I started this story on a train in Austria, and finished it in Liechtenstein, the tiny nation between Austria and Switzerland. There's very little to do there, but there is a pretty little castle rather like the house described in this story. Which was an unintentional connection – but perhaps an appropriate one. Though it's definitely the home of the Prince, not of a magician!

The Magician and his Son

There once lived, in a large house a little like a castle, on the first plateau of a great mountain, a magician and his son. The magician was a tall man with fearsome black eyes, but the son was handsome young man, rich in wealth and friends. The one thing he lacked was a wife.

Now it so happened that further up the mountain, in a clearing amidst the tall trees, there was a village. Here lived a lovely girl named Serena, who lived with her family and their goats and chickens, and who loved none more than her sweetheart, a soldier who had gone to war. But one day, the magician's son, roving the mountains, saw Serena and wished her for his own. But upon talking to her, he realised she loved another, and jealousy pricked the greed in his heart.

That night, seeing his son so sad, the magician asked what was wrong.

"Father," said the young man, "I love Serena, a girl who lives up the mountain. But she loves another."

"Foolish boy," said the magician. "Am I not skilled in magic? She will love you evermore."

And he brewed up a potion for his son

The young man went up the mountain the next day, and seeing Serena, called out.

"Young maiden, come and drink with me."

She was afraid, but she dared not say no. She sipped his wine, and little by little, the potion gripped her heart, and she fell in love with the magician's son.

So now he was happy, and he took her back to his house to prepare for their wedding. He scarcely noticed that her large eyes had lost a little of their sparkle, and her voice a little of its music, and that her warm skin was a little cooller to the touch. For he loved her, and she was all he wanted.

But although Serena gazed at him adoringly, and responded to his every whim, she never praised him – she might have been shy, or perhaps no love potion is perfect. And very soon, the young man was despondent again, and the magician asked what was wrong.

"Father," said the young man, "Serena should love me. Yet she never praises me or says loving words."

"Foolish boy," said the magician. "This too can be solved with magic. She will praise you evermore."

And he brewed up a potion for his son.

That evening, the young man poured the potion into Serena's wine. And by the next day, she told him of all her love and was lyrical about all his qualities. And so he was happy, and scarcely minded that her eyes seemed glassier, her voice flatter, and her skin a little colder to the touch. For she loved him, and all might know it now.

Soon enough came the night before their wedding, and they sat out together in the garden, looking at the stars. And Serena gazed adoringly at the magician's son, and praised all his charms, but he saw her glance up the mountain and asked what she was thinking.

"Just of home," she replied innocently. "It is Spring, and the kids will be born, and the chicks hatched."

And jealousy once again pricked the greed in the young man's heart, and he went to his father's rooms and stormed and cursed. The magician asked what was wrong.

"Father," said the young man, "Serena loves and praises me, but her eyes still go up the mountain and she dreams of her life before."

"Foolish boy!" said the magician – it was a favourite phrase of his - "This too may be cured with magic. She will never daydream again."

And he brewed up another potion for his son.

So the young man went to join Serena again, and offered her a glass of wine to toast their union. And as she sipped, all memories of home left her, and even in the half-light, the young man could see her eyes grow dim. When she spoke, her voice was faint, and when she kissed him goodnight, he gasped involuntarily. She was almost as cold as the rock of the mountain.

That night, the young man tossed fitfully, and dreamed the terrible dreams that a guilty conscience can bring. And woken by his crying and moaning, the magician stormed in and asked what was wrong.

"Father," sobbed the young man, "I dreamt that Serena would leave me, and I could not stop her."

"Foolish boy!" boomed the magician. "Even this can be prevented with magic! She will never leave – never!"

And he brewed up a potion, and instructed the servants to put it in Serena's morning glass of milk.

The young man slept at last, and woke up feeling calmer. He left for the church, but hours passed and Serena never came. Angry and anxious, he stormed to her chambers, and kicked the door in. There she stood still, white as snow and her wedding dress glinting in the morning light.

And when the magician found his son, doubled over and weeping at Serena's feet, he said nothing. There was nothing he could do. She had turned to stone.