Once upon a time, there lived an elder widow and her two children. The oldest of the children was a man old enough to leave home, but could not do such a thing against his mother. The youngest was a cautious young woman who did not like to stray far from anywhere. Both children loved their mother dearly, and vice versa. Every day, the small family grew more and more into poverty and dismay. And as winter time came around that year, there was almost no hope to be made when the cupboards were discovered to be bare.
"Daughter," the mother requested on day after it had been snowing for hours, "Please go out into the woods and fetch us some wood."
The daughter looked out the window anxiously. Sure, one could find your tracks in the snow to trace you if you don't come back, but that's how killers find you too.
"Please Daughter," the mother requested once more, "Before Jack Frost claims our toes and noses!"
The daughter knew how grave the situation was and swallowed her courage.
"Of course Mother, I will go out to fetch some word." The daughter agreed, and set out for the woods soon after.
The daughter did not own a pair of winter shoes to claim her own, so she walked on the snow barefooted while she held her shawl (her only source of warmth in the frigid winter air) closer around her body. When she saw a piece of wood, she picked it up and carried it in her arms.
The daughter continued to pick up very large pieces of wood, but she only managed to successfully carry three before an episode of dropping the wood to pick more up started. She tried three times to pick the wood up and try to get more, but it all ended in vain. A voice beside her ear as she picked up the wood the third time asked,
"Do you need help miss?"
"Huh?" the daughter asked, turning her head to the voice. There stood a beautiful little boy, no older than ten, who smiled at her in a trusting way.
"Can I help you miss?"
The daughter was unsure of how to approach the little boy. He wasn't old enough that he could hurt her, but there could have always been someone that was with him hiding in the shadows.
"I do need help," the daughter finally said, hesitantly, "I would like to carry some wood back to my mother and brother in our cottage. It is awfully cold out I hope you are aware, and our cottage makes the winter seem even colder."
The boy smiled and nodded, then helped her collect more wood before they headed back toward the cottage. On the way back, the boy told the daughter of worlds that no human could imagine. By the time that they had reached the cottage, the daughter longed to see the worlds that no human could imagine.
"I must depart here." The boy said as they reached the ends of the property. The daughter dropped her wood and shook the boy's shoulders.
"You mustn't! I want to see the worlds that no other human is allowed to see! I want to eat the fruits so sweet no human can be able to taste it! Please new friend, please let me!"
The boy looked anxiously from the house to the daughter to the house again. Then he withdrew a rose that had not yet bloomed from his pocket (that certainly had not been there before) and handed it to the daughter.
"If you truly wish to see me again, and go to a place where no human can go, place this rose in water. When it blooms, I will come to get you."
The daughter nodded her thanks as her brother came through the cottage's door to help bring in the wood. When the daughter turned to introduce the boy to her brother, he had disappeared. When a nice fire was roaring in the cottage's furnace, the daughter placed her rose in a small glass of semi-frozen water and placed it on the windowsill in her room. She took one last look at it before going to bed, wondering when it would bloom and if the little boy would let her mother and brother come with her.
The next morning, the daughter's mother called for her (as she was late for breakfast) but no answer was received. The mother went into the daughter's room and saw that her daughter had died over the night. It must have been a peaceful passing since the daughter had a kind smile upon her face. As the mother mourned over her now dead daughter, the rose on the windowsill had bloomed.