There had once been a rich kingdom, populated by merchants and traders of all fashions who reveled in their abundant wealth. Roads were paved with the finest silver, and lamplight danced across the streets, bouncing against the gold knockers that adorned each and every door. All who searched for the comfort of excess found themselves within the walls of this fantastical kingdom; and in the center stood, tall and proud like a beacon, a glorious castle- and there lived the King.
The King had the most out of all who resided within his marvelous kingdom. His throne was an ivory splendor, and as the sun kissed it, it bathed the King, who sat upon cushions made with the softest silk spun by spiders, in a blinding glow. Every floor within the castle had been hand-carved with the most intricate patterns, decorated with the dust made of the mother-of-pearl from a thousand and twenty-one shells that washed upon the beaches below the cliffs that blocked his land from the jealous sea, who could only rage against the cliffside in protest; for it did not have anything as equally beautiful as the Kings’ palace.
But the King, even in all his wealth and good fortune, was unhappy with his hoard. His taste had grown finer and finer with every new gold plated mirror, and with every new silken robe that was promised to be lighter than the clouds that hung below the heavens. So refined was his taste;even the wealthiest merchant in his kingdom could not offer him anything he did not already possess. Time and time again, men with plenty came and went through the castle gates without ever impressing the King who had more than any mortal could fathom.
Then, on a day in which the storm clouds spit hail upon the earth and the heavens cracked with light, came along a beggar-woman wrapped in wet cloth colored by the berries and flowers that only grew within the winding forestry that walled the kingdom from almost every side. Barefoot, and dirty with stray leaves sticking to the bottom of her rags frayed from the thorns of the brush of the woods, she carried with her a plain cloth covering a small object into the castle of the King.
‘Who are you, who dares to come to me, filthy and plain?’ he bellowed throughout the throne room, high upon his ivory throne that shone in defiance of the black storm billowing outside. The beggar-woman curtsied with guards at the ready- waiting for the Kings’ word to send her away with their spears and swords.
‘I come from the mountains, far within the trees,’ she spoke, and her voice betrayed her appearance as it sung clearer than any bell; it was the envy of all singers, who sounded of croaks in comparison, ‘I know of the Sun, who graced me with a gift for my devotion to her. But now I must return to the high peaks for her warm embrace in the winter, and I have no need for it now. I wish to pass this gift to you, he who only sees his reflection in the mirror.’ she explained.
From within the plain cloth she cradled in her arms came a vase. It was a stunning vase that glinted on every facet of its body as if it were made of diamond, but it was instead glass of the most vivid of colors. Its splendor casted a halo of rainbow around it as the beggar-woman carried it in her firm grasp. The vase was the most beautiful thing within the castle, even more beautiful than the Kings’ white throne.
But every knight in the Kings’ command stayed at the ready. The King was stricken with the gift, however it was only a vase- nothing special.
‘You bring me a fine gift, but yet it is nothing but a simple vase. What difference does it have from the plain pots and pans in the kitchen, or the goblets that hold my wine?’
‘This vase is special, forged from the rainbow that only shows itself in the mists of water that bend the Suns’ light in their droplets. Within it, every beauty in the world is found inside- reflected in the water with which it is filled.’
It sounded much too good to be true, as the wealthy King atop his throne commanded that the beggar-woman prove it to him; only then will he accept her gift. She pulled from her hip a hollow gourd full of fresh water from the rivers that cut the mountains. Pouring it into the vase, she presented it to the King.
He peered inside and saw not his face looking back at him, but the most beautiful scenery. From the humble meadow of newly bloomed wildflowers carpeting the rolling field in nothing but delicate colors, as the petals of the plants opened to bask in the warmth of the spring sun, to the ever-expansive sky that painted itself with the gradients of vivid pinks, bold blues, and glorious reds as stars freckled the canvas, as if the white light of heaven was poking holes through the sky itself. He saw beautiful landscapes, beautiful people, beautiful lights and colors found all throughout the world. Every earthly beauty showed itself through the reflection of the water within the little vase that cupped it.
The King of plenty offered everything for the vase, but the beggar woman insisted it was a gift- and only requested she have her gourd filled with more water to replace what she had used to fill the vase.
High up in the Kings’ tallest tower, the little vase stayed with a walnut table and matching chair as its only company. He kept it to himself, locking it up with the most loyal of his guard posing sentry at the hefty door to the spire. The King obsessed over his new acquisition, paranoid that any and all who learned of its majesty would do anything to steal it from under his nose. Every moment he spent in that tower, staring into the water of the vase to experience all the beauty in the world from the comfort of his castle walls.
In time, the King forgot about his kingdom in which he neglected to rule, leaving his people abandoned; leaving them by themselves in favor of the little glass vase. Without a proper king to bring prosperity once more to their rich land, the fortunes of those who lived in the kingdom dwindled rapidly, and dried up into nothing. Crops within the fields of farmers, who before brang carts behind carts of hearty vegetables and thick chops of meats to the bustling markets, died within their plowed rows as they rotted back into the soil, leaving food scarce. The silver paved roads now looked no better than the dull iron that barred the jail, as the desperate people melted their gold door knockers in the pots of their kitchens in hopes of keeping food in their bellies and rags on their backs. But still, the King remained in his castle full of hoarded wealth and the little vase full of beauty.
The people became enraged! Their ruler has brought them prosperity no longer! They took to the castle gates in a destructive wave of bodies, flooding into the throneroom roaring the same as the thunder that followed the little beggar-woman from before. The King, however, was already barred in his highest tower with his little vase that stayed placed upon the walnut table with the matching chair. The people of the kingdom ravaged the piles of wealth; they pulled embellished banners down from the ceilings with great force ripping them from their poles. They took his silk pillows and his pots and pans and his goblet that held his exotic wine. Further and further the people raged through the castle, as even the most loyal of knights in the kings’ arsenal could not survive the onslaught of scorned subjects.
Realizing what was happening below him outside of the tower door, the King threw himself into a panic as he took his vase off of the table and placed it on the single open windowsill of the tower. He heaved the walnut table down the winding steps in hopes of boarding the door; none may enter inside.
But as he was busy working the hefty table in front of the door to the spire at the very bottom of the winding staircase, through the open window flew a black crow, much darker than most. Casting its gaze upon the vase that sparkled in the light, it was struck with its glamor. The crow picked the glass vase up with its beak, and stole away with it back into the trees from which it had come.