"Once on a time there was a boy named Jack, and one morning he started to go and seek his fortune." – How Jack Went to Seek his Fortune; Joseph Jacobs
In a deep forest beyond the North winds stands Sought House.
It is surprisingly small – little more than a cottage – completely dwarfed by the tree behind it. Ivy trails its walls and the windows peep out shyly from beneath their leafy lashes. The House is burrowed deep in beautiful mess of flowers and thorns. The garden wall is small, easily jumped, though you will find the gate open. Ever eternally welcoming.
Love lives in Sought House. She is tall and fair, her smile is pure wickedness and her laugh pure joy. Girls seek her out, always girls. Young flighty things whose newly grown backbones hold them up straight and true. They despair for they wish to be bent over with grief. Love laughs at them, watching their struggles from her ebony-framed mirror. And when they finally discover Sought House and its lovely mistress, she sends them on their way again through the dark, frustrating, mud-filled night – because finding her is only half the story.
No boy ever seeks Love, and only the wisest of men. For them, Sought House is the end of their journey, a safe haven, the place where riches beyond imagination are dolled out upon the deserving and undeserving alike with no distinction. Fortune favours the brave, someone – no doubt a man – once said that. Who are the brave? Fortune favours idiots, tricksters and thieves – but perhaps I have grown bitter in my old age. Fortune is a true gentlemen, welcoming those poor sole-worn souls to his House and inviting them to participate in a parlour trick. In his study – a brooding shadowy room of red and gold – there is a wheel the size of the world, to it he straps his visitors and sets them spinning. Upon reaching the very top they are freed, bemused but in one piece, and then taken to the dining room where they feast on a drove of oxen and an ocean of wine until happy and contented. A new day dawning after a storm, that is what waits for you at Sought House.
But the way there – there are many storm-torn paths. One is lined with iron hats and iron sticks, iron bowls and unspilt tears. Another is stained with the blood of a young man's eyes and the sneers of his brother. Another still begins in an herb garden and meets with Death at every bedstead . There are so many ways and I would not have you walk them.
But go if you must, my dearest. I know the compulsion, I followed it once. My path was paved with knives and it twined along some rugged coast, far above the waves that broke like thunder upon the strand. How I longed to throw myself upon them – but I did not. The path changed, crawling through a blackened forest where wolves howled and roses bloomed – for an endless moment I almost picked one but then continued on. I came to a tower where I lay down to rest, tangled briars shuddered against the window and then they were ivy leaves quietly rustling. You were there, my dearest, and your sister. Love kissed our foreheads then sent us on.
I made our way home – the story did not turn out so very badly.
Go and seek your Fortune, my dearest. There you will find your Love. Be polite to strangers and always follow their advice. Beware of safety and run headlong into danger. I do not expect you to remember me at the end. Good luck.