The Rose Tree
The Rose Tree — an illustrated tales story. 10 illustrated pages, free to read on Wonder Tales.
Page 1
In a forgotten library, where stories lived within ancient tomes, dwelt a widower, his innocent daughter, and his new wife, a woman with a heart as cold as the library's shadowed corners. The daughter, kind and gentle, longed for her mother's warmth, now only a memory. But the stepmother, consumed by jealousy and a thirst for gold, saw only a rival for her husband's affection. Little did they know, the seeds of a dark tale were being sown, one that would blossom into beauty and sorrow, intertwined like thorns and roses.
Page 2
"Father, may I tend the garden?" the daughter asked, her voice soft as the rustling pages around them. The widower smiled, a rare sight, "Of course, my dear. Your mother loved those roses." The stepmother scoffed, unheard, as the daughter skipped outside, her heart lighter than the library's heaviest volume. She watered the rose bushes, humming a forgotten tune, her touch gentle, coaxing life from the earth.
Page 3
"Why does he look at her with such affection?" the stepmother hissed to her own daughter, a sullen girl with eyes like flint. "She is nothing but a shadow of his past." Her daughter, clad in dark grey, merely shrugged. "Mother, he will forget her. Soon, all the gold will be ours."
Page 4
One day, as the daughter bent to prune a rose bush, the stepmother crept up behind her. "Such a beautiful flower," she cooed, her voice deceptively sweet. Before the girl could turn, the stepmother struck, a sharp blow that silenced the humming forever. "Out of sight, out of mind," she muttered, burying the body beneath the rose tree.
Page 5
The widower returned, seeking his daughter. "Where is she?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry. "She ran away," the stepmother lied, her voice dripping with false concern. "A wild child, never happy here." But that night, a small white bird perched on the rose tree and sang a mournful song: 'My stepmother slew me, beneath the rose tree...'
Page 6
The stepmother, enraged, tried to shoo the bird away, but it only sang louder, its melody piercing the library's walls. The widower listened, a chilling realization dawning in his eyes. 'It is speaking the truth, as Aristotle said, "The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival." My daughter was always more than a survivor!'
Page 7
The bird flew to the kitchen window and dropped a jewel into the stepmother's daughter's lap. "More!" the daughter shrieked, consumed by avarice. The bird returned, dropping another, then another, until the daughter, blinded by greed, was crushed beneath the weight of the jewels. The stepmother watched in horror, her ambition turned to ashes.
Page 8
The bird flew back to the rose tree and sang a final verse: 'My stepmother slew me, beneath the rose tree... now justice is done, and the rose will bloom free.' The widower, his heart heavy, approached the tree. As he touched its trunk, the earth trembled, and the tree split open, revealing his daughter, alive and radiant, holding a single, perfect rose.
Page 9
The stepmother, consumed by guilt and loss, withered away, her heart unable to bear the weight of her deeds. Her form dissolved into dust, and was swept into the wind that whispered through the library's halls, a reminder of the dark things that can take root in a jealous heart.
Page 10
The widower and his daughter lived on in the library, surrounded by stories of hope and sorrow. The rose tree bloomed eternally, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, kindness and truth will always find a way to blossom. And the gold she coveted was the very thing that left her with nothing, a lesson echoing through the silent shelves.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
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