Author: Krista

Longing. That’s the first thing I feel when I wake up. But these days, it’s always the first thing my sisters and I feel when we wake up. It gets worse and worse every day, the longing for the night. 

There are little stirring noises around me. My sisters are waking. Adrian yawns and stretches in the bed beside me. 

“Breakfast is served, Your Majesties,” calls the soft voice of one of the serving girls. 

Lily, the next youngest after me, throws a pillow half-heartedly at the servant from across the room. “Five more minutes,” she mumbles. 

“Begging your pardon, Mistresses, but the King insists.” The serving girl comes over to help me dress. 

One by one, my eleven older sisters begin to get dressed. The serving girl pulls the dress over my head and helps me pull it down over my twisted legs. She helps to strap the braces around my legs and slide my feet into my slippers. She glances around as my sisters shuffle toward our bedroom door. 

“I don’t understand it, Miss,” she says, “won’t you tell us why your sisters’ slippers are worn to shreds every morning? Yours are all right, but where are your canes?” 

“She must have misplaced them,” Bria, the eldest, comes over to me. “Lily and I will help her down to breakfast. See if you can’t find Elise new canes.” 

Looping her arm around my back, under my shoulders, Bria helps me stand and Lily comes to stand on my other side. 

“You really must stop losing your canes,” Bria says to me and winks.

“You really must stop wearing out your shoes every night,” I grin back. We’ve only walked to the door, but already I’m out of breath. 

“How is it today?” Bria asks.

“I’m just extra tired. It’s hard to move my legs when I’m so tired.” 

Bria nods. We come to the breakfast room and Lily pulls my chair out for me. Father comes in and sits down at the head of the table. He frowns in my direction and sighs. 

“Your canes, Elise?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, Father, they have vanished.” 

“And the rest of you?” he asks, looking around at the others. “Your shoes?”

Adrian lifts a slipper to show him the holes worn right through. 

“Well the cobbler certainly won’t go out of business,” Father says dryly. “And the prince who was to guard you and discover the mystery?”

We all shrug, exchanging glances. Of course we know where Prince Atua is. We know where all the princes are, but we couldn’t tell, even if we wanted to. The enchantment prevents it. 

Father sighs. “Tonight we’ll try a different tact. Branwell will stay in the adjoining room. He will have three nights to discover your secret, if he can even last one without vanishing like the others.” 

“Branwell?” says Lily. “The woodcarver?”

Adrian nudges me as if I didn’t hear. 

“The very same,” Father eyes me over his coffee. 

I put some eggs in my mouth, trying to ignore him. I hate it when he looks at me like I’m a problem to be solved. 

Bria looks to father and then to me. “You’ve promised him Elise’s hand if he discovers the secret,” she guesses. 

“I couldn’t very well promise his pick of you. He’s no prince.” 

“But I’m expendable because I can barely walk,” I say. I want it to sound like a joke, like I think it’s funny, but the words are acid in my mouth.

“He does like you though,” Lily says. 

“That’s not the point. Father doesn’t care if Branwell loves me or how I feel about him. But Father can’t marry me off to some prince because I’m damaged goods.”

“If you’d just let her get one of those rolling chairs we’ve seen,” Bria pauses, “down in the village—” 

“She’s a princess, she must not appear weak. The canes are shame enough. Besides, what does it matter? Eleven princes have failed, why should a woodcarver succeed?”

I push back from the table and rise unsteadily to my feet. 

“Elise,” Bria says but I wave her off. I don’t have my new canes yet so the steps are slow and difficult, but I get out of the room and no one stops me. The room opens onto a mezzanine overlooking the grand entry hall. I sink onto an upholstered bench abutting the gilded balustrade. I’m breathing hard, hot tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“Miss Elise?” It’s Branwell’s voice. I take a deep breath and blink hard. He comes up the wide stairs clutching two long, dark pieces of wood. “I have new canes for you. I was hoping to catch you before you left breakfast.” 

“My, you carved these ones fast,” I say, reaching out and taking the soft, carved wood. It is warm under my fingers. Branwell’s canes are things of beauty. They stretch from the floor to the middle of my upper arms, where they are curved to fit around arms from behind, so that I can lean into them. There are handles that Branwell has carved into grips that fit perfectly into my hands. They are perfect. And still how I hate them. 

