A new story for you all. I hope you enjoy.

Prologue - Ruby Rose; or the Little Iron Trigger


Once there was a gentleman who married, for his second wife, the nicest and most beautiful woman that was ever seen. He had, by a former wife, one daughter to call his own. A beautiful girl with hair as yellow as the sun's rays with a personality to match. He and his new wife loved each other and their daughter, but soon felt as if something were missing from their family. That something, they soon discovered, was a new child. A little sister for their little dragon. Someone whose little wisps of baby hair would give her, her very own name. A ruby as lovely as a rose. A girl of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper, which she took from her mother, who was the best creature in the world.

For a time, a gentleman, his beautiful wife and their two daughters; a fiery ray of sunshine and a delicately sweet rose, were as happy as any family could be. Together, they moved from the city; a great metropolis of people of all kinds, to a small village on an island known as Patch. A place, one could quickly gather, where one would raise a family. Patch was not somewhere one could easily point out on a map, as its size is not something that gave the residents pride. Patch however, was known for its sweet summers and mild winters. Its beautiful falls and calm springs. In all, it was a place where one need not fear for adventurous children, as the gentlemen's daughters no doubt were.

The beautiful wife cared for her two daughters equally, as they were both her own, no matter whom had given birth to them. She was a spirited woman who was renowned for her work in the kitchen as a baker of cookies, as well as her work as an officer upholding the law. A famed woman who spent many a night and day scouring the countryside for bandits and thieves and all those whom go bump in the night.

The gentleman left his life as a huntsman, choosing to give up the adventuring for a new one. He became a teacher at a school. A school which taught all that a young boy or girl would need to become a huntsman or any of the many positions needed to help these brave soldiers of the law.

For a time, the gentleman taught, the wife adventured and baked. The blonde played in the streams and forests around their tiny home. And the rose watched them all with wide silver eyes, jumping in her crib and waiting for the moment she was able to break free and run to her little heart's content.

They were happy for a time. The perfect family known all around the little island of Patch. Two beautiful daughters whom loved each other more than life itself and loved their parents almost as much, just as a family should be. The seasons turned and the sun rose from the hills and set over the ocean. The family continued their daily routines, and all were happy.

The youngest learned to walk. Almost immediately, she learned to run. She smiled and laughed and danced and sang. But