This is another Friday Fictioneers submission.. This week, I’m going to try 2 as I’ve bargained on getting 2,000 hits before March and I’m floundering. Apologies to all those who commented last week but haven’t received a return read. Normal service will be resumed this week.
Photo copyright Sandra Crook.
115 words (approximately-I’ve tweaked it slightly)
Rumplestiltskin had no idea why he’d decided to jig around the campfire singing his name with the miller’s daughter listening in. Still, they say the first sign of hubris is referring to yourself in the third person. Sad thing is, it wasn’t even his name. His mum had christened him Rumplestiltskineth, but that was too difficult for humans to pronounce.
They’ll have time to get used to it now that the king’s got him locked up, spinning straw into gold to fund the war against Narnia. It’s his own fault really; he’d’ve been home free if the guards hadn’t heard him prancing around his cell singing about Mr Tumnus bringing him a file in a cake.