The Golden Child

T

ending to her garden, a young woman named Verity found a butterfly that was caught in a spider’s web. She watched the spider climb across the silk netting to feast on its squirming meal. The scene was simply nature at work, but Verity had the strangest feeling that she couldn’t ignore, that this was no ordinary butterfly. So, she intervened before the spider could reach it, detaching the butterfly gently from the web and leaving the spider with an empty stomach.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Verity said, allowing the butterfly to recollect itself in her palm. “I just had to save this one. I don’t know why.”

The butterfly beat its shimmering wings, and the oddest thing happened: its six limbs morphed into a tiny pair of human arms and legs, and it sprouted a little head of curly red hair and big, expressive amber eyes. Then it took flight, but it didn’t flee, instead flitting about with excitement.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” the creature exclaimed in her small voice. “Thank you for saving me!”

“You’re very welcome!” Verity said. “But who are you?”

“I am the Day Fairy,” the creature said. “I grant wishes for those who are kind, and you have proven your kindness. In exchange, I will grant you one wish.”

“Really?” Verity said, and she didn’t take long to think of one. “Well, how about some gold?”

“Ah,” the Day Fairy said, nodding. “Gold is a common wish, but know that it will be your hair turned to gold, and you will have to pluck each strand from your head.”

“What?” Verity said, taken aback. “I don’t want to pluck my hair out!”

The Day Fairy shrugged. “It’s the only way your wish can come true.”

Verity shook her head. “Never mind, then. Make me a little more beautiful. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” the Day Fairy said. “I can make you the most beautiful maiden in all the land, but you will turn into a troll by nightfall until the sun rises again.”

“No, no, no!” Verity said, and she sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Just let me have a child of my own. A child who is perfect for me.”

“I can certainly grant you a perfect child,” the Day Fairy said, “but they will absorb your youth and beauty, leaving you old and useless.”

Verity threw her hands up.

“What is the point of granting wishes when they entail curses?” she said. “I, a hardworking commoner, deserve a bit of gold. I, a maiden who seeks a mate, deserve a bit of beauty. I, a woman who aspires to become a mother, deserve a child that I am capable of loving. Why would you spin these harmless desires into dark temptations like some kind of witch?”

The Day Fairy gasped and buzzed around angrily, shedding sparkling dust that glowed like tiny embers in her path.

“How dare you compare me to a witch!” she said. “I do not cast curses, I cast lessons, and you are in dire need of learning some!”

Verity raised a defiant brow, crossing her arms.

“Lessons?” she said. “I am not a child. I am a woman of child-bearing age who wants to be a productive, contributing member of society. If you insist on wasting my time, then I will insist on leaving.”

Verity spun on her heel and stormed back into her home.

“Wait!” the Day Fairy said.

Verity stopped and turned around. “What?”

The Day Fairy looked reluctant. Flying closer, she sighed in defeat.

“Perhaps my sister, the Night Fairy, can be of assistance,” she said. “She can grant almost any wish without consequence. I will have her visit you before midnight.”

“No consequences at all?” Verity asked.

“None that come with your wishes,” the Day Fairy said.

Verity smiled. “Then I will see your sister before midnight.”

That night, Verity waited for the Night Fairy in her garden, and soon a silver moth fluttered into view, gleaming in the moonlight.

“Hello,” the Night Fairy said, hair long and face covered with a painted mask. She sounded as cool as the evening air itself, not at all bubbly like her sister. “You would like my help?”

“Yes,” Verity said. “I was told that you can grant wishes without any consequences.”

“Correct,” the Night Fairy said.

Verity cleared her throat. “Then I wish for a perfect child.”

The Night Fairy’s wings sparkled. “It is done. Tomorrow morning, you will find your perfect child.”

Verity frowned.

“Find?” she said. “You mean I won’t have my own?”

“This child will be your own,” the Night Fairy said. “It’s just that the child is perfect.”

“I don’t understand,” Verity said.

The Night Fairy shed a bit of glitter, like a wink. “You will.”

In the morning, Verity looked everywhere for her perfect child. She thought she’d been tricked, almost cursing the fairy sisters, until she remembered to check the garden.

There in the soil, surrounded by flowers as if they too were anticipating a birth, crowned the head of her perfect child. A head of hair as rich and lustrous as pure gold. The earth pushed the child upwards, revealing that not only was the child’s hair gold, but also their skin. And eyes. And teeth. The child, a girl. Smiling with perfect teeth. All of her was perfect in every sense of the word.

Verity could not have asked for a better child. She gave praise to the fairy sisters and swept the child up in her arms, heart aglow like the child herself. The child she would name Cressida.

A child so perfect would naturally inspire some degree of envy. But there wasn’t a living being who didn’t love Cressida. Despite being made of gold, Cressida did nothing to draw attention to herself, instead directing attention to others and their hidden talents. She helped raise money and gave to the poor and disabled. She loved and listened and never hated. She even managed to transform criminals into completely different, virtuous people. The world was simply enamored with her.

