The Tale of Rumplestiltskin, as Told by Alice Our Mad Mad Queen
“Well, well, darlings,” Alice purred, her crown teetering dangerously to the left as she perched on the edge of a crimson throne. “You want a story, hmm? A bit of scandal, a touch of betrayal, and, oh, let’s throw in some spinning wheels and gold for good measure, yes?
Delightful! Sit tight, darlings, because it’s time for a tale. And who better to tell it than moi, the Mad Hatter who also happens to be the Queen of Hearts. Off with their—you-know-whats included, naturally.”
She took a dramatic sip of tea from a cup that may or may not have been empty, then slammed it down. “Now, this particular story begins with a pompous little troll of a man with a name that sounds like someone sneezed in reverse—Rumplestiltskin.
Honestly, who names their child that? If my parents had tried, I would have given them a nice slice of 'off with their heads!' But I digress."
She leaned forward, her mismatched eyes gleaming. “There was a miller. A useless bag of hot air. Claimed his daughter could spin straw into gold. And let me just say, if lies were currency, that man would’ve been richer than the Red City’s vaults! So naturally, the king got involved. Because nothing screams ‘I’m a responsible monarch’ like threatening a girl’s life unless she performs literal alchemy overnight. Charming, isn’t he?”
Alice twirled a lock of her hair, her tone growing sharper. “Enter Rumplestiltskin. A little gremlin who skulked out of the shadows with all the charm of a wet mop. Oh, he offered to help, alright, but not out of kindness—nooooo. He wanted something in return. Her necklace, her ring, and finally, her firstborn child! Because nothing says ‘fair trade’ like extortion.”
She stood suddenly, sending her teacup crashing to the floor. “And the girl? Well, she agreed, because what choice did she have? But let me tell you, if I’d been there, I’d have told him, ‘Oh, darling, I’ll give you my firstborn the day you grow an inch and stop looking like a goblin’s leftover dinner.’”
Alice began pacing, her dress swishing dramatically. “The girl, of course, escaped his clutches by guessing his ridiculous name. Can you imagine? He was dancing around a fire, singing his name like a fool. ‘Rumplestiltskin is my name!’ Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s survived this long with that level of subtlety.”
She paused, turning to her captive audience with a wicked grin. “And when she guessed right? Oh, he threw a tantrum, the likes of which even I, Queen of Mad Things, could admire. Stomped his foot so hard he split the earth and vanished. Good riddance!”
Alice plopped back onto her throne, her grin widening. “And that, my dears, is the story of Rumplestiltskin as it should be told. Now, I’m sure if the little troll could talk, he’d have a very different tale. But who cares? Off with his narrative, I say!”
Rumplestiltskin’s Rebuttal: “The Truth, Darlings, the Truth”
A puff of sulfurous smoke filled the room as a figure emerged, tall and slim, draped in golden brocade and looking as smug as a cat who’d just swallowed the king’s prized canary. He dusted off his hands, his expression a blend of outrage and theatrical disdain.
“Ahem! Allow me to clear my name,” he began, voice smooth and nasal, as though he was addressing a court of inferiors. “Rumplestiltskin, at your service—or at least, I was until my good name was dragged through the mud by a certain unstable tea-drinking monarch. Yes, I’m looking at you, Alice.”
He smirked, adjusting his ornate vest. “Now, let’s discuss the real tale, shall we? Picture this: A humble, generous, and, dare I say, brilliant magical being, minding his own business, when suddenly, a frazzled miller’s daughter comes weeping into the forest. ‘Oh, Rumple, help me,’ she sobbed. ‘The king’s threatened to end me unless I spin straw into gold!’ Did I demand her firstborn right away? No! I offered my help three times before asking for anything remotely valuable.”
He waved a hand, as though brushing off Alice’s previous accusations. “First, it was a necklace—hardly a sacrifice for saving her life. Then a ring—please, like she even liked the thing. And then, only because the stakes were astronomically high, I asked for her firstborn. Which, by the way, she freely agreed to! A deal is a deal, my dears.”
He paced dramatically, his shoes clacking on the stone floor. “Now, this business about me being a troll or a goblin—offensive and frankly, defamatory. I happen to be a handsome specimen of a magical being. If anything, I was too kind! Did I have to help her? No. Could I have walked away and let her deal with her golden-haired woes? Absolutely. But I didn’t.”
His tone grew sharp as he pointed a finger in Alice’s direction. “And as for that nonsense about me ‘dancing like a fool’—utter lies! I was celebrating, darling. Celebrating my well-earned victory. Can you blame me for being confident that my name—Rumplestiltskin, a name of power and legacy—would remain unknown? How was I to know the woman had a spy lurking in the shadows?”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, clutching his chest as though wounded. “But alas, she guessed my name. And instead of honoring our deal—honor!—she used it against me to weasel out of her promise. Who’s the real villain here? The desperate girl who lied her way into the king’s favor, or the honest magical entrepreneur who offered her a way out?”
Rumplestiltskin crossed his arms, his lips curling into a smug smile. “So, I stomped my foot and vanished. Dramatic? Perhaps. Justified? Absolutely. And if you think for one moment that I’m the villain of this story, well…” He tipped his hat, eyes gleaming. “You’ve been listening to the wrong storyteller, darling.”
With that, he disappeared in another puff of smoke, his laughter echoing in the air.
➡ The Takeaway: Who’s Really Spinning the Truth?
In the end, Rumplestiltskin’s rebuttal is as golden as his ego, while Alice’s version is as chaotic as her tea parties. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between—a tale of deals, deceit, and a whole lot of drama. One thing’s for certain: no one’s walking away from this story with their dignity fully intact.
Stay tuned, darlings, because in the world of 4EverMore, stories never truly end—they just wait for the next cup of tea... or the next puff of smoke.
