Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

Long ago and far away, there lived a woman named Pascadozia, who was pregnant. One day she looked out her window into her neighbor's garden and saw a pretty patch of parsley. As soon as she saw it, she craved it. She just had to eat some, but her neighbor, who was a witch, was not at home. Since she couldn't ask and couldn't wait, Pascadozia took a little knife and snuck into the witch's garden.

Once there, she grabbed a handful of parsley and cut it from the plant. Her craving was so strong that she crammed the herb into her mouth and ate it right then and there. The taste was strong and even disagreeable, but she ate it all the same. Then she cut another handful for later and returned to her house.

The next morning Pascadozia felt the wild craving again. The witch was still away, so Pascadozia returned to the garden, where she ate another handful, and took a handful away. She did the same on the third day, and a fourth. She would have eaten the parsley plants right to the ground if the witch hadn't returned one day to catch her in the act!

"Look at you! You're nothing but a thief! Don't you know any better than to steal from others? Grow your own parsley! What else of mine have you taken?"

Pascadozia was frightened, because the witch was very powerful. Still she tried to defend herself by explaining that because she was pregnant, she craved the herb. "If I didn't eat the food I craved, my child would be covered with parsley-shaped birthmarks!"

Her words didn't move the witch's heart at all. "Your foolish prattle won't save you!" The witch cried out. "You've stolen from me – it's plain and simple, and you must pay! I will cut your throat here and now in my parsley bed!" and she reached for Pascadozia's knife.

"Mercy!" Pascadozia cried, "Mercy! Think of my child!"

The witch hesitated. Long had she wished for a child of her own, so she said to Pascadozia, "Very well, then. If you want to live, there are two things you must do."

"Anything!" Pascadozia cried.

"First, you must name your child Parsley when she is born, and second, you must give the girl to me!"

Pascadozia was so frightened, she would have promised anything, and she made her bargain with the witch.

When her husband was told, he too was frightened, but he said to his wife, "Who knows? If the baby is a boy, she might not want to take him."

The couple nourished that one small hope, but when the time arrived for the baby to come to light, she was a lovely little girl with a tiny parsley-shaped birthmark on her breast. True to half her promise, the mother named the girl Parsley.

The couple loved their child, as all good parents do, and they waited in fear each day, lest the witch come to claim the baby as her own. The first day, the witch did not come. Nor did she come on the second or the third day. The days rolled into weeks, the weeks into months, and so on and so on, and still the witch did not come.

The parents began to hope – and even believe – that the witch had forgotten or relented, or – better still – was lying dead in a far-off land.

The truth was, the witch had not forgotten at all. All her life, she wanted a daughter. Not a day went by that she didn't think of Little Parsley.

In spite of that, in the first years she told herself, "I can live without changing all those diapers! And I need my beauty sleep... Best to let her family handle that!"

Then, when the time of diapers was past, the witch thought, "Breast feeding? I'd go mad. Besides, I don't have the energy to run after a toddler all day long. Best to let her family handle that!"

Each day the witch's crow came to spy on Little Parsley and her family, and when the girl had grown to be a lovely young woman, the witch sent her crow with this message:

"Tomorrow at dawn my mistress will come and claim Little Parsley for her own!"

Then the crow took off cackling, but it did not fly away. It quietly returned and perched above the window to hear how the family had taken the news.

First, Little Parsley's parents had to explain the whole business of the bargain with the witch, and the poor girl took it very hard. However, a young boy of the village, who loved Parsley with all his heart, happened to be there, and he had an idea.

"The witch is looking for a young girl, but as you say, she has never seen Little Parsley. For all she knows, a boy was born. Tomorrow morning we must hide her in my family's house, and I will pretend to be your child. When I tell the witch that I am Parsley, she may give up her cruel bargain!"

The witch was much amused when the crow gave her this news. "What a brave young boy!" she cried. "I have to make him a special gift." And humming to herself, she fiddled with her herbs and enchantments, looking forward to what the dawn would bring.

Sure enough, before the sun could peek over the distant hills and light the earth, Little Parsley was snug in a root cellar beneath the young man's home. The brave boy sat at table with Little Parsley's parents, who quaked with fear, not knowing what the witch would do.

