. 

It was the job of the oldest to gather dreams from the village nearby. Every Sunday she would journey down the mountain on which they lived and gather slips of paper from the townspeople. Each letter had a dream scrawled across it in blue ink. The townspeople would leave the slips of paper on their windowsills, and on the seventh day of the week the first sister would make her collection. The oldest daughter's job required the most care. 

The second sister's job was to spin the sea spray into rainbow thread for the sewing of stars. She would go to the cliffs each sundown and spin the sky into thread in her spinning wheel. As she worked, the spray of the sea would douse the pink light in an iridescent wash. The middle sister's job was a tireless one- a sunset only lasts for so long. Her nimble fingers crafted the thread in a frenzy and she always managed to get enough for her mother to complete the night's stars. The middle daughter's job required the most dedication. 

The job of the third child was to climb up a silver ladder each night and place the new stars into the sky. She would cocoon the stars in her tender arms and arrange them in just the right way. The youngest daughter's job required the most precision. 

The sorceress loved her daughters equally and the four of them were content and fulfilled. 

One night, as the oldest daughter made her collection, she noticed a dream in an unfamiliar handwriting. There was a new person in the village. This drew in the oldest sister's curiosity, and she paused to read over the dream. On the note, in handwriting so small she could barely make it out, it read:

"Please, I wish to find kindness."

The eldest daughter was intrigued by the simplicity of the wish. When she presented the dreams to her mother that night, the oldest daughter told her about the newcomer's dream. The old sorceress was displeased. She worried that if she wasn't careful, her daughter would become too invested in human affairs. She told her daughter that some dreams are simple.

Over the next three Sundays, the newcomer's dream stayed the same. It was highly unusual for a dream to remain constant. The eldest daughter had noted that humans are often fickle with their desires. It seemed to her that the dreams she collected were changed out more frequently than tablecloth. 

The eldest sister knew that the stars they so carefully crafted had no power to grant wishes. Her mother had explained that the stars were made to serve as reminders. The glow of a wishing star lights up even the deepest of blue nights. Even so, she wondered if the consistency of the newcomer's dream meant they had been shown no kindness at all since their arrival. 

Finally, the eldest daughter decided she wanted to meet the constant dreamer. She disguised herself in a human form so her mother and sisters wouldn't recognize her and snuck down to the village. Although she had been down the mountain several times before, she had never visited during the day. She was surprised by how busy everything was as the townspeople bustled about. 

As she wandered the streets, she noticed a young man sitting alone outside the the cobblers shop. No one else seemed to notice him. The townspeople were passing him by without so much as a glance. The eldest daughter decided to talk to him. 

She greeted the man with a shy smile, and he returned it with an equally shy greeting. She asked him why he was sitting alone, and the man shrugged. He told her that he was new to this town, and had come in search of a job. But he couldn't seem to find an occupation he could keep. He wasn't particularly skilled or horribly untalented. He wasn't handsome or ugly. He wasn't rich or poor. He simply was. 

The two of them talked for hours, and by the end of the conversation the man no longer looked so sad. He was smiling and had even let out a bit of laughter. 

It was beginning to get late, so the eldest daughter politely dismissed herself. The man was understanding and thanked her for being so kind to him. He said that she was the first person in this town who had taken notice of him, and he smiled at her in such a way that she felt the great importance of her actions. She was glad to have been of some help, even if she didn't understand exactly what she had done.

That night, the newcomer’s dream had changed. The daughter was surprised and delighted to see that he wished to meet her again. When the old sorceress saw this new dream, she let out a huge sigh. She didn't want to lose her daughter to the human world, but she knew that she must allow her to choose her own path. The old sorceress told the eldest daughter that she may go to live in the village as long as she returned every night to complete her duties and continued to collect dreams. Her daughter eagerly agreed and vowed that she would. 

The next day, her sisters bade her farewell and her mother gave her a sack of gold to help her get started. Along with the gold, her mother imparted three warnings. 

One, she warned her to be wary of strangers. Not all people were as kind as the man she had met the other day. Two, she warned her that she must be able to provide for herself. There was nothing more important than making sure she had a roof over her head and a meal in her stomach. And three, she warned her that she must not tell the man of her job to collect wishes. Her mother explained that not everyone can be trusted with the creation of stars, as humans often fear that which they cannot understand. The eldest daughter agreed to these terms and assured her mother that she would be careful and show good judgement.

A few years passed, and the eldest daughter built a fine life for herself. She and the young man fell in love and decided to marry. The two of them kept a house at the base of her mother's mountain. She had followed her mother’s instructions, and she and her husband worked together as farmers, selling their produce in the village market. The two of them worked well together and protected each other from those who were less kind. Every Sunday night, she made her usual journey collecting dreams.

