It took months for Hazel to prepare her own birthday present.
In her defense, she wasn't going to get many presents on her twentieth birthday. No more than on any of her previous birthdays, really. Had she not read about the tradition in one of the many books in her tower, she wouldn't even have known it existed. Her mother had certainly never bothered with telling her.
As if on cue, her mother's voice echoed Hazel's thoughts. "Good morning, sweetheart! I'm coming up, be careful!"
A rumble followed her words as Gaea's magic bent the earth to lift her all the way up to the window of Hazel's tower—her only connection to the outside world. Hazel stepped away, even though the precaution was unnecessary, since Gaea had supplied her with her gloves. Hazel only took them off to bathe; there was no need to tell her to be careful, yet Gaea persisted. That was the kind of tradition Hazel had grown up with.
"How is my favorite daughter today?" Gaea called out cheerfully.
"I'm your only daughter, Mother."
"That you are," Gaea cooed as she placed a kiss on the top of Hazel's head—after pausing to make sure Hazel's gloves were on. "And I wouldn't ask for anything more."
"Me neither, Mother."
"Yet you didn't answer my question," Gaea singsonged. She had something she wanted to say—good news, Hazel guessed—but she wouldn't until they completed their daily ritual.
"I'm great, Mother. I'm excited about my birthday tomorrow." Hazel forced herself to pour some emotion in her voice, but she couldn't muster it. Deception wasn't her strongest suit. "And you?"
"Oh, is it tomorrow already? Sweetheart, you'll just have to tell me what you'd like. But first—" Gaea lifted the heavy bag she carried by its shoulder strap, and laid it on the floor, in front of Hazel. "I've had a great idea to diversify our business, sweetheart. Look!" She knelt, waving at Hazel to do the same, and reached into the bag. "Straw! You could make a fine thread out of it, like nothing anyone has ever seen before. With my marketing genius, every noble from Hades to Olympus will tear each other apart over the new fashion trend!" Catching Hazel's worried glance, she added, "Metaphorically, of course. No one has ever fought wars over riches."
"Of course," Hazel said. Was that supposed to comfort her? Did her mother think she was that ignorant of the world?
"Are you feeling up for it? I'm sure it must be challenging, but—"
"No, I'll do it." It was no challenge at all—it didn't even require an effort on Hazel's part. Her curse did the work; Hazel herself was little else than a vessel for it.
"Good. Just—give me a moment to stand back."
By 'standing back', Gaea apparently mean 'retreating to the tower's window'. Almost as if she expected to have to jump out at any moment. Hazel's arms weren't that long.
Sighing, Hazel opened the bag wide. She could have poured its contents over the floor's steel tiles, but she doubted she'd manage the fine result Gaea expected by taking handfuls of straw at once. Gaea required precision, and Hazel was perfectly capable of it.
She peeled her left glove off her hand, then reached into the bag with her other hand. Picking a single stalk with one hand—especially when wearing a glove made of sheets of gold—was no simple matter, but Hazel had grown used to the process: Gaea had been forcing her to do more and more precise work over the years.
When she came up with a single piece, she brought it to her left hand. The moment the straw touched her bare skin, her curse operated: a golden shine ran across the straw's length for a brief moment. After it faded, Hazel was holding pure gold, a stick as fine as the straw had been. It was rigid, but Hazel applied her will to it, and she felt it rearrange under her fingers, turning as supple as thread.
"Is this good enough, Mother?"
Gaea took a tentative step forward, her eyes flicking between Hazel's bare hand and the thread of gold. "Yes. Yes, perfect. Such a shame you can't work faster."
Hazel bit back a retort. "I'm sorry, Mother."
"Well, it can't be helped, I suppose. I'll leave you to it for a few days, so you can turn the whole thing."
Hazel saw the opportunity, and she took it. "Perhaps you could get me my birthday present in the meantime?" All she needed was a reason to keep Gaea away for a while. "I thought…perhaps some platinum for me to work with…"
"Sweetheart, I could only find some in the Hesperides! The journey would take me forever!" Hazel remained where she was, kneeling next to the bag of straw, silently pleading her mother. Gaea's gaze went to the bag, then, finally, she sighed. "All right. For you, I'll do it. But I should get going now, then. Will you forgive me for missing your birthday?"
"Of course, Mother. Besides, the work will keep me occupied."
Gaea made a show of saying goodbye to Hazel, of making sure she would have all she needed while Gaea was gone, and finally, of leaving. It took long—too long to Hazel's liking—but eventually, she was alone in the tower once more.
She rushed to her cupboard, where she stored her cleaning supplies. She had been working on her project for months, and it was finally coming to fruition. If her calculations were correct—and she knew they were—she'd have enough today.
Hazel swept the tower, cleaning it like she had done every day since she could walk. But she didn't dispose of the accumulated dust—she hadn't for months now. Instead, she picked it up in one hand, removed her other glove with her teeth, and poured the specks on her hand. They lit up, as if on fire, and Hazel ended up with a handful of golden specks.
She walked to her window, made sure the wind wasn't blowing away, and dropped them over the edge. This had been the most crucial element of her plan—that her will, her control over all the precious metal she created, would extend far enough. She couldn't keep all that gold in the tower without risking Gaea finding it, so tossing it over the edge was her only choice. It fell among the spikes in the moat at the bottom, barely visible among the dirt. But Hazel could still sense it all—months' worth, enough for her to make her way out.
She was about to put her plan in motion, but she stopped, looking back at the bag of straw Gaea had left behind, then glancing at her own gloves. Gaea had made them ages ago: they were sheets of gold bent and fit together to give Hazel's fingers some freedom of movement. It made everything awkward and complicated. But with golden thread, flexible and responsive to Hazel's will, she could make something much more suitable for herself.
Sighing, she turned away from the window. She had planned it so that she would leave on her birthday; perhaps it was fitting to wait for one more day.
She sat down with the bag on her lap, and started picking up pieces of straw.