At last, when the sun was well up, and the air began to warm, the witch came knocking at the door. She entered smiling, but when she saw the boy, she scowled. "Where is Little Parsley?" she demanded.

The boy stood. "I am Parsley," he told her, lifting his chin high. "And I am ready to go with you." Of course, he did not want to go with her at all, but his brave heart told him to speak this way.

The witch pretended to be angry and disappointed. She muttered, "But Little Parsley was supposed to be born a girl!" She shook her head. The parents sat in silence, not daring to speak. The young man stood his ground, determined, and hopeful that his strategem had worked.

"I won't take a boy," the witch said at last, and turned as if to go. The little family's hearts lifted, but the witch paused at the door, and turned to look at the boy.

"Catch!" she called, and tossed him a sachet of herbs and secrets. Without thinking, he clutched it, and as soon as his hands closed over the tiny bundle, green tendrils broke through the bag and wrapped around his wrists. The bag swelled and burst, and a beautiful violet flower, the most beautiful any of them had ever seen, grew in the boy's hands. As fast as you could tell it, green leaves sprouted around the flower, and smaller blossoms opened in their midst. The strange blooms filled the house with a new scent that quickened their hearts. With open mouths, the parents and the boy beheld the strange display, until quite suddenly it stopped. The flowers ceased to grow, and the boy slipped the tendrils off his hands. He hardly knew what to think.

As he pushed the flowery vine off his hands, he was surprised by how clean and white his hands had become. Not only that, but his hands were now slimmer and smaller, much like his beloved Parsley's hands. In fact, to make a long story short, he looked down to see a pretty pair of feet, a neat pair of ankles, and a new cotton dress with a floral motif. Above his slim waist were two lovely breasts, one with a tiny parsley-shaped birthmark!

"Now you'll be my Little Parsley!" the witch laughed, and swept the astonished youth away with her.

For a moment, the couple was too stunned to speak, but then they ran with desperate haste to the root cellar where Little Parsley was hidden. They didn't know whether the witch had taken the boy-changed-to-Parsley or Little Parsley herself. When they found their daughter alive and whole, they wept upon her and held her close. The boy's family knew that their son had sacrificed himself to the witch, and they bore it as best they could. At least they knew he was still alive, though Little Parsley's parents never told a soul the change that had befallen him.
 

You may well believe that the boy was astonished to find himself a girl – and not just any girl, but a copy of Little Parsley herself! Ever since he could remember, he longed to be close to the girl, and now he need only look in a mirror to find her.

More surprising than this, though, was the witch. Yes, she was a witch, but not an old and ugly hunchbacked hag. She was a tall, beautiful creature, with long dark hair and perfect teeth. If her powers were not so frightening and her temper so fierce, she would have had suitors from all corners of the earth. But she cared nothing for that.

Back when the new Parsley was still a boy, he heard many terrible stories about this witch – of people she'd killed, of terrors she'd inflicted. She repaid any offense ten or a hundredfold.

In spite of this, the witch, whose name was Gothel, was very sweet with her Little Parsley. She brought her to a neat little house on the edge of a wood. The house was clean and light, and full of comfort. Gothel treated her Parsley like a true daughter. She spoke kindly to her, and combed and braided her hair each night. She taught her how to cook, clean, spin, and sew, and was patient when Parsley, who had not been a girl for very long, was slow to learn.

Even though our Parsley was horrified (at first) by his metamorphosis, he never once asked the witch to change him back. He told himself to give it a try, and soon he liked it so well, that he would have felt ill-used if the witch turned him back to boy again.

When winter came, Gothel taught the girl to play the spinnet, and they sang songs together to pass the long dark nights.

Soon, Parsley came to love the witch, and was happy with her new life, even if she was a little lonely.

In the spring, the flowers appeared, the birds began to sing, and the witch and her daughter started to tend their garden. One warm afternoon, as the witch was washing the dirt from her hands, she realized that a year had passed, and she began to get a little tired of playing house. Even if her Little Parsley was sweet as sweet can be... even if she was pretty, obedient, modest, and all the things she hoped her little girl would be – she was, after all, just a little girl. The witch was getting bored.

