While travelling in the Great and Awful forest, unwary visitors to Grimm may find the glass and crystal cairn of a 10 year-old girl. As you peer in you see her--golden curls entangled with pink fairy floss and a bittersweet grin. The clothes she wears are covered with bits of gum and other sugary confections - and the edges of her dress are singed jet black. Near her coffin there is a cracked bowl with remnants of porridge, being eaten up by ants.
Standing in front of the casket, looking in a way that could only be described as 'cheerfully somber' is another little girl wearing a jet-black bonnet. Her eyes glitter like half-dead ladybugs, creeping upon a pale winter face. "She was just right..."
When asked for her name, a curtsy is offered and the bonnet shivers ever-so-slightly. "Muffet." In her dainty gloved hands she holds a nut-brown picnic basket. There is a crunching sound in the undergrowth of the forest and Muffet's red eyes grow fearful. She thrusts the picnic basket at you and as she runs off towards the east, you notice that spiders keep falling from her bonnet. As you watch her run away, an old rhyme skitters around your breakfast-deprived brain.
Little Miss Muffet...sat on a tuffet...eating her curds and whey.
Standing in front of the casket, looking in a way that could only be described as 'cheerfully somber' is another little girl wearing a jet-black bonnet. Her eyes glitter like half-dead ladybugs, creeping upon a pale winter face. "She was just right..."
When asked for her name, a curtsy is offered and the bonnet shivers ever-so-slightly. "Muffet." In her dainty gloved hands she holds a nut-brown picnic basket. There is a crunching sound in the undergrowth of the forest and Muffet's red eyes grow fearful. She thrusts the picnic basket at you and as she runs off towards the east, you notice that spiders keep falling from her bonnet. As you watch her run away, an old rhyme skitters around your breakfast-deprived brain.
Little Miss Muffet...sat on a tuffet...eating her curds and whey.