A few days after the chaotic book club, Isolette received a book as a gift.

It was a fairy tale book titled “Stories for Children.”

This fairy tale collection had the Little Mermaid, the Snow Queen, the Naked King, the Little Match Girl—several tales woven into one volume.

“…Truly, a remarkable talent. My cousin.”

The various fairy tales, filled with beautiful imagination, were literary works in their own right.

Isolette was newly aware of her cousin’s talent.

Even hearing that her cousin was actually “Herodotus” didn’t quite land, but reading something like this? Well, it’s hard not to realize the truth.

That her cousin is a great writer.

“Phew, but isn’t this a bit too sad for kids to read?”

While reading slowly, Isolette’s gaze stopped on a sentence.

The ending of the fairy tale “The Little Match Girl.”

It depicted the death of a young girl.

[At dawn, the poor little girl, cold as ice, was leaning against the wall and smiling. The girl froze to death on the last evening of the year.]

The presence of the girl, who had burned through all her matches and lay cold, felt ever so sorrowful.

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“Ed. That children’s book you gave me, I read it, but doesn’t it have too sad an ending for kids? Just saying!”

At Count Frieden’s dinner table, during the last meal with his brother—who would now be living in the capital’s mansion with his wife—his brother grumbled.

I nodded along; I couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Well, it’s a fairy tale, you could call it a tradition, right? It’s just like how The Little Prince is described towards the end where he looks dead after getting bitten by a snake…”

“That may be, but, uh, I’m not sure if it’s okay to read this to a kid.”

“It’s not all sad, right? There are scenes that could be called happy endings. Like, you know, for instance, the Little Match Girl.”

“That’s what I thought was the saddest part…”

The Little Match Girl—where the poor girl, unable to sell matches, shivers in the cold while seeing visions of flames—sure did wrap itself in a sad and suffocating atmosphere.

In this world, matches had long ceased to be an in-demand item.

Thanks to the existence of lighters—a magical item allowing anyone to easily start a fire using flint—hardly anyone bothered to use matches anymore.

Matches are still used to light candles at official noble gatherings, but that was, like, an out-of-the-blue event.

“The Little Match Girl passed into heaven in her grandmother’s arms, reunited with family and basking in gentle happiness.”

“But, uh, she died! She froze to death. Left behind by everyone!”

“With a smile.”

“Ugh, I don’t really get it.”

Honestly, I don’t either. Should we interpret this as Andersen’s quirky “immortality of the soul” happy ending, or a sad ending based on a harsh world?

Andersen’s fairy tales come with a medley of interpretations.

Though, one thing I do know about fairy tales is this:

“It’ll be just fine. That fairy tale will definitely be loved by kids.”

Andersen’s tales will be cherished by children forever.

They could be reimagined into animated films, framed in a binary conflict of good vs. evil like old Disney classics, or reinterpreted into games rooted in some subculture that reveres fairy tales, or even twisted by uptight adults into mere happy stories.

And thus, fairy tales breathe with life.

If Don Quixote remains a lasting symbol of the old chivalric ethos, fairy tales are continually remade and reinterpreted, reflecting the values and philosophies of child-rearing in their eras. They have no true permanence, yet that’s what keeps them alive and kicking.

And…

The Andersen book I gifted to my future nephew would fall into the same category.

One day, that nephew will grow up, have kids of his own, and pass on the stories again. Perhaps the ending will seem too tragic and morph into a simplistic happy ending, or maybe the tales will swish together in memory and become something completely new.

In the end, it too shall be colored by love.

You just know that the bedtime stories parents share with their kids can’t help but be filled with love.

“Is that…?”

“Uh.”

“Well, it’s coming from my brother, who is both Homer and Herodotus, so I guess that makes sense.”

Then he paused, lost in thought, before quietly munching away at his food again.

Suddenly remembering something, he opened his mouth once more.

“So, are you not thinking of publishing this collection of fairy tales?”

“Uh, well…”

Thinking back to the dozens of ‘odds and ends’ that used to roll around in my bag.

I nodded.

“For now, I’m just planning to gift it to people I’ve known for a while.”

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A white Christmas, snowflakes descending as children anticipate presents while adults lift their spirits with religious zest and festive joy.

Gifts arrived from all over the Empire.

A plush hardcover book labeled “Stories for Children,” filled with fairy tales totally unknown and with no trace of their origin.

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“Your Highness—”

“Oh my, father. What do you mean, ‘Your Highness’?”

“…Idris.”

“Hehe, yes. Idris. What brings you here?”

“A gift for the prince just arrived, but it seems to be addressed to you, not me, so here you go.”

