Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Once upon a long time ago and only just last week, a Mother set out on a journey. She was nearing the end of her Mother-hood and knew she must make a bargain with the old Crone who lay deep within the valleys of the Gallic Mountains.

    The Crone also knew of the Mother. She had seen her in her dreams for some time and so, she came to meet her halfway on her journey. This Mother was tired, she could see that. She had been lost and she had given many things away of herself. Her golden words and her heart as red as ruby and once as warm as the hearth on a winter's day. The Crone looked deep into those still shining eyes and taught her many things. She showed her how to carve trees with steel and power. And how to say goodbye to the would-be woodcutters who would never measure up.

    The Mother saw the Crone was ugly and old and gnarled and capable of all the terrible and powerful things of fairy tales. But she loved her. Every ugly bit of her, every dark and terrible nook and cranny of her. And in exchange for that love, the Crone passed on her secret.
    She lent in to the Mother and whispered in her ear, and as the words passed through and into her, the years began to fall from the Mother. Her skin became golden and translucent, her lips berry red, her hair dark as the raven. Her hips began to snake and she began to glow. She had become a Maiden - young and beautiful and strong.

    And so my friend Helena, found herself all at once, a beautiful young Maiden, a Mother and an old Crone and began a new story. In France, in a crumbling cottage spinning her own yarns and living her own magic, once again.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.