What’s the first thing someone sees when they discover Figment? YOUR stories! Everyday, five fig-tastic stories get a special 24-hour feature on our homepage. In case you didn’t catch them at first glance, here are the stories on today’s homepage and a little insight behind the daily theme.
Today’s theme was inspired by the the creepy fairy-tale crime show, Grimm, on NBC (episode two of the new season airs at 10:00 p.m. ET tonight). Sarah J. Maas, author of Throne of Glass, counts Grimm among her favorite fairy tale retellings. Can’t get enough? Check out these five Fig fairy tales.
“Ivory Rose,” she whipsers to the child. Charlotte hated her more knowing the girl would grow up to be as beautiful as her cursed mother. “That will be your name. After your skin and lips; a pretty name, don’t you think? Not a royal name, no. But neither are you. It will appease your father, though, and that’s enough.”
There had been an old enchantress.
“Natassa,” the old woman had called from across the meadow. She was dressed in long bellbottom jeans and a wraparound top. Her hair streamed behind her in silver sheets, and her wrinkled face was kindly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the twelve-year-old Natassa had said from her spot nestled in the tall grasses. But then she had paused. “How do you know my name?”
The day Sibyl Bix met the Aislin twins was the same day her mother disappeared. When she sat up on her bed and rubbed her eyes awake, something felt wrong. There was no scent of breakfast being made, or humming drifting around the house. Sibyl threw her legs to the side of the bed and stretched, yawning. Peering over to her clock, she groaned and rubbed her eyes once more before standing up.
Aveline ignored her. The stately, fearsome sorceress turned back to the cauldron, taking a metal ladle from a scarred wooden sideboard. She dipped it into the cauldron and fished out the apple. Once retrieved from the concoction, which had settled down to a light boil, Aveline admired the apple. It was hideous, not at all the perfect crimson fruit it had been. The skin was brown and warped, the stem hunched like an old woman’s spine. The leaf, which had been forest-green, looked like it had been deep-fried. Yet even as Aveline watched, the rotten, wrinkled skin morphed back to scarlet, the leaf turned lush and green again, and the weak stem straightened out. Aveline smiled a wicked, cat-like smile and laughed.
Little Red Riding Hood’s little sister.
I saved my sister’s life, but I am unknown.
Yes, that proud wood chopper told the people that he had heard the scream, and that is how it has been told ever since.
Nobody will know my story. No one will ever know how if I didn’t follow my sister, she and my granny would be dead.