“I started stocking up on them,” he says smiling a little bashfully. “I’ll bring a supply up to your room later so that when you wake up in the morning, you won’t have to wait for me to carve a new one every day.” 

I look up into his sweet open face, his soft curling hair and brown eyes. The ‘thank you’ get caught in my throat and instead I say, “Don’t do it.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Whatever you’re planning, whatever you think you know, don’t try to solve the mystery.”

“Tell me, princess,” he whispers.

I open my mouth but no more will come out; I’ve said all the enchantment will let me say. I position the new canes and get up slowly. He reaches to help me and puts firm hands around my back. He touches the place in the middle of the back where the scar is. It is the place where the surgeon had to cut away the sac full of spinal fluid that protruded from my back when I was born. Bria tells me even a magician was present to help with complications, but they could not repair the damage. When Branwell puts pressure on the scar, I cry out before I can stop myself. He draws his hands away like I’ve burned him.

“I’m sorry, Princess, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” I wave him away and hobble down the corridor, looking for a place to be alone. 

Walking for me is a little like falling. Sometimes I feel graceful, like the stilt-walkers at  the carnivals that come to the kingdom every summer. Other times I feel ungainly, like an insect with too many legs. Today is one of the latter days. I lean forward into the crutches, my rolling steps limping laboriously after. 

***

Lily finds me later in the library. She taps the top of my book and I lower it. 

“You know we don’t think you’re expendable. And you are worthy of any prince. The question is whether he is worthy of you.” She taps my nose with a fingertip. 

“I don’t even want a prince,” I say.

“I know, sweet. He does love you though, the woodcarver.”

“How could he?” I gesture vaguely at my body, at the legs I can barely feel, that won’t support me, at the catheter, at the sensitive scar tissue, at the fatigue, deep in my muscles. 

“You know that’s not what love is about.” Lily puts an arm around my shoulders, careful not to touch my back. 

“It still feels like a barrier between us,” I say.

“He carves through the barrier every day, when he makes you new canes.” 

***

We are readying for bed. There is an air of high anticipation, but we are all trying to hide it from the servants as they turn back the covers and draw the curtains over our tall windows. We climb into bed. Father and Branwell come in a few minutes later.

“I will leave it to you, woodcarver,” Father says seriously.

Branwell nods and goes into the adjoining bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. Father withdraws and the candles are snuffed out. 

We do not sleep, only lie in the darkness fidgeting, waiting. Finally, midnight comes and the clock begins to chime. Bria lights a candle. 

“Lily,” she says, “go retrieve our guest.” Lily goes into the next room and leads Branwell back to the room. He looks perplexed, unsure if he should raise an alarm. 

Two of my sisters help me into my braces again and I stand on my four legs, two flesh, two wooden. 

Bria turns the ornate wooden lion’s head carved at the top of one of her bedposts and the long space that runs down the center of our room between the two rows of beds sinks down revealing a smooth ramp into the darkness. 

We are giggling now, trying to remain quiet, but unable to contain our glee. Bria takes Branwell’s arm and together they descend into the dark. The other eleven of us file in behind her, Lily and I bringing up the rear. Bria goes slow to make sure I can keep up. 

At the end of the ramp we enter a twilight forest. The leaves of the trees are made of silver and they ripple and sway in the soft, fragrant breeze. Now we are not quiet. We laugh and shout in a state of excitement. Branwell stares around, eyes wide.

The leaves on the trees shift from silver to gold as we pass through a field of jeweled flowers, sparkling like dew drops. Branwell stoops to gather a bouquet and Bria and my sisters sweep past him, on their way to the lake. 

“Take nothing,” I say softly to him. 

He looks quizzically at me. “I thought to gather some for you.” 

I smile before I can stop myself, but I do not take the flowers. I say, “Everything in this place has a price.” I limp on toward the boats. 

My sisters have already been helped into elegant rowboats by eleven dashing princes, so Branwell helps me into the last and joins me, taking up the oars. On an island in the center of the lake, the castle looms brightly. Lights twinkle in all the windows, casting a soft glow onto the water. The white marble glimmers and the turrets rise gracefully heavenward. 

