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Once upon a time, there was an old couple. They had no children, and the woman had been driven mad with the desire for a baby. She had to be kept locked up in the attic while her husband lovingly cared for her. All the villagers were sure that the woman was too old to conceive a child, but she and her husband kept trying. She was desperate for a child to call her own.

One day, the husband was out in the garden, pulling up some potatoes for that evening’s soup. An old, old woman came up and asked him for a potato. He looked up into her tired, wrinkled face and silently handed her one.

“What do you want in return?” she asked him.

“I want a daughter,” he said. “I want my wife to get pregnant with a daughter.”

She laughed. “So greedy. A daughter in return for a potato? You will get your wish, and it will be your curse.”

The husband was still very happy, because he loved his wife very much. The woman’s words were true, and within the month, his wife became impregnated with a baby girl.

“Darling,” she said, rushing to him. “I am with child, I will have a baby!”

He smiled and held her. “What will you name her?”

She smiled back, a mad smile. “Raphaela, for she is my angel. And like an angel, she will carry me to the light.”

The months passed. Fall turned to winter, then spring. It was late spring when the woman went into labor. It was a hard labor. She struggled and sweated and screamed. None of the midwives would go to the local nutcase, so it was only her loving husband to help her with the baby. When, finally, the baby emerged and began to cry, the cries of the woman died away. Her husband wiped off the baby, then turned to his wife. She was dead.

From that moment forward, he resented his only daughter. Raphaela grew up with a father who switched between raging at her to ignoring her completely. Raphaela, instead of retreating to learning or books or anything else, suffered under her father’s rule. She became very sad all of the time, and began to lose her mind.

One day, her father commanded her to go outside and wipe the morning dew from the grass. Raphaela went outside and lay down, letting her body heat melt the dew. She was very cold, but did not shiver. She burrowed herself into the grass, embracing the cold. Her skin began to go numb. It was cold, very cold. She closed her eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, she was in the same place on the grass. It was much later, but still very cold. Her skin was turning blue. Instead of getting up to go inside, where it was much warmer, Raphaela didn’t even move. It was comforting just to lay there. Raphaela didn’t have much energy, probably because she slept as much as she could and almost never ate. Food simply wasn’t appetizing to her.

On that particular day, the prince of the land was riding through the town. He saw Raphaela lying on the ground and thought she was beautiful. And she was beautiful. Unspeakably beautiful, but she was ignored by all the town boys due to her low status and unusual tendencies.

But the prince did not ignore her. He rode up to her and dismounted from his horse. He lifted her tiny frame up and stared into her face.

Her eyes opened, staring at him. Her eyes dropped to the sword at his side. Without a word, she lifted the sword out of its sheath. Her eyes gleamed as she ran her finger along the blade, cutting her finger.

“May I have it?” Raphaela asked. She did not care for the silver and jewels in the hilt, but the razor-sharp blade appealed to her.

“You may have all the swords in the kingdom if you will be my wife,” the prince replied.

The prince spoke with Raphaela’s father, who was happy to sell the girl for a pile of gold. Raphaela went with the prince, back to the palace, where they were wed. On their wedding night, Rapahela slipped into the prince’s chamber, withdrew the sword from the sheath, and cut her arm. Blood welled up in the wound. Raphaela smiled and licked the cut. The tangy iron taste of the blood pleased her.

In the next few months, she revisited the sword often. It was her comfort in times of trial and her reward in times of contentment. When spring turned to summer, she realized that she was pregnant with a child of her own, and this thought filled her with joy. But still, she went back to the sword. Her arms and legs were lined with gashes of varying deepness. She worked hard to hide them. Raphaela knew that if someone saw, they would lock her away like her mother.

But she could not keep the secret forever. The baby began to push, and the midwife exposed Raphaela to help the baby. The baby, a beautiful baby girl, was delivered fine, and afterward the midwife whispered her findings to the prince.

The prince grew very angry. He took his sword and refused to let Raphaela have it, no matter how much she begged. Finally, he locked her away in the highest tower. He refused to go see her or let her see her daughter. Raphaela grew desperate locked away in the tower. Finally, she climbed through the window and plunged to her death on the cobblestones below.

The prince was horrified when he learned of Raphaela’s death. How could Raphaela, his beautiful wife, have died at her own hand? The prince became dedicated to raising his daughter and making sure the same did not happen to her. The prince raised her with loving care and taught her to love herself too. In this way, the prince broke the cycle of madness in the family line. The prince, deprived of his beloved wife, did not live happily ever after. But his daughter, the new princess, did.