Soon Gothel was not so patient. She chastised Little Parsley for her endless prattle. She criticized her forgetfulness. The witch began speaking harshly to the girl, and sometimes struck her.

Parsley was confused, and tried her best to mend her ways. When she was a boy, she'd been so brave – always willing to fight, or at least to stand his ground. Had she lost that lion heart? Or was it better to try to please the witch? After all, Gothel was far more powerful than Little Parsley had ever been or ever would be.

Yet, despite the girl's efforts and goodwill, there was no pleasing the witch, and Gothel's words grew harsher and more frightening. Her blows became heavier and more frequent. She wanted to be rid of the girl, and said to herself, The next time she vexes me, she will die!

One day, the witch handed Little Parsley a wicker basket and told her, "Take this basket, go to the well, and bring it back to me filled with water. If you don't, I will kill you."

Trembling with fear, the girl lowered the basket into the well again and again, but each time she drew it up, the water came streaming out. At last, she broke down in desperation.

Then suddenly she heard a soft voice say, "Little Parsley, why are you crying?"

Turning, she saw a handsome youth, who looked kindly at her, as if he were sorry for her trouble.

"Who are you?" she asked, "and how do you know my name?"

"I'm Bensiabel, the witch's son. I know she wants to kill you, but I promise you that she shall not. I can fill your basket for you, if you give me a kiss."

"No," Little Parsley replied. "I'd rather die than kiss a witch's son."

He sighed in disappointment, but told her, "Give me your basket anyway." He dipped it in the well, and the water stayed in it.

When she brought it to the witch, Gothel grew angry and cried, "Bensiabel must have helped you!" but Little Parsley looked down and said nothing.

"We shall see who will win in the end!" the witch warned her.

The next day, Gothel tossed the girl a sack of wheat. "I'm going out for a hour. By the time I return, I expect you to make that wheat into bread. If you don't, I'll kill you." She left the room, closing and locking the door behind her.

Poor Little Parsley didn't know what to do. If the wheat were already ground into flour, she would be hard pressed to bake bread in time, but how could she even begin to mill the grains? Still, she had to try, and with a mortar and pestle set to work on the wheat. As she struggled, the time flew, and again she broke down at the hopelessness of the task. She was roused from her despair by Bensiabel's voice at her side.

"Little Parsley, don't cry like that. If you give me a kiss, I'll make the bread for you, and you'll be saved."

"I will not kiss a witch's son," the girl replied, but he took the wheat from her anyway. He ground it, made the dough, and put it in the oven so that when Gothel returned, the loaves were ready.

The witch was furious. "Bensiabel must have helped you!" she exclaimed, but Little Parsley looked down and said nothing.

"We shall see who wins in the end!" the witch warned her.

"I'm too soft on this girl," the witch told herself. "Time was, I could have cut her down without a second thought." She shook her head. "I'm not the woman I used to be." So the next day she called the girl and told her, "Go to my sister, who lives on the side of the mountain. She will give you a little casket, which you must bring back to me." She said this because she knew that her sister, who was more cruel and wicked than herself, would never let the girl return.

But Little Parsley, who knew nothing of this, was glad of the change, and enjoyed her walk through wood and mountain.

On the way she thought of Bensiabel. She could not deny that the first time she saw him, something stirred within her. But could she trust him? Gothel herself had started out with kindness, and now she sought to kill her. Was Bensiabel the same? And yet...

He is a good-looking young man, she told herself. If I were a girl... Here Little Parsley stopped herself, for she remembered that she was a girl, but she didn't want to draw the conclusion.

When she was about halfway there, she met Bensiabel, who had set out a little picnic for her in a pretty field in the foothills. She sat with him and rested, and they ate and drank together.

"Where are you going, Little Parsley?" he asked.

"I am going to visit your aunt," she said. "I have to fetch a casket."

"Oh, poor girl!" he cried. "You're being sent straight to your death. Give me a kiss, and I will save you."