He is there at the docks to greet us. He is tall and thin as ever. Sharp. His smile like a knife, his dark hair swept back from his face and tied with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. At least partially, we come for him. 

“Princess Elise,” he says. His voice is soft and low and warm. “Will you take the chair this evening?”

“I always do, Lord Shade,” I tell him. 

He extends a thin, long-fingered hand and helps me from the boat. One of his faerie attendants has brought down the chair and I sit in it gratefully. The walk from our room is tiring. The chair is exquisite. The seat is plush velvet. Tonight it is red. Somehow, Shade manages to match the chair to my gown every evening. The wooden wheels are plated in gold and silver. The armrests are outfitted in many brass buttons and knobs that I can use to drive it, if I don’t feel like pushing it. 

Shade brings my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles. 

“Anything for you, Princess.”

“Will you let me take it with me tonight?” I ask.

His face falls elegantly. “Alas, Princess, that I cannot do, as you well know.” 

I sigh. “Well, it never hurts to ask, I suppose.” 

Shade moves to the back of the wheeled chair and pushes me forward. He doesn’t have to do this; I could drive, but I like his nearness. We come to the long banqueting table and Shade pushes me to my place at the foot of the table. Branwell, who has followed us, dumbstruck, sits beside me. Shade goes to the head of the long table and spreads his arms wide, magnanimous. “Eat, my guests.” 

My sisters and I dig in, laughingly. The princes, blank-eyed, eat and converse charmingly. Branwell looks around. 

“Don’t eat,” I whisper to him. 

He looks at me. 

“And don’t drink, not if you don’t want to stay.”

He eyes the other princes, the eleven young men who tried to discover our secret before him. They are happy and animated, but I can tell he sees there is something off about them, some docility, some dimness behind their eyes.

“But why—” he begins. 

“Ask no questions.” I take a long draft from my wineglass and tuck into the feast. 

There are courses upon courses. We eat until we can eat no more. Then Shade rises from his places and cries, “Let us dance!”

He takes Bria’s hand and leads her from the table. The rest of my sisters pair off and we proceed to the ballroom. The wide, glass doors to the veranda are thrust open to the warm night air and fireflies twinkle in the garden beyond. Music seeps in from somewhere, as though the walls themselves are playing for us. We dance. 

Branwell is my partner. The chair makes it so much easier for me to move. Every night I marvel at how easily I can turn, at how I hardly get tired. I could never dream of dancing on my feet with my canes. 

“Elise,” Branwell whispers to me as he turns my chair from behind. “Please tell me what is going on. Are you trapped here? Imprisoned? You are forced to come here every night?” 

“We love it here,” I say, which is true. 

“Elise, there is something wrong. That man—”

“May I cut in?” Shade is at Branwell’s shoulder, dark and tall, his thin smile in place.

Branwell bows and steps back. I smile up at Shade. I think we are all a little in love with him, the architect of our dreams. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Princess?” he asks me in his soft voice. 

“I always do.”

“The boy, am I right in thinking you are fond of him?”

“I am,” I admit. My eyes find Branwell by the wall, watching us closely. 

“I am glad. We are a full party now, twelve princesses and twelve princes.” There is something almost ominous in his voice, but perhaps I have misunderstood him. 

At the end of the dance, Shade sweeps me a deep bow and kisses the back of my hand. He has now danced with each of my sisters, as he does every night. We dance until my sisters’ slippers are worn through and sunlight is beginning to gild the gardens and the lake as dawn breaks. The last song finishes and Bria claps her hands. Groaning, we return to the boats. Shade reappears to help me out of the chair and into the boat. 

“I always hate to see you go,” he whispers to me, settling me in the rowboat. 

“We hate to go, too.” Already I can feel the weight of missing the castle by the lake. It settles into my heart like a deep ache and I can’t wait for tomorrow night. 

“He has enchanted you all,” whispers Branwell, pulling the oars smoothly. “He is a sorcerer, a trickster, or…or worse! A demon!” 

I am craning my neck to look back at the castle to catch one last glimpse of the glimmering light. 

“He is trapping you here. One night you will come down and you will not escape.”

