My father has bragged to the king that I can spin straw into gold. Now the king has locked me in a room, and I must show that I can do it. How can I do it? It’s an impossible task!

Why did my father have to brag about me? I never wanted any sort of fame. I was content to hide my light under bushel. And now here I am, and if I don’t spin this straw into gold, the king will have my head. He should take my father’s head, not mine!

Some unimagined hope is my only hope. Is it possible to hope when you are hopeless?

I sense a strange new openness.

The Spinning Daughter in Rumpelstiltskin, Grimms. Illustration by A.H. Watson.