The Violet-eyed Princess: An INFP Fairy Tale
This fairy tale is inspired by the classic hero/heroine — the INFP.
The INFP is often called The Idealist. They are people who are generally quiet and reflective but who hold strongly felt ideals about right and wrong. When one of these ideals is threatened, the laid-back INFP will rise up and do whatever it takes to protect the innocent.
Intelligent and insightful, INFPs tend to be sensitive and easily hurt. They need plenty of time to recharge after social situations and to indulge in their own creative pursuits. INFPs are artists, at heart.
To learn more about INFP: http://www.truity.com/personality-type/infp
On a sparkling blue and white morning, in a castle by the sea, bells rang out to announce a royal birth. A baby princess brought joy to the Queen and King and a night of feasting and revelry to the village. The child had eyes the colour of violets and a fair, delicate face.
She grew into a gentle girl, who couldn’t bear to see a servant scolded or a dog kicked. She played with her kitten in the garden, and rarely joined in the boisterous games of the other children. They urged her to come with them to the wide meadow and occasionally she did, but she returned with purple bruises blooming under her white skin. The condition worsened and, as she grew into a young woman, even the lightest touch spread bruises like blue and purple stains across white velvet. Her parents worried and kept her in a cushioned room, in a high tower overlooking the sea. Only one servant, with deft hands and a light touch, attended her. She played with her cat, painted pictures and read stories of heroes and villains. Gazing out her window, she watched the water change as the sun rose and set.
One morning, a murky fog erased the sea and the day crouched silent and gloomy in the corners of her sheltered room. The deft-handed servant arrived red-eyed and morose.
“What is the matter,” inquired the princess. She had never seen the kind woman so forlorn.
“My good brother and his children are starving in the village.” The servant rubbed her swollen eyes and sobbed. “Don’t tell the king and queen that I told you, if you please. They said you are not to know.”
The princess pulled the servant down beside her and peppered her with questions. A plague had struck the village and the gates were closed. No one would go near the dying town for fear of the disease.
“That same ship that brought silk and satin gowns and new books for your library also carried a foul illness to our shores.” The woman wiped her eyes. “It is no fault of yours, my dear. You must put it out of your mind.” She tidied the room and left.
The princess did not move from where she sat, chilled and wretched, thinking of the sick and hungry people in the village. A plan flowered in her heart. She bundled up her gold-leafed books inside her most luxurious gowns, and stuffed them into a sack. She slipped out of the castle, hurried past the locked gates of the village, and set off through the forest to a different town that lay some leagues away. Rough stones bruised her feet. Branches caught her hair and brushed against her face leaving blue welts across her pale cheeks. She reached the town and limped through the streets carrying her sack. Dogs barked and children laughed at her bruise-striped face and bedraggled hair. She found a trader and sold him the books and gowns. She bought a little wheeled cart and loaded it with all the bread and vegetables that her money could buy. The sun was getting low in the sky as she struggled back through the forest pulling her cart over roots and stones.
She reached the village near the sea, just as the sun was dipping into the sea. The fog had lifted and the sky shone with colours that turned the water into dappled waves of rose and gold. The guards outside the gates had fled, frightened of the tainted air that wafted over the walls. The guards inside, weak with sickness and hunger, opened the gates when they saw the weary girl approaching, dragging the cart full of food. People squinted, bleary-eyed from their windows, then left their homes and crowded around the cart. The princess handed food to the villagers. Hungry children jostled her as they grabbed for bread, then hugged her when their bellies were full. Bruises bloomed and spread over her body.
At last the sun sank into the sea. A fresh wind blew from over the water and the exhausted girl lay down under a tree. She didn’t want to risk bringing the illness back to the castle. The people came to offer her a bed but she needed to be alone. Solitude and moonlight washed over her and soothed the violet marks that mottled her skin.
Morning arrived, and the sun turned the waves into sparkling diamonds. The salty breeze blew the last of the malaise from the town and revived the spirits of the villagers. The gates opened and the battered and bruised princess returned to the castle. She climbed to her quiet room and picked up her paintbrush. Alone, high in her tower, she sat and watched the light play over the ever-changing sea.