“Would that be so bad?” I shoot back. “We could dance and I could have that beautiful chair and Shade never makes me feel like I am deformed or crippled or less than my sisters. He does not look at me the way my father does.” I realize I am crying and wipe furiously at my wet cheeks. 

“Elise,” Branwell whispers, “this world is not real.” 

We’ve arrived back on the shore and I climb laboriously back out of the boat, taking Lily’s and Adrians arms. The boats head back to the castle and I see Branwell no more. I wonder if he heeded my warning. I wonder if he ate the faerie food.

Somewhere inside me, I know he is right, but I could never give up that place. None of us could. We walk slowly back through the glittering forest and up the ramp into our room. Bria closes the passage and we fall into our beds to sleep a few hours before we will be woken for breakfast.

***

There is a new pair of canes by my bed when I wake. Tied to them with a blue ribbon is a sprig of silver leaves. I look around for Branwell. How could he have escaped the forest?

We plod through the day. We are tired and my sisters look pale and drawn. It is as though we are addicted to the magic. 

I go out to the garden slowly. I go everywhere slowly. It feels like it takes more effort than usual to move my partially paralyzed legs. I think of the beautiful chair. My father could have one built for me. His is the king. I am not like those poor wretches in the village who must beg for scraps on street corners. But my father would not have the shame of a daughter who could not walk. Who had given up. 

I find a bench among the rose bushes and sink onto it. Somewhere nearby, in the labyrinthine gardens, a fountain bubbles and splashes softly. Presently, I hear voices floating on the slight breeze. 

“I must say, I am surprised to see you survived last night. Have you discovered the secret?”

“Not everything, sir. I will need the next two nights. I believe they are under an enchantment. I will discover how to break it.”

It is Branwell’s voice. I crane my neck, trying to see where they are. I don’t know how Branwell made it back unseen. I am caught somewhere between wanting him to succeed and break the spell and never wanting the magic to end. 

***

That night we return, like fish caught on a line, unavoidably drawn down to the twilight kingdom. 

“How did you escape?” I whisper to Branwell as he pulls our boat over the lake. 

“You saved me, Princess,” he says. “I did not eat or drink, but I have one or two more tricks.” 

I think back to the first night my sisters and I had come here. How we had not remembered the old warnings from our bedtime stories, how everything had seemed innocent, a dream. 

We feast and dance. There is a triumphant twist in Shade’s smile tonight. When he comes to dance with me, he brings a cup to wine to Branwell.

“A drink for you, good sir.”

Branwell takes it, smiling. He pretends to drink. Shade whisks me onto the dance floor once more. 

“He thinks to outsmart me,” Shade says, lips close to my ear. “He wishes to leave you.”

“No,” I say, I can’t help myself. “He wishes to save us.”

Shade scoffs. It is an ugly sound. The dance brings him back around in front of my chair, and his face is twisted into an expression I have not seen before. It changes his thin, handsome face into a wolfish mask. I am, for the first time, a little afraid of him. Then, in the next moment, his features are smoothed out, back into elegant gentlemanliness. I am left wondering which face was the mask. 

“Why would you wish to leave me?” he asks softly, sadly. “I have created your dreams.”

“One cannot live forever in a dream,” I say. 

“Why ever not?” But before I can answer, he says, “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” I say truthfully. I think of the real world, my father’s world, how empty and colorless it is without magic. 

“Worry not, my dear,” Shade says bringing his face close to mine. “Your dreams will come true. I just need a little more of you.” 

He kisses my cheek before pulling away and I am left wondering what he meant. 

***

The next morning new canes are propped by my bed, a gold sprig bound to one of them. Again Branwell had vanished with the other princes but somehow has managed to resurface. 

All of us feel ill today. I do not even get out of bed. I sink in and out of dreams of the twilight kingdom, yearning, fearing, loving. Branwell’s kind open face shifts to Shade’s thin, long face which contorts into that wolfish grin and I awake, sweating and shaking. 

When the lights go out for the night, we suddenly feel renewed. We dress for the ball and for the third night, Branwell accompanies us into the darkness. In the field of jeweled flowers, he picks one and tucks it into my hair. 

“You should not have taken them,” I say, thinking of the sprigs of leaves he has already left me. 

