Pumpkins didn't look like anything special.
Not to most people, at least.
They could be large or small, orange or a creamy white color. Smooth, bumpy, or filled with rotting pockmarks on their surfaces. They were just another seasonal crop to be harvested, sold, and used in the most conventional of ways. His brothers often smashed them into a pulp, not for any reason, just for fun.
But, in fairy tales, even pumpkins could be special, could have a purpose.
He knew, he'd been read that story before. It was one of his favorites, and one of the few things he really demanded from his "Nursies".
The pumpkin in the story was normal, of course, until the fairy's magic changed it into a splendid carriage. Along with other enchanted things - three mice, a dog, a torn dress and glass slippers - the servant girl was able to meet her Prince, and break away from her cruel and unloving family. Without the pumpkin, the girl in the story would never have made it to the ball, would never have fallen in love with her Prince, and would never have gotten her happily ever after. It was a simple thing, an uncomplicated thing, but if given the chance, it could be something great.
But Hans didn't live in a fairy tale. He is the thirteenth son, the last in line, the one who is overlooked. As he was frequently told, he was nothing special; one of thirteen, what could he possibly amount to as last in a long line of spoiled runts, each vying and pushing for any position of power they could gain from their King father.
Hans would never achieve his happy ending.
The girl would always get her fairy tale life, the happy ending, the true love in her story.
But that was all it was, a story.
And, for Hans, a pumpkin was nothing more than a pumpkin.