Fairy tales for young and old ~ English version

The Witch with the Silver Flowers

 Once upon a time, in a secluded vale shrouded in whispers of enchantment, there stood a little isolated cottage. This was the home of Topaz, the witch with the silver flowers. Unlike any other in the realm, these flowers shimmered with a celestial glow, their petals wrought from moonbeams and dew. Topaz, with her hair as dark as the night sky and eyes reflecting the stars, tended to her garden with a devotion born of necessity. For these were no ordinary blooms; they were the wellspring of her magic, the source of her power.

The vale was a sanctuary, a place untouched by the greed and turmoil of the outside world. Topaz had learned the hard way that not all sought the flowers for their beauty alone. Long ago, an evil sorcerer had come, his heart as black as tar, his eyes alight with the lust for power. He had ravaged the lands, stealing the life force of mages through their cherished blooms. Topaz had suffered greatly at his hands, her flowers nearly wilting away, her power waning like the crescent moon. But she had survived, and from that day forth, she vowed to protect her home with a ferocity unmatched.

She wove spells of protection, enchantments that would make the very air around her vale bristle with danger. Deadly traps lay hidden beneath the verdant green, awaiting any who dared to covet her precious silver flowers. Yet, despite her efforts, fate had a different plan.

One day, a man named Kyllen arrived, his footsteps silent, his presence unexpected. Topaz watched from the shadows, her heart a tempest of fear and anger. She had heard the whispers on the wind, tales of a man seeking the legendary silver flowers. With every step he took, her resolve hardened; she would not let her home fall prey to another thief.

But as she observed him, something peculiar became apparent. Kyllen was not evading her traps with skill or foresight; he was, quite simply, the most clumsy traveler to ever set foot in her vale. He tripped over roots, stumbled into clearings, and fell into streams, each misstep narrowly avoiding a deadly fate. It was as if luck itself had taken a liking to this peculiar man.

When Topaz finally emerged, her spells at the ready, she found Kyllen sprawled on the ground, gazing in awe at the silver flowers. He spoke of his journey, a quest for knowledge, not power. He was a scholar of flora, drawn to the vale by chance, his heart captivated by the beauty of the unknown blooms.

Topaz listened, her guard slowly lowering. Here was a man who sought understanding, not dominion. She agreed to let him study the flowers, under two conditions: he must not pick a single one, and he must never reveal the location of her hidden vale.

As days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, Kyllen stayed. He studied the flowers, yes, but he also learned of Topaz, of her fears, her dreams, and the scars left by her past. And as the seasons changed, so too did their hearts. Feelings blossomed like the rarest of flowers, delicate yet resilient.

In the end, Kyllen did not leave the vale. He stayed, not as a scholar, but as a companion, a protector, a friend. Together, they tended the garden, their laughter mingling with the rustle of silver petals. And though the world outside continued its relentless march, in the vale, time seemed to stand still, held in the gentle embrace of two souls united by love and the witch with the silver flowers.

And so, the tale of Topaz and Kyllen became a fairytale whispered on the winds, a story of love, protection, and the magic that blooms in the most unexpected of places. They say that to this day, if one listens closely, the laughter of the witch and her clumsy scholar can still be heard amidst the rustling of the silver flowers in the hidden vale. And they lived happily ever after.