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There once lived a young girl named Tansy Meadowbrook. She had hair the colour of warm straw and eyes like the forest floor after a spring rain. Tansy lived with her stepmother, Grimelda, and two stepsisters, Petunia and Marigold. Grimelda had a heart like a winter stone, and the stepsisters were no kinder, always finding chores for Tansy and calling her by names that pricked like thorns. Yet, Tansy never complained. She hummed gentle tunes as she swept the floors, fetched water, and mended torn cloths, her voice a soft ribbon of sound in the otherwise quiet house.
One biting morning, the world was painted white with frost, and even the breath of the wind felt sharp. Tansy went to the old stone well to draw water. Her fingers ached with cold as she lowered the bucket. As she waited for the splash, she heard a tiny, distressed chirp. Peering closer, she saw a little bird, no bigger than her thumb, caught in a tangle of thorny brambles. Its small wing beat weakly against the ice-covered twigs.
Tansy forgot her own cold. She knelt carefully, her breath misting in the air, and slowly, gently, worked the thorns away from the bird’s delicate wing. The little creature shivered, more from fear than cold. When it was free, Tansy cupped it in her warm hands, softly blowing to warm its feathers. She then broke off a tiny piece of her own dry bread, the only breakfast she would have, and offered it. The bird pecked at it trustingly.
Instead of flying away, the bird hopped onto Tansy’s shoulder and chirped a peculiar, tuneful song right into her ear. Then, it fluttered ahead, not towards the open field, but towards a patch of thick, snow-covered bushes Tansy had never noticed before. It landed on a branch and chirped again, urging her to follow.
Curiosity warming her steps, Tansy pushed through the frozen leaves. Beyond them lay a small, hidden clearing. In its centre stood a single, ancient tree, its branches gnarled and bare against the grey sky. But at its very base, nestled in the frost, Tansy saw a tiny, shimmering berry, glowing with a soft, golden light. It pulsed faintly, like a tiny heart.
The bird chirped once more, then settled on a low branch, watching her. Tansy reached out a careful hand and plucked the berry. It felt warm and alive in her palm. The bird nodded its tiny head, as if telling her to eat it. Tansy, trusting the little creature, put the golden berry in her mouth.
A sweet, tingling warmth spread through her, not just in her stomach, but throughout her whole being, settling brightly in her heart. She felt a sudden, wonderful urge to sing. And so she did. Her soft hum turned into a clear, joyful melody, a song she had never heard before, yet knew perfectly.
As her voice filled the frosty air, a wondrous thing happened. Where her feet touched the snow, small, bright bluebells and crimson poppies pushed through the white blanket and bloomed. The gnarled tree’s branches began to bud, tiny green leaves unfurling themselves. The little bird flew around her head, singing along with her. Tansy felt a deep understanding, as if the bird spoke words directly into her mind: “You have been given the Heart-Song, Tansy. Whatever you sing with a kind and truthful heart will bring beauty and warmth to the world.”
Tansy walked home, still singing softly. The path behind her bloomed with wildflowers, and the air around her felt gentler. When she entered the cold, dreary kitchen, a wilted potted plant on the windowsill suddenly unfurled a new, vibrant green leaf.
Grimelda and the stepsisters, busy complaining by the hearth, stopped short. “What is that smell?” sniffed Petunia, noticing the faint scent of springtime flowers. “And why are there violets growing by the doorstep?” grumbled Marigold. Grimelda’s sharp eyes found Tansy. “What have you done, girl?” she demanded.
Tansy, with her kind heart, told them everything: the frozen well, the trapped bird, the hidden path, and the golden berry.
Grimelda’s eyes gleamed with greed. “A golden berry that brings beauty? We must have it!” she shrieked. She pushed Petunia and Marigold out the door. “Go! Find the bird! Find the berry! Bring back riches and beauty for us!”
The stepsisters marched to the well, their faces sour. They spotted the little bird fluttering near the brambles. “You! Bird!” yelled Petunia, trying to snatch it. “Show us the berry!” snapped Marigold. The bird, frightened by their loud, grasping hands, flew quickly away and vanished.
The sisters searched for the hidden path, but they were too angry and impatient to see it. They stumbled through the bushes, complaining the whole time. They found only thorns and ice, and returned empty-handed and even grumpier than before.
But Tansy continued to sing. Her Heart-Song brought gentle flowers to the garden, made the old house feel warm even in winter, and drew colourful birds to her window. People from the village, hearing her sweet songs and seeing the beauty that bloomed around her, often stopped to listen. Tansy never became rich or famous, but her life was filled with quiet joy, and the coldness of her stepmother and stepsisters could never reach the warmth of her own kind heart.
The End