A Grimm Tale: The iron stove was cold, black, filled with soot and silence. She crawled inside, the darkness smelling of cold ash and burnt wood, and pressed her face to the flue. She could not, dare not, tell a living soul, but the secret had to be told. So she whispered into the dark, pouring out the story of her stolen crown, the blood on the handkerchief, and her horse’s severed head speaking from the gateway. The metal absorbed her sobs, vibrated with her grief. "I am the true princess," she wept, "and I am so afraid." Outside, the hidden king pressed his ear to the pipe, listening to the echoes, decoding what it meant.

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