Idrillain

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was so sweet and delicate that anyone who came close enough to the fragile creature had to love her terribly. The dear girl was named Violette, and her heart was soft and friendly, her smile wrapped around the wounded souls of the harried like a warm, powdery balm. And yet: The dear girl, as much as she could delight the hearts of people with her charm, was doomed to lead a lonely life and to find no one who would take her by the hand and lead her home.

How could this be possible?!, wondered the hurried passersby who walked by her and took a hint of her violet-like charm with them on their way. They did not understand. And yet, none of them took her with them. And if it ever happened, one often saw the girl standing alone at a corner again the very next morning, abandoned by the one who had just loved her so dearly.

Now, as fairy tales teach us, there was an explanation for all the suffering that our soft little velvet treasure had to endure. For everything that is pure and lovely in the world finds its envy. It so happened that a spiteful fairy, consumed by jealousy of the fine violet, cursed our dear girl with a dreadful spell. Thus, the delicate creature was doomed to transform into a nasty old woman every new morning; a cheeky, intrusive person, with a tongue as sharp as roughly chopped ginger, wrapped in a musty old crocheted shawl around her crooked shoulders, which smelled as if it had been lying for many years in an old cedar wardrobe next to a dried potpourri of old flowers and dried berries. The old woman, with her sharp tongue and her old rags, was such an unpleasant thing that people avoided her and turned away from her. The old woman did not care; the people did not concern her, and in her grumpiness, she wanted to be alone. But deep in her heart, the dear violet girl cried, for she did not want to be lonely and simply wanted to be loved. Yet our little Violette was brave. Day by day, she stubbornly fought her way out of the sharp muff to the surface, so that after a while, the old woman disappeared, and she was again completely herself, fragrant and lovely, greeted by people with a smile.

Although she was brave, Violette sensed that there could be no happiness for her, and her heart knew she would have to live a lonely, sad life in her little glass world. But then, as is fitting for a good fairy tale, a miracle happened. If you think that a prince rode in to heroically free her from her womanly curse, you are mistaken, dear readers. For it happened quite differently: One beautiful morning, a simple young woman walked through the streets of the city. At the corner, she saw a wrinkled, old, screeching woman standing. Out of pity, she approached the old woman. With each step, a sharp, musty scent hit her nose. And although she instinctively wanted to avoid it, something drew her in. For beneath the commonness of the old woman, the young woman sensed something very fine, fragile, a deep, loving loneliness, and a hint of balm, violets, and fresh fruit. The young woman took the old woman by the arm and led her to her home. She took her in and cared for her lovingly. And over time, the smell and the sharp screeching of the old woman became less harsh and severe. And then suddenly, the old woman transformed, and the dear, delicate girl appeared before the young woman; she was so happy and grateful and hugged the girl for a long time and loved her dearly. "Oh, let it be, you will just put me back on the street anyway when I turn into the old woman again tomorrow morning," Violette whispered softly and sadly. But the young woman knelt down to her and gently whispered in her ear: "My dear, you never have to leave here again, and the old lady can stay too; we will manage with her." And when Violette smiled at her with joy and gratitude, it was as if the whole world was wrapped in a gentle, soft violet breeze.

And so the young woman, the old woman, and the dear violet girl lived happily ever after.

The End.