“Is it a Christmas present?”

“Yes. A children’s book… but it doesn’t say who sent it.”

“Hehe, must be a gift from Mr. Homer. Thanks for bringing it, Idris.”

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“Yaaaaah—! Still not done with the illustrations… Drawing was just a hobby… why am I working so hard at this… Should I just call it quits on illustration…”

“I’m so fed up with working alone this Christmas…”

“Huh? A gift? Who sent it…? A children’s book?!”

“Oh right! Phew, the Little Prince and Alice… I really enjoyed illustrations for fairy tales, and it’s just wild that my art’s in a book by an admired author…”

“…Okay, hang in there.”

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“Mail!”

“W-what, mail? Who sent it? I don’t expect to receive anything…”

“Huh? I don’t know who sent it, but it looks like… a book?”

“A b-b-book…? Oh! Did Mr. Homer send it to you?”

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“I received a fairy tale book as a gift this Christmas… Actually, there’s something really fun about this tale…”

“Chief Wizard, I’ve got an urgent request from the Lord of the Demon Tower…”

“Oh c’mon, you and I are close, remember? You helped me out when I first entered this tower…”

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“The most beautiful tale in this collection is the Snow Queen! Don’t you understand the friendship and love in this journey?!”

“Ha! The tragedy of the Little Mermaid is true opulence! If that’s what you think, you must not know what love means!?”

“Ha! A duel!”

“Alright! This time, let’s settle it with fairy tales!”

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“Your Majesty!”

“Gah! Now what?! Can’t a guy catch a break on Christmas?!”

“A Christmas gift has arrived for your Majesty! The seal of Harren is stamped on it, which means it’s from that ‘great mentor’ you mentioned.”

“Huh? A gift from the author?”

“Yes! A storybook!”

“I don’t have kids. Why would I need a children’s book…”

“Your Majesty, could it be that the ‘great mentor’ is pushing you to find a successor? You really need to get a partner—”

“Enough with the nagging! Bring that storybook here. I want to read it.”

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“Cardinal Garnier. You’ve got a package from the Empire.”

“Huh? Is it from the bishop of the Empire?”

“Well, the sender’s name is not listed, but it says it’s from the Imperial Capital… and yet, according to the postal inspector, nothing’s wrong with it. Should we just toss it away?”

“No. It’s probably a Christmas gift from your brother. We can’t disregard a kind gesture. What’s in the package?”

“According to the postal inspector, it’s a fairy tale book.”

“…Phew. A fairy tale book for a priest… could this be my brother’s cheeky advice to treat God with childlike wonder? Alright, bring it to me.”

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“Mister Gray, were you praying?”

“I live each day under the blessing of Heaven, and I haven’t gone a single moment without a prayer of thanks. Yes… how grateful I am for you showing up and working for me even on Christmas. What’s up?”

“You have a package waiting for you, Mister Gray.”

“If it’s a lousy gift on Christmas, that’d be a real downer. Is it from that ‘Saviors for People’ organization again?”

“No, the sender’s name is missing, but it states it’s from the Imperial Capital.”

“Huh?”

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“Father Priest, take a look at this!”

“Ah, Sister. The children are still sleeping; try to lower your voice a tad.”

“Someone sent dozens of fairy tale books!”

“Looks like the foundation sent books again. How thoughtful.”

“I’m so happy I could cry… Just a few years ago, I was sobbing because I couldn’t give the kids even one decent loaf of bread… Now we’ve got a building for the nursery that was donated! The kids each have rooms, and several teachers are educating them… sniffles…”

“Ahh, why are you crying on a joyous occasion? You know crying kids don’t get gifts on Christmas.”

“I’m an adult! It’s fine for me to cry… ”

“Huh? Wait, there’s something tucked between the storybooks… something shiny… platinum…?”

“Isn’t that a bookmark or something?”

“Bookmark made of platinum? Whoever sent this must be super wealthy. Oh look, there’s a letter! ‘Showing this platinum card at the Upper Union will ensure they’ll solve any problem money can take care of—even if you ask them to procure an island, they’ll provide a proper title deed.’”

“…What?”

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[The girl hurriedly lit all the matches. She wanted her grandmother to stay with her. Then the matches burned with a light brighter than daylight, and the girl’s grandmother sparkled beautifully.]

[At dawn, the poor girl, turned to ice, leaned against the wall and smiled.]

[People mourned her death while regretting how they had ignored her the night before and failed to buy matches.]

[No one imagined the beauty the girl had seen in the New Year or the glory she shared with her grandmother.]

           

 

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