It wasn't long before her husband became curious as to where she traveled to every seven days. The young woman explained to her husband that she had a secret she couldn't tell him, and promised him that she remained faithful. She told him that if he loved her, he must promise never to follow her. Her husband heard the seriousness in her voice, and knew not to question her...but still he wondered where she was going. Nonetheless, he promised to respect her wishes. 

After several Sunday nights, his curiosity got the better of him and he broke his promise. He saw her stop at every house and collect the papers on each windowsill. This immediately frightened him, as those dreams were meant to be collected by one of the four good witches who lived atop the mountain. Realizing that his wife must be one of these witches, he returned home where he had a sleepless night. 

The next day, the eldest daughter noticed a change in her husband. He was nervous around her and avoided her glance over breakfast. When she asked him what was wrong, he confessed that he had seen her going through the town last night. He said that she must be one of the witches who used to live atop the mountain, and that it scared him that she would keep such a secret for so very long.

The eldest daughter felt unbelievably angry. She had never had a serious fight with her husband before, but a rage came over her like a wave to the sand. She snapped that she couldn't believe he would break his promise to her. He countered that he couldn't believe that she would hide something so important from him. The eldest daughter decided she needed to clear her head, leaving to spend time atop the mountain. 

They were apart for several nights. 

When the eldest daughter finally returned, her husband asked for forgiveness. He promised her that he would never betray her again, and asked that they be truthful together in all things. The eldest daughter apologized for having not trusted him with her secret, and forgave him for mistrusting her. The two soon returned to their normal lives. 

But it wasn't completely back to normal. As much as the eldest daughter loved her husband, there were truths about her magic that could not be unhidden. She could never really share how a star was made. Although the man loved his wife very much, the knowledge of her power scared him. He understood nothing of magic and "not-knowing" is one of the most terrifying things of all. 

Meanwhile, the middle daughter's attention had been caught by a sailor. She spoke with the sea-faring lady every sunset, docked by the cliffs where she wove. The sailor often told her of adventurous travels and the grand magnificence of the world. She was a dashing young lady and her voice radiated charm. The middle daughter longed to join her, but she knew she never could. Spinning thread from the ocean required more attention than gathering dreams or arranging the sky. She could never find the time to travel the world when she was needed to spin stars. 

Her mother saw the girl's sadness, but she feared there was nothing she could do. No one was as skilled as the middle daughter at the spinning wheel, and no one but her could spin the thread. The middle daughter never once asked her mother if she could join the sailor, though the lady often offered. Unable to bear her daughter's sorrow any longer, the sorceress told her that she would give her three years to travel the world with the sailor. 

The middle child was overjoyed, but protested immediately. She knew she was needed at home, and she could never leave a job unfinished. Her mother told her that the youngest daughter had been practicing at the spinning wheel, and that although she was nowhere near as talented, they would be able to manage for a while. The middle child thanked her mother heartily and promised that she would return.

Before the sorceress wished her daughter farewell, she gave her a sack of gold to spend on her travels. Along with the money, her mother imparted three warnings. First, she warned that it was easy to get lost in the world. She asked her daughter to bring a compass that would always point her home. Second, she warned that she must be careful of who she traveled with. The habits of your companions are easily picked up. And third, she told her daughter that she must keep practicing her spinning. It is too easy to forget your talents and duties when surrounded by excitement. 

The middle daughter agreed to these terms, and promised that she would return home safely. Over the course of her three years, the middle daughter experienced many wonders. She saw that the world was more vast and complex and strange than the sailor could've possibly told her. She traveled with many different people and learned many different things. Despite all the wonder surrounding her, she was careful to follow her mother's instructions and continued to practice spinning thread.

When it was finally time for her to return home, her mother was overjoyed. Her daughter came back safely and full of wonder. The middle daughter said goodbye to the beautiful sailor, and thanked her for an incredible journey. The sailor said goodbye to the middle sister and thanked her for equally incredible companionship. Although the middle child and the sailor would miss each other, it was time for both to move on. In all honesty, she had missed her work and family more than she would miss traveling with her lady-love. The middle child released the youngest daughter from the spinning wheel, and was content to sit spinning with her memories. 

In the three years that the middle daughter had been gone, the youngest daughter had grown into a capable young lady. She had drawn the attention of several potential lovers, but none were pleasing to her. She would only settle for exactly the right person. 

One night, as the youngest sister arranged the stars, she noticed a poet writing at his desk. She asked him what he wrote about so fervently, and he answered that he wrote about the rain tonight. She laughed and asked how something so silly as the rain could be that inspiring. He responded that it wasn't the rain that was so intriguing, but the pitter-patter it made as it hit the pavement and the coolness of its smell in the dirt. 

The youngest daughter didn't care for dirt, but she was deeply moved by the writing of the poet. Every night he would write, and every night she would ask him what he wrote about. She fell in love with his words and longed for nothing more than for him to write about her. What a lovely poem it would make, she thought, a poem about the beautiful girl who arranged the stars. 