“Do not worry for me, Princess,” he says. 

The feast is a little subdued that night. Something feels wrong, feels final. Shade stands at the end of the meal and chimes a knife against his glass.

“My guests,” he begins. “I have built you this castle of dreams and magic. After many nights, it is finally strong enough for you to stay here. You need not ever leave.” He smiles his knife-smile around at all of us. “There are only a few things left to make it official.”

He snaps his fingers and one of his Faerie attendants brings him an ornate goblet. 

“I hope, Branwell,” he says looking down the table at him, “that you will stay with us. I know you favor Elise,” he brings the goblet to Branwell who takes it with trepidation. “You can never truly be together unless you drink.” 

Branwell is looking at me; his eyes are sad. I shake my head, wordlessly at him. He looks back at the ruby-liquid. He raises the goblet to his lips.

“No!” I cry and try to roll my chair forward, but Shade, standing behind me, holds it still. I lurch forward, up onto unsteady legs and I try to knock the cup from his hands, but Branwell has already tossed back the wine into his open mouth. 

I lose my balance on my fatigued and traitorous legs and fall against Branwell. He catches me and holds me to his chest where I sob, “Why did you do that?”

“I can’t take you away from here. You love it. So I will stay for you.” He strokes my hair and kisses me. He draws back to look at me and I watch the light fade from his eyes until they are as blank as the rest. 

I stumble away from him, falling back into the chair, my hands over my face. 

“There is but one thing left,” Shade says, all smiles. Whatever his plan is, it is working. 

“Princess Bria, I shall need a queen to govern with me in the Shadow Realm and it would be good to have you by my side when I strike your father down and claim your kingdom. It will make the transition easier.” 

Bria sits straight and tall. “This I will not do.”

“So be it,” Shade snaps his fingers and his faerie servants appear from everywhere, grabbing my sisters and the princes and Branwell. “Take them to the dungeons. Perhaps Princess Bria will reconsider her position after a few nights down there.” 

Shade turns to me, the last. “You, sweet Elise. I shall not lock you up. I hardly need to.”

He puts a finger on the chair and the controls melt away, so I can only move it by pushing the wheels. 

“What have you done to us?” I spit at him.

He smiles. “Each time you eat my food, dance to my music, a little of your humanity bleeds away into me.”

“Why would you want our humanity?” I ask. 

“Oh, you simple creature. I cannot cross into your world without it. I am a shade, bound to the Shadow Realm. But you have given yourselves to me and I will use your gift well, my dear, worry not. The first thing I will do is kill your intolerant father.”

“I will stop you,” I say.

But Shade just laughs putting out a finger to touch my forehead. My vision stretches, like I am zooming down a long tunnel away from him. When I can see again, I am at the bottom of a long flight of stairs, beside the cells in which my sisters are imprisoned. Bria reaches out an arm to me and I roll forward to take it. 

“I’ve failed you all,” says Bria, “I should not have been so stupid.” 

“I will get you out,” I say. “I will stop him.”

Bria looks at me. She does not say anything, but I know she thinks I will not be able to. She has resigned herself to be a prisoner. I look up the long staircase and take a deep breath. I stand up. I can do this. I pull the velvet cushions off the chair and toss them aside, hoping to make the chair a little lighter. I hook one elbow through the armrest and brace my other hand against the stone wall and take the first step up. Bring the other leg to join the first. Lift the chair up sideways behind me, the wheels on the right side of the chair on the first step, the wheels on the left still at the bottom. I look up the staircase stretching endlessly before me. I am tired already. Leaning into the wall, I take another step. And on and on. I stop to rest several times, leaning my shoulder against the wall, but even just being on my feet is tiring. I go on, the wheelchair bumping after me. 

After what seems like an eternity, I’m at the top of the stairs. I heave the chair up the last step and sink into it. Glory. Now it is easy. I am fast and powerful. I’ve come up from the dungeons in a side room off the ballroom. I wheel across it and out the entrance and down to the boats. 

I have to get out of the chair again to get into the boat but the wide, flat bottom of the boat is wide enough for me to put down the chair and sit back down. I lock the wheels and position the oars. I stroke across the lake, repeat my maneuvering to get out of the boat. The sandy path is harder to roll through than the polished ballroom floor but I am so close to my goal. 

