This is my pride and joy of the fairytales I wrote. I actually used this in my portfolio of writing to get something I really wanted and up to this day, I still love this fairytale:) It speaks more than just another love story.
The Moon Princess:
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a princessk named Myra. She was not beautiful, with an ugly birthmark down the side of her face. Her father despised her, and when she was born, he sent her mother away and re-married. The new Queen gave him a beautiful daughter with blond curls and sparkling blue eyes while Myra was brunette with rich, brown eyes. As the years go by, Myra became more and more neglected as the princess grew up to be a fine lady. Finally, a month before Myra's birthday, the King sent her away for he could not bear the thought of his ugly daughter having her debut. Myra was happy to be away. She had been shunned long enough and two nights before he planned to send her off, she packed her belongings and set off towards the land of the moon.
Legend has it the Land of Moon was a peaceful place. The people there were not as white as the people in the Land of the Sun. However, Myra heard that they were more beautiful. Their olive toned skin would glow in the moon and they were kind people. There, Myra knew that she would never feel as an outcast as she was now. Henceforth, she made her way past treacherous creeks and burning desert days. But, she lost sight of the Land, and by the end of the month, she was convinced that she was going to perish.
One night, she dropped by a village. The houses were built on mainly mud and stone slabs and at night, the village was only lit by a few glow worms that hung off the trees. Weary, she plopped down beside the wall of a nearby well, only to find herself sitting beside an old woman. She had wispy white hair and silver eyes that glowed under the moonlight.
“Hence where you seek?” she asked.
“The Land of the Moon.” Myra replied sadly. “Though I have lost sight of it.”
The woman took her hand in her old, withered ones.
“Thou shalt seek if thou shall look. Follow the wind, and smell the ground. What thou seeks, thou finds.”
And with a puff of wind, the woman disappeared.
The next day, Myra set off once again, and she travelled far. Then, she came down to a valley. It was dark and deep, and it terrified her. She stared at it, remembering the woman’s words. She was to follow the wind. But where? What wind? As if conjured by her thoughts, she felt a gust of wind. The wind was colorful, twisting gold and green together. It shimmered momentarily in front of her and suddenly, she felt herself rising up the plateau, and then, it stopped.
Myra lifted her head, her eyes sore from the dust in the wind. Then, she saw it. The wind had brought her to the very entrance of the Land. Out far, she saw the beautiful homes of the Moon people. Silver ebony arches framed the entrances of their homes and she could hear the muffled laughter as the children played. Beautiful women with black hair and brown eyes like hers walked about with baskets on their heads, chatting to their neighbors. Trees grew unhindered, their branches glorying in the spotlight of the divine moon.
Myra fled to the doorway but she was held back by a shield. There and then, she nearly burst into tears. She wanted to go in so badly. Then, she smelt a dry crust of the ground with crushed acorns. Looking down, she saw a golden apple buried beneath the soil. Desperate, she took it up and bit it, her tears falling freely. Then, she felt the blur of the color wind again, and suddenly, she was in.
People stared at her. The children had stopped playing and the women stopped in their tracks. Some came up to her and touched her hair wonderingly. She saw a child hiding behind the folds of her mother’s skirts, staring at him with wide eyes.
Myra knelt down and extended her hand.
“Hello.” She said softly.
The child crept forward timidly. Everyone held their breath. The mother moved forward, her eyes wide.
“My child.” The womansaid. It was the voice of a goddess. Myra felt power in her words, and something familiar.
“You have come.” She said.
Myra bowed her head and smiled. Everyone smiled.
“Yes, mother. I have come.”