My mother introduced me to Rumplestiltskin when I was a little more than a toddler. One of my earliest memories is listening to her read from my book of fairy tales at bedtime.
This book was special. Its cover was deep crimson, adorned with golden vines curly-cuing across the surface. The pages were edged with gold. When the covers were closed, those edges shined and glittered like a gold ingot. Today, this book resides on my bookshelves. The gold has faded, many pages are loose and slide free once the covers are opened. It is an old friend who stirred me to think beyond the boundaries of dairy farm in the interior of Florida and let my mind wander. I love this book.
And I love its tale of Rumplestiltskin. He was a gem of a villain. A full on psycho not above taking a hopeless young woman’s valuables in payment for saving her life. Twice. Then, when she is in a do-or-die situation that he created, he demands payment of the one thing she has left to give; the life of her first born child.
Now, that is some deep psychological disturbance lurking in this little craggy faced imp. To him, human life is nothing more than currency deserved for services rendered by one who holds all the power.
He was twisted, nasty, devious . . . and fascinated me. I wanted to know why someone would choose to be so evil.
But he was only the beginning . . .