Once upon a time, there was a king and queen, and they were deeply saddened by their lack of children. They prayed night and day for a child—for no one had ever explained to them how children are made. Eventually, after a very awkward conversation with the king's chief advisor, the queen became pregnant; and nine months later, she gave birth to a baby boy.
At the baby's christening, the twelve faerie godmothers from the kingdom came to bestow their gifts on the child. Actually, there were thirteen godmothers, but seeing as the thirteenth had all but vanished from the face of the earth for fifty years, no one bothered to invite her. Regardless, everything went off rather well. Until the faerie godmothers went about blessing the child, for none of them had been informed that the baby was, in fact, a boy.
So, the prince was blessed/doomed to become the most beautiful person in the world, have the wit of an angel, have perfect grace, dance better than anyone alive, sing like a nightingale, and play all sorts of wonderful music, as well as all other manner of things desirable in a woman but odd to find in a man.
It just so happens, that right before the last godmother could give her gift to the very un-masculine prince, the thirteenth faerie decided to crash the party. She strode up to the prince and declared that he would prick his finger on a spindle and die on his eighteenth birthday. With that, the faerie left, and everyone started crying. The last godmother, angry at being shown up, decided that she should try and lessen the curse. She couldn't remove the curse, for she was the youngest faerie, and the one who bestowed the curse was the oldest, and therefore, far more powerful. So, she made it so that the price (whom most still thought was actually a princess because no one had bothered to verify the gender) wouldn't die when he pricked his finger, but instead would fall asleep for a hundred years.
The king, after the christening was complete and all the guests left, set a law that it was forbidden for anyone to use a spindle, under pain of death.
About eighteen years later, the king an queen were out visiting friends at the neighboring kingdom and the very feminine prince was left to his own devices for the day. It just so happens, that as he wandered about the castle, he heard a noise coming from one of the tower rooms. Up he went to find the cause of the noise. Inside was an old woman with a strange device he had never seen.
"Hullo, Granny," said the prince in his ladylike voice. "What are you doing?"
"I'm spinning," she replied.
"May I try?" the prince asked. He reached his hand out towards the spinning wheel, and no sooner did he touch it that his finger was pierced by the spindle. As the curse took effect, the prince fell down in a faint.
The old woman ran screaming out of the room, her old age obviously hadn't altered her vocal capacity nor her overall speed. The king and queen, having just come home, heard the old woman and ran up to find her. She showed them the body of the price. He lay perfectly still, and save for the rising and falling of his chest, looked dead. The faerie godmother who had saved the prince's life was instantly informed and came to set about making those one hundred years as comfortable as possible for the boy.
The faerie tapped her wand on the castle floor, and everyone (save the king and queen) instantly fell asleep. The fires died, the animals began to snooze, and if anyone had been doing anything dangerous—like cutting vegetables for a soup—were able to remove themselves from the situation first. Then, the godmother set the prince on his large bed, with his loyal Papillion, Mops, sleeping at the foot of it. After kissing their child on the forehead, the king and queen left the palace.
Within the day, a forest of thorns had sprouted up around the castle.
A hundred years latter, the daughter of another family, a very masculine princess (for her faerie godmothers were under the impression that she was a boy) was out hunting near the castle. She neared the thorns, having always wondered what was on the other side, when the thorns opened up to form a path for her. The princess glanced at her horse, skeptically.
"Are you going to stay here, like the good horse I hope you are?"
The animal nodded, knowing it was either be obedient or be tied to the thorns to keep from running. And at the moment, the horse was more willing to stand around and graze at the fresh bits of grass than be tethered to the thorns.
Slowly, the princess dismounted and wandered through the path. On she went, occasionally stumbling across the skeletons of others who had wanted to see what was inside. Still, she continued on.
Eventually, she came to the palace. It was an odd, quiet, ghostlike thing. The princess walked through the gardens, the flowers all turning their bright blooms towards her. She stepped inside the great hall, the fires in the sconces leaping to life as her footfalls neared them. Cautiously, the girl continued on, up towards one of the towers. Every door she tried was locked, save for a select few which led her eventually to the prince's room
Inside went the princess, up to the sleeping prince. She smiled at him. For as masculine as she was, he was that feminine. 'Perhaps,' she thought, 'he could….' The princess frowned; she didn't have much luck with princes. Men didn't like being with someone who was less feminine than they were.
With an odd feeling of hope, the princess bent down and kissed him. The prince opened his eyes and smiled at her.
"Is that you, my princess?" the boy said sweetly.
With the end of the curse, the inhabitants of the palace slowly awakened. The prince and princess up in his room, talking for several hours. Later, someone came and pulled them both out and had them married in the castle chapel. Though it took them a great while to determine which one belonged in the wedding dress.