by Julia Chrobak '30 on September 24, 2026
Portfolio
A tiny voice spoke up from the shadows, “Grandfather?”
The older man perked up, not expecting anyone at such a late hour. Turning around in his chair, he saw his youngest granddaughter hesitating in the doorway. She clutched her most treasured toy close to her chest, lip trembling but holding her head up high.
“Yes, dear? What’s troubling you?”
“There were monsters under my bed,” she takes a small step closer.
“Ah, I see. Does milady require the assistance of her esteemed knight to slay these beasts?”
“No, my good sir, for I have slain them all!” she exclaimed with her chest puffing out, rushing into her grandfather’s waiting arms.
“Very well. How does milady require assistance then?” He asked, keeping up their façade of a princess and her knight.
“Can you tell me a story? The one about the tree,” the girl’s voice no longer held a posh tone but returned to a quiet, sleepy drawl.
“Of course, my dear.”
Once upon a time, in a valley of green, there stood a tree. Not just any tree, for in this valley were many wondrous things. Each tree held its own purpose, its own magical power. In the center, there grew a white magnolia. Its bark was a deep brown, with leaves a stark green. But the flowers were white, shimmering like untouched snow.
The myths of old say this tree was the connection between the world of magic and man. Humans lived peacefully alongside the elves and dwarves and other beings. Before the wars, it is said that the flowers of the magnolia twinkled like iridescent stars.
Then, the high king’s son grew greedy and became a tyrannical ruler over his people. As his greed grew, so did the violence in the land. One dark day, the high king’s son had had enough and waged war in the world that was once a peaceful haven, against all the people and creatures in it.
When the protector of the valley was killed, the magnolia tree was left desecrated. There was a dagger in the center of the trunk, allowing the magic to flow between realms. Once it was stolen, the bark of the magnolia tree turned black as coal, the leaves began to wilt, and all of the flowers dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. They no longer shone white but faded to dull gray.
Everything in the valley will slowly wilt and die unless—
The sleepy yawn of the tired little girl interrupts her grandfather’s storytelling. As he picks the little girl up and starts carrying her back to her bed, she begs him to continue the story, promising she isn’t tired while her eyes drooped with the words.
The young girl pleaded with her grandfather to continue the story but to no avail as he tucked her into bed.
“I promise to finish the story tomorrow. But now you must go to sleep. If your mother finds out I kept you up with more stories, I might just have another scar to add to my collection.”