One night, she noticed that he sighed quite heavily as he wrote. The words wouldn't flow. She asked him what he was writing about. He told her that it was more of what he wasn't writing about that troubled him. He was in love with a woman and there was no way he could possibly capture her loveliness on a page. 

The youngest daughter smiled and asked coyly if she knew this woman. The poet said he was sure if it. This was a small village, after all. The youngest daughter asked him to describe her, hoping to hear qualities of herself. The poet was at a loss for words. 

Finally, he described her as a thieving scoundrel. 

The youngest daughter was shocked and asked him to go on. The poet explained that she was a thief because she had stolen his words. And a scoundrel because she upset him so. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and her voice was like being kissed by the wind. He went on that she was not only very beautiful, but also had an amazing wit and an incredible sense of humor. 

Trying to exercise her own wit, she teased, "Aren't wit and humor practically the same thing?"

The poet shook his head. There is a difference between wit and humor. One can be witty without much humor or humorous without much wit. Someone capable of delivering both, he explained, was exceedingly rare.

As it became obvious that the poet was not talking about her, the youngest sister began to cry. The poet noticed her tears, and nervously wished her goodnight. He suspected that he had been the cause of her sadness, but he was much too frightened by it to acknowledge it. He had no wish to involve himself with a sorceress. He pushed the thought away and occupied his mind with thoughts of his love.

That morning, when the youngest sister came home, she wailed and was inconsolable. She could have any person in the village except the one she wanted. It wasn't fair. Her oldest sister had found happiness in love. Her other sister had experienced love and now had memories for company. She had nothing. She always got the short end of the stick.

Her mother tried to calm her, and promised that there would be other loves. She wouldn't feel like this forever. The youngest daughter cried that any "other love" didn't matter. She had seen everyone in the village, and no one could compare to the poet. No one was as talented, smart, ambitious, or kind as him.

The sorceress said that if he was so kind, he wouldn't have ignored her tears. The youngest daughter had no response to that, so she only looked at her feet and let herself cry. It had to be him. He was exactly what she'd always dreamed of. He was completely perfect and no one else would do. 

The next night, the poet thanked her for talking to him earlier. She asked what he meant, and he began to his newest poem. It was all about the woman he loved. He explained that he now had a poem to present, thanks to the prompting she'd given him the previous night. The youngest daughter ignored her feelings and smiled faintly as he thanked her. 

The next night, the poet was not at his writing desk. The youngest daughter felt a pang of sadness for her loss, and an odd moment of happiness for the woman he loved. This thought she quickly pushed away as she refocused on her task of sorting the night’s sky.

The night after that, the poet had not returned to his desk. It was the same the next night. The youngest daughter had spent three nights arranging the stars in silence now. Finally, on the fourth night, the poet had returned. But there was something wrong. He simply sat and gazed at the streets below. The youngest daughter asked him what had happened.

The poet smiled at her voice, and said that his true love had rejected him. She didn't care for him in the way he cared for her. The youngest daughter felt a shameful shred of hope at his words, and said that she was sorry to hear of his sorrow. The poet told her not to be troubled by it. He told her that he would simply have to move on. Before she could say any more, the poet went to bed. 

The sorceress worried about her youngest daughter. She knew that the poet was lovesick, and she worried that her daughter saw something in him that simply wasn't there. Unable to stand idly by, the sorceress decided to intervene. 

The old woman told her daughter that she thought it best if she stop talking to the poet. Her daughter was irate and refused. She said that her mother couldn't possibly understand. She loved talking to the poet. Her mother remained firm in her warning. She told her daughter that the poet was a nice man, but she didn't believe he was quite right for her. 

Although she hated it, the youngest daughter sensed the truth in her mother's words. She was in love with the poet's work, not the poet himself. That said, she still wanted to experience love. She wanted to feel deeply and truly and have someone feel equally truly about her. 

Her mother told her that her time would come and that there was no need to rush into things. The middle sister told her that there was more to life than romance, and that love existed in all different forms. The eldest sister told her that love was a lot of work, although rewarding, and that she was fine as she was. The youngest sister heard the wisdom of these words and understood that all would be well. 

The three sisters were once again content. The village was happy because their dreams shone brightly over them as they slept and they knew things could always get better. The old sorceress with golden hair couldn't be prouder of her daughters or more pleased with the work they had done. 

Once every seven nights, the eldest daughter would carefully collect the dreams of the townspeople as promised, and her husband would have a warm meal waiting for her when she returned home. Every day at sunset, the middle daughter would spin the sea-sprayed sunlight into thread, her memories of the world fueling her determination to keep working. And every night, the youngest daughter would climb up the silver ladder and arrange the stars just right, her own dreams for the future keeping her aloft. 

The End.