Rumpelstiltskin

The Price of a Promise
Once upon a time, in a small village nestled between rolling hills, there lived a poor miller who longed to be important. One day, while boasting to the King, he foolishly said, “My daughter can spin straw into gold!”

The King, who was greedy and easily tempted, raised his eyebrows. “Bring her to my castle tomorrow,” he said coldly. “If she can do as you claim, she shall live in wealth. But if she fails, her life will be forfeit.”

The miller’s daughter, a kind and humble girl named Elara, wept when she heard of her father’s lie. But there was no escaping the King’s order. The next day, she was taken to a high tower filled from floor to ceiling with straw and a spinning wheel gleaming in the moonlight.

The King said, “Spin this straw into gold by morning, or you shall die.” Then he locked the door and left her alone.

Elara sat by the wheel, her hands trembling. “How can I spin straw into gold?” she whispered. “This is impossible!” Tears rolled down her cheeks as the night deepened.

Then—out of the silence—came a strange tapping sound. A tiny man, no taller than her waist, stepped into the room. His hair was wild, his eyes sparkled mischievously, and his smile was both kind and cunning.

“Good evening, my dear,” he said. “Why are you crying?”

Elara told him her story, and the little man chuckled softly. “Ah, I can spin straw into gold. But what will you give me if I do?”

“I have only this necklace,” she said.

“Done,” he replied.

He sat before the spinning wheel, and to Elara’s amazement, the straw turned to shining gold thread as the wheel spun. By dawn, the room glittered brighter than sunlight.

When the King returned, his eyes widened. “Gold! Real gold!” he gasped. Greed flooded his heart. Instead of rewarding Elara, he led her to another, larger room filled with even more straw. “Spin this, too, by morning,” he ordered.

That night, the little man returned. “What will you give me this time?”

“My ring,” said Elara, trembling.

The man nodded and began to work. Once again, by sunrise, every wisp of straw had become pure gold.

The King was overjoyed but still not satisfied. “One more night,” he said. “Spin this last room of straw into gold, and you shall be my queen.”

When the door closed, Elara broke down. She had nothing left to give. “He will kill me,” she sobbed.

The little man appeared again, tapping his foot. “Well, my dear, what will you give me this time?”

“I have nothing left,” she whispered.

“Nothing?” His eyes gleamed. “Then promise me your first-born child when you become queen.”

Elara gasped in horror. “That’s too high a price!”

He shrugged. “Then I cannot help you.”

Desperate, she thought of her life, her father, and the king’s threat. Finally, she nodded. “I promise,” she said softly.

With a wicked grin, the little man spun the straw into gold once more.

By morning, the King’s greed had turned to joy. He kept his word and married Elara. Soon, the miller’s daughter became Queen Elara, beloved for her kindness and grace.

A year later, the Queen gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. All was joy—until one cold night when the door creaked open, and the tiny man appeared once more.

“Good evening, my Queen,” he said. “I have come for what you promised.”

Elara’s heart froze. “Please,” she begged, “take all the gold you want, but spare my child.”

The man shook his head. “A promise is a promise.”

Elara fell to her knees, sobbing. “Please, give me a chance. Anything!”

The man paused, rubbing his chin. “Very well,” he said slowly. “If you can guess my name within three days, you may keep the child.”

The Queen agreed, and he vanished into the shadows.

That night, Elara sent messengers to every corner of the kingdom, gathering names both common and strange. When the little man returned, she guessed: “Is your name Tobias? Conrad? Bartholomew?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, no, and no!”

The second night, she guessed again: “Is it Cornelius? Jasper? Thorn?”

The man twirled in glee. “Wrong again, my Queen!”

Her hope began to fade.

But one of her messengers, riding deep into the forest, came upon a small hut lit by firelight. Through the window, he saw the little man dancing around a pot, singing:

“Today I brew, tomorrow I bake,
Soon the Queen’s child I shall take!
For none can know my clever plan—
That my name is Rumpelstiltskin!”

The messenger raced back to the castle and told the Queen everything.

When the little man returned on the third night, he grinned. “Well, my Queen, have you guessed my name?”

Elara smiled calmly. “Is it… Rumpelstiltskin?”

The color drained from his face. “The devil told you that! The devil himself!” he shrieked. In fury, he stomped his foot so hard it sank into the floor. Then, with one last scream, he tore himself in two and vanished forever.

The Queen gathered her baby in her arms, tears of relief streaming down her face. From that day forward, she ruled with wisdom and compassion, never again making promises born of fear.

And though the tale of Rumpelstiltskin faded into whispers, the lesson remained clear:
Greed brings sorrow, but courage and truth can break even the darkest curse.