I reach the trapdoor and wheel up the ramp, my arms burning. Immediately when I reach the top, I am struck with nausea and dizziness. My chest tightens and I can feel my racing heart pulsing, vibrating my body. I stop for a moment, closing my eyes. This must be a reaction to reentering the human world. All those nights of eating faerie food have been slowly tethering us to the twilight kingdom. 

I take a deep breath. A headache is building behind my eyes and all I can think about is going back down to the glittering ballroom. 

“Get a grip,” I mutter and shake my head, trying to clear it. I wheel over to the stack of canes Branwell had left me. I put one on my lap and head out in search of my father, hoping I am not too late. 

It is just past dawn and morning light filters in the windows. Father usually rises early to go for a walk in the gardens. He likes to watch the sunrise and think about matters of state. 

I arrive at the sweeping marble staircase to the entrance of the palace. Down will be easier than up though, right?

Because there’s two smaller wheels in front and two bigger wheels in back, I don’t think I can go down facing forward. I have an image in my head of trying to roll the chair down and falling face first with the chair on top of me. 

I turn around, lining myself up with the bannister. I put one hand on the bannister and the other on the wheel. I go down one step at a time. There is a moment of suspended time as each step ends and I feel myself falling onto the next one. It is terrifying but it gives me something to focus on other than the nausea. 

I finally reach the ground floor and wheel out the big double doors and into the gardens. I find my father sitting beneath the statue of my mother, who had died shortly after my birth. He is facing east, watching the sky change color. 

“Father!” I cry.

He turns to look at me, brow furrowing. I bend over the wheelchair arm to retch. 

“Elise, what are you—”

“Father, you’re in danger,” I say, trying to regain control of my nausea and light-headedness. I look around. Shade hasn’t found him yet. I suppose he must be searching the palace. 

“So you’ve just given up walking now?” he says, getting to his feet. He towers over me. “Where did you get that thing?”

“This is not the time for this discussion,” I say. “But for your information, I get to decide what’s best for my body and I like the mobility of the wheelchair. I don’t get tired so easily.”

Father shakes his head at me in disapproval and for a moment I think about letting Shade have him, this man who has never seen me as more than my disability, who has never accepted my disability as part of me. 

But then Shade steps out from behind the statue, sword raised behind my father.

I roll forward and hit my father in the leg with my cane that I’ve been carrying in my lap. He makes a surprised sound and steps sideways. I raise the cane and catch Shade’s strike on the wood, causing my whole arm to vibrate. His eyes widen in surprise at seeing me there. 

Still holding the cane in one hand, I grab one wheel and roll it forward, turning my chair and rolling the wheel right over Shade’s foot. He cries out and I slam the cane into the middle of his back. He falls. 

By then, my father has collected himself enough to call for guards. Shade tries to get up but I hit him in the back of the head with the cane. 

***

We take Shade back to his twilight kingdom in iron manacles. I can see his skin burning under the iron. We release my sisters and the princesses and Branwell and we leave the twilight kingdom forever. This time when we leave, it does not hurt. One by one, the cobwebs fade from the eyes of the princes and Branwell. 

He smiles, pushing my wheelchair up the ramp, back into our bedroom. He leans toward my ear. “You were pretty amazing.” 

“I was, wasn’t I?” I say, grinning. 

My father still looks a bit dazed. He dismisses the princes, unsure what else to do with them and turns to Branwell. “I suppose I must fulfill my promise to you, for saving my daughters.”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I saved all of us and you. No offense, Branwell, but you were no help at all. So in return, Father, you can give me Branwell’s hand in marriage, some significant remodeling of the palace to include ramps and elevators, and some aid legislation for other citizens of the kingdom with disabilities.”

Father blinks at me. 

“I’ve let you silence me for too long. I shall not let it happen again.” 

Father looks around at his other eleven daughters. “We’re with Elise,” Bria says. 

“Um. Branwell, find a few more carpenters to help you with castle renovations. Elise, my council and I shall review the legislation once you’ve drafted it.” He hesitates a moment, “And you may marry whomever you choose, a prince or a woodcarver or anyone.” 

