fairytale - oral tradition style. Not sure about the rest yet
She is in many stories, this Everygirl, wants her life to mean something. She wants to find that something more, that something free that hides around the next bend in the road, over the next green hill. Childhood she’s left behind and feels every day the dull shackles of the ordinary, the everyday, grip her tighter and tighter. A weight of expectation descends and she must disappoint herself or all who know her and want her to be…safe, sensible, sober. What a fate.
She burns for it, yearns for it, until her home feels like a cage, her jobs endless, her time slipping away like water sinking into sand. Her heart is in her throat and beats there. She’s choking on bland. Her skin is too small.
Call her Anna.
And they want her to marry dull, dim Tom the ditchwater Farmboy. She needs no daisy to tell her she loves him not. He stares and stares and his britches bulge at his bony knees as he leans over the gate.
You might say she thinks a lot of herself, this Anna. Who is she? A country girl, she’s no princess. But she belongs to herself – what else does she have? My life, my choice – I’ll have no other. So Anna says.
So one day she leaves her chores. She leaves her home; leaves the hearth-fire to die, the milk to sour, the linen to moulder and the hens to scratch. She ties a cloth around her hair and fills a basket with bread and berries and good yellow cheese.
She sets her feet onto the path and marches with determined strides. Over the hill and around the bend in the road she goes, and into the dark forest where folk say the Beast-kin dwell, and they change their skins at the setting of the sun.