"I will not kiss a witch's son," she replied, but she blushed a little as she said it.

He sighed and said, "Nevertheless, I will save your life, for I love you more than I love myself."

At that, she blushed even more, and it made him smile. He gave her a bottle of oil, a loaf of bread, a piece of rope, and a broom. "When you get to my aunt's house," he said, "oil the hinges of the door, and throw the bread to the great fierce mastiff who will come running to meet you. When you enter the courtyard, you'll see a miserable old woman by the well. Give her the rope. Go in through the kitchen, and you'll find another, even more miserable woman. Give her the broom.

"In the kitchen, on top of a green cupboard, you'll see the little casket. Take it as quickly as you can and run from the house without a moment's delay. Unless you do exactly as I've said, you'll be killed."

Little Parsley had listened carefully, and when she reached the witch's house, she oiled the hinges of the door. She threw the bread to the fierce dog, who wagged his tail and gobbled down the loaf.

In the courtyard she met a miserable woman who was trying to draw water from the well in a bucket tied to her own hair. Little Parsley handed the poor thing the piece of rope.

In the kitchen she saw an older, even more miserable woman. This one was cleaning the hearth with her tongue. Horrified, Parsley gave her the broom.

Then she seized the little casket and ran off the way she'd come.

The witch called to the woman in the kitchen, "Strike that girl down!" But the old woman replied, "No, for she gave me a broom, while you made me clean the hearth with my tongue."

Then the witch called to the woman at the well, "Take the girl, and hurl her down the well! Drown her!" But the woman answered, "No, for she gave me this rope, while you made me use my own hair to let down the bucket."

Then the witch called the dog to bite the girl and hold her fast, but the dog answered, "No, for she gave me a loaf of bread, while you let me starve from hunger."

The witch was so angry, she nearly choked as she called out, "Door, bang shut on that nasty girl, and hold her prisoner!" But the door answered, "No, for she oiled my hinges so they move quite easily, while you left them all rough and rusty."

And so Little Parsley escaped, and you can well believe that Gothel was angry and surprised to see the girl stand before her, looking more beautiful than ever, with the little casket under her arm.

The witch's eyes flashed, and in a fit of fury she asked the girl, "Did you meet Bensiabel on the way?" But Little Parsley look down and said nothing.

"We shall see who will win in the end," the witch told her. "Listen to me well: there are three roosters in the hen house. One is yellow, one black, and one white. If one of them crows during the night, you must tell me which one it is. Woe to you if you make a mistake. Your life will be over in that instant."

That night Bensiabel hid outside her window. At midnight, Little Parsley woke to hear a cock crow.

"Which one was that?" shouted the witch.

Little Parsley whispered, "Bensiabel, Bensiabel, tell me, which cock crowed?"

"Will you kiss me if I tell you?" he whispered back.

But she answered "No."

He whispered back to her, "I'll tell you anyway. It was the yellow one. Did I ever tell you what a sweet whisper you have?"

Little Parsley, blushing in the darkness, called out, "It was the yellow one."

The witch noticed how long it took for Little Parsley to reply, and she was sure she knew the reason why. Soon after, another cock crowed. "Tell me now which one it is!" Gothel demanded.

After a short pause, the girl called, "The black one."

Now the witch had had quite enough of Bensiabel's interference, and she wanted to have done with Little Parsley. So she stood outside the girl's door, and the next time a cock crowed, she demanded, "Which one was that?" Listening closely, she heard the girl whisper to her son.

Bensiabel hesitated a moment. The scene seemed irresistably romantic to him – the moon, the window, the night, the girl – and he thought it might be the moment to ask again for a kiss. But his mood was broken when he heard the girl screaming from inside her room, "Bensiabel! Bensiabel, save me! The witch is coming! She's coming for me!"

With a bound, Bensiabel leapt into the room and threw himself against the monster. He pushed her back with such force that she stumbled. Falling headlong, she dropped down dead at the bottom of the stairs.

At last, Little Parsley could resist no longer. She flew into her savior's arms and covered him with kisses. She became his wife, and they lived happily ever after.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way