“Thank you for your blessing, thought I intend to do as I choose from now on.”

My father nods and withdraws; he knows when he’s been beaten. 

Branwell squeezes my shoulder and kisses my temple. “Is this the part where we live happily ever after?”

(Word count: 5485)

Write-up for Major Project

The purpose of this project was to try to increase accurate and non-stereotypical representation of disability in literature. Grimm’s fairytales are a huge part of Western literary canon so I chose to rewrite the Twelve Dancing Princesses with a disabled narrator. While it can be argued that some classic fairytales do include characters in disabling circumstances or minor physical or mental disabilities (the dwarves from Snow White, for example, or the Steadfast Tin Soldier who has one leg), there are not really any that portray disability in a way that is not pitiable, or in some way a result of a moral failing, or curable by the right potion or a completion of tasks. My aim with this story was to give a character with a significant mobility impairment a starring role in a story primarily about mobility. 

I chose spina bifida as the disability for my main character because I wanted her to have limited mobility, sometimes walking and sometimes taking a wheelchair. I did some research on spina bifida and watched a lot of YouTube videos made by vloggers with spina bifida, sharing their stories. I would have liked to do more research and I am sure that my character could have been more believable. I do not have the experience of having spina bifida and I have not done nearly enough research to claim that I accurately portrayed the disability. But, due to limited time, this is what I’ve come up with. 

I also wanted to make sure not to write ‘inspiration porn,’ although I’m really not sure how well I succeeded at that. I tried to keep in mind what we’ve read in class about characters like Lennie who don’t get to use their own voice so I wanted to make sure the character with a disability got to tell the story; the Grimm version is omniscient but follows the soldier on his way to try to discover the mystery of the princess’ shoes. 

I was not super happy with the ending of the story, which I felt was a little too neat and not quite believable and maybe plays into the idea of inspiration porn. It also is pretty abrupt, although the original fairytale ends: “And the king asked the soldier which of them he would choose for his wife; and he answered, ‘I am not very young, so I will have the eldest.’—And they were married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king’s heir,” which is also abrupt and not a great ending. 

Looking at the original Grimm story, there’s really not much there, no character development, not too much conflict, and barely a plot. So I added an antagonist and a curse. I also gave the role of saving the day to the youngest princess, my protagonist, and my disabled character. In the original version, a soldier saves the day; I include an equivalent of that character in my woodcarver, but in the interest of feminism and disability studies, I didn’t want him to be the one to save all the princesses.   

With more editing and research, I think this story could be really successful. I am not great at writing short stories; novellas and novels are more my medium, so I’m sorry the story ended up quite a bit longer than you asked it to be. New versions of fairytales are in fashion right now (see Cinder by Marissa Meyer, whose Cinderella could arguably be a disabled character), so I think that rewriting old stories with societal changes in mind can be really beneficial. Everyone should be able to find good representations of themselves in literature and conversely, I think everyone should be able to read about people whose experiences are vastly different from their own. Fantasy is a genre that is traditionally very white and very male, including female characters, characters of color, and characters with disability as plot points (see Lord of the Rings, where Arwen serves the function of Aragorn’s love interest). More and better representation in media is the future and people are starting to demand that of Hollywood and publishers are looking for more diverse voices. I want to be part of the movement. 

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Works Consulted

Grimm, Jacob and Wilhelm. “The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces.” Children’s and Household tales—Grimms’ Fairy Tales. Translated by D. L. Ashliman, 2004. Final edition, Berlin 1857. https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm133.html

Nordqvist, Christian. “What you need to know about spina bifida.” Medical News Today. https:// www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/220424.php. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“Question Time: Living with Spina Bifida.” YouTube, uploaded by Attitude, 26 Oct. 2017. https://youtu.be/OZRACu5_wUU. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“Spina Bifida.” Mayo Clinic. https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/spina-bifida/ symptoms-causes/syc-20377860. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“Storytime: Living with Spina Bifida.” YouTube, uploaded by Jorden’s Books and Looks, 27 Dec. 2015. https://youtu.be/BgDM9r4QHUk. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“What is Spina Bifida?” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. https://www.cdc.gov/ ncbddd/spinabifida/facts.html. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.