When Cressida grew up, she opened a grand home for unwanted children that included creatures and half-creatures, some born naturally and others of magic or wishes gone wrong. Cressida was a mother to all of them. She could handle what Verity could not, a truth that made Verity prickle with jealousy.

Verity had never been jealous of her daughter before, but now Cressida could hardly find the time to spend with her. Verity’s bitterness deepened like a slow rot until Cressida visited her one day, and it turned into horror.

Cressida was no longer gold. Her hair was brown, her eyes were brown, and her skin was brown. Verity almost didn’t recognize her.

“What happened to you?” Verity asked. “Why aren’t you gold? Did the wish wear off? I am going to find that Night Fairy and—!”

“No, Mother,” Cressida interrupted. “I just don’t want to be gold anymore.”

“What?” Verity snapped. “How can you not want to be gold? Gold is perfect. It’s the most precious metal. It never tarnishes. Don’t you want to be perfect, valued above the rest?”

Cressida smiled. At least her teeth weren’t brown, Verity thought.

“We all value different things,” Cressida said. “I found being perfect to be limiting. I have learned so much from my children.”

But Verity was not convinced, instead highly suspicious.

“What I have learned is that your so-called children have changed you,” she said. “Brought you down to their level because you were perfect, unlike them.”

“That isn’t true,” Cressida said.

But the next time Cressida visited, she was no longer human, and Verity almost attacked her with a pan out of fright. Cressida still stood on two legs, but she was covered with fur and had big, yellow eyes, pointy ears, sharp teeth, and a bushy tail.

“What in the world did those evil children do to you!” Verity demanded. “I am going to find those fairy sisters and feed them to the spiders!”

“Calm down, Mother!” Cressida said. “This was my own decision. I am happier this way.”

“You are not my child anymore!” Verity said. “Get out, get out!”

Verity didn’t see nor hear from Cressida after that, but she didn’t care. She wanted vengeance. She spent her time trying everything she could to conjure and trap the fairy sisters without success, all the while news of her ex-daughter was making rounds, terrible gossip and rumors and insults aimed at Cressida as well as Verity. For a moment, Verity feared that she would have to flee the town and live in the woods. At this point, she was considering finding a witch who would curse the sisters, no matter the cost. Then, one evening in the garden, as Verity was sobbing to herself, the Night Fairy returned.

At the first glimmer of silver fairy dust, Verity jumped up.

“You!” she said, pointing at the little masked moth. “You ruined my child! You ruined my life! How could you get such sadistic pleasure out of what you’ve done?”

“I have done nothing but grant your wish,” the Night Fairy said, cool and collected. “You wished for a perfect child, not a perfect child that wanted to stay perfect.”

“You are ridiculous!” Verity said. “It should be obvious that a perfect child would want to stay perfect!”

“Incorrect,” the Night Fairy said. “Your perfect child only started perfect. She was able to learn and change and decide what was best for her.”

“Then I want a perfect child who stays perfect!”

“A perfect child who wants to stay perfect would ruin more than your life,” the Night Fairy said. “Also, you’re out of wishes.”

Shrieking with rage, Verity flailed at the Night Fairy, but the moth dodged her attacks and flew away.

The next morning, Verity ventured out into the woods in search of a witch. She burned through hours and hours of searching, determined to find someone who would right the wrong she had unfairly endured. She searched for so long that she couldn’t find her way back home, and as night fell so did she to an illness that worsened until she lost consciousness.

When Verity woke up, she found herself in a cozy bed, inside a warm cottage with a crackling fireplace. Slouched over a table was a hooded figure, mashing herbs with a mortar and pestle. A witch!

“You there!” Verity said. “Thank you for curing me, but I must ask you a favor. I will give you anything in exchange for your help.”

The figure stopped, paused as if to think, then pulled back their hood, revealing pointy ears and big, yellow eyes.

Verity screamed. Cressida shook her head.

“Oh, Mother,” she said. “I will help you in any way I can. I just want you to be happy.”

“I would be happy if you had just stayed the way you were!” Verity said.

Cressida sighed. “Mother, what if you could be gold instead?”

“Me, gold?” Verity said. “How?”

“I am making a potion,” Cressida said. “If being gold is what will make you happy, then all you have to do is drink it.”

Verity narrowed her eyes at her ex-daughter.

“You intend to poison me,” she said, “don’t you?”

“I could have simply let you die in the woods,” Cressida said. “But I am not a monster, even if you believe I am. I just want you to be happy.”

Verity considered this. Being gold, she could easily take her ex-daughter’s place. The world would love and admire her. She would be perfect.

“Fine,” she said. “I will have the potion.”

When the potion was ready, Verity snatched it out of Cressida’s hand and devoured every last drop. Just as she’d been promised, Verity turned to gold. She loved being gold so much that she didn’t want to be anything else. She wanted to stay this way—forever.

And so she got her wish.

Verity had no flaws. No needs or desires. No voice. She was perfect, and she stood perfectly preserved in her own garden that Cressida tended. Every time she was there to maintain the flowers and harvest the vegetables, Cressida took a moment to look at her immortalized mother, wondering if she would ever move again, hoping she would eventually grow bored of being perfect.