“What will you give me if I spin all this straw to gold?”
It was mine! She owed me that baby, fair and square; I turned straw to gold, and a stupid farm girl into a stupid queen. Without me, her pretty little neck would have been wrung like a chicken long before she got the chance to have the little creature. It was MINE.
Then she refused, flat out. When I didn’t back down she begged, and I relented. I was too soft, I see that now. I gave her a chance, three in fact, to guess my name and keep my prize; I thought it was a pretty safe gamble, how likely is it a name like mine would leap to mind? But the little wretch was slippery; she cheated. There was no other way!
She had failed both the first and second nights, I was so close to winning I could taste it (maybe in a stew, with carrots and potatoes?) and the third night had arrived. She toyed with me, I see that now, guessing wrong, “George? Peter? Alexander? Walter?…” I was trembling inside, planning the future of my spoils (roasted slowly over an open flame?) when I heard the words. I didn’t believe it, I had her repeat, “Could it be… Rumpelstiltskin?”
She stole it from me! It was MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! I was angry, no I was furious! And I raged, and I stamped, stamped, stamped! And I stamped so hard… and that foolish, foolish farm girl was released from her troubles yet again, and like every time before, it was I who released her. That baby would have been delicious.