The Wicked Fairy's chance came with the princess' christening. It wasn't the kind of event she approved of, but nevertheless she was more than a little ticked off when she didn't get an invitation, as she had spent the past few months making her presence felt at court. Of course she would turn up in spite of that, or perhaps even more because of that - it was just one more slight from the beautiful people. The most irritating thing was that she knew the king and queen had invited some other fairies - exactly the kinds of fairy who, she felt, were a disgrace to the name of magic. Pretty, flighty, dainty little things; the kind who made wings for themselves; the kind whose features were exactly the opposite to hers; the kind who made a big deal about being good and honest and trustworthy. The Wicked Fairy scorned them, but she had to admit, their magic was quite advanced, and she knew that they would use it to burden the new princess further with gifts of beauty, wisdom, a good singing voice, and all the other ridiculous things that she hated so much. The easiest thing to do would be to prevent them from attending the christening, but then her revenge would be so limited if the princess turned out to be plain after all. And so she decided to let them give their gifts, and then appear to give her own. It was a rule in the magical world that no child could receive more than one gift from any one fairy, and so there would be no way in which they could save the princess. Her plan was perfect. She would prove beyond doubt that beauty was a ridiculous thing to have faith in.

The day of the christening dawned, and of course it was a beautiful day, making the Wicked Fairy scowl as she made her stormy way to the palace. She left a trail of thunder and lightning as she flew on the momentum of her scorn and excitement, and arrived at the palace in perfect timing. She sent the least horrific of her cronies into the great hall (a raven who had, most unfortunately for the poor creature, suffered her anger once and still bore the scar on his back), and it returned with a caw, informing her that the good fairies had finished. With a smile of satisfaction, she eagerly made her way into the hall, summoning a cloud of darkness to hover around her. As she entered, the room filled with gasps of horror. A pang of sadness hurt her heart for a moment at their reaction - why, oh why, had nobody ever loved her? - but she buried it deep inside and stood taller as she approached the thrones.

"Your Majesties," she said with an irreverent bow, "I fear there has been a mistake."

"I - I'm sorry?" asked the queen timidly, as her husband opened his mouth and closed it again repeatedly, unable to speak - ignorant fool, thought the Wicked Fairy.

"I am deeply hurt," she said in a voice which she knew provoked mixed feelings of pity and hatred, "That I did not receive an invitation to your daughter's christening. I see that my cousins are all present; but I appear to have been overlooked."

"My - my goodness, I am dreadfully sorry," rushed the queen, in an almost convincing apology, "I'm afraid that the Chancellor must have muddled the invitations. I do hope you will stay?"

"I am afraid I have other places to be going, although of course I thank you," replied the Wicked Fairy, "But in order to prove that I bear no ill will towards you and yours, I propose a gift to your daughter." A gasp went up in the room, but she ignored it and approached the cradle which lay to the left of the queen's throne. "Little princess, I give you a gift which will stay with you all your life, from now until you die, and indeed past that time. I give you the gift of certainty, for I tell you, on the night before your sixteenth birthday, you will prick your finger on a spinning wheel. A harmless incident perhaps in ordinary circumstances; indeed, where would there be one anyway? But I assure you - you will prick your finger and fall to your death."

The silence in the room was impossible to break for any but the Wicked Fairy herself. She surveyed the room slowly, a small smile on her lips as she observed the looks on the people's faces, before turning to the king and queen.

"I take my leave, your Majesties."

Before anyone could utter a word, she was gone in a whirl of dark cloud and thunder. Outside, she said to the raven,

"Do not leave until the guests have gone home. I want to know exactly what happens." Smirking to herself, enjoying the feeling of power she felt, she rose up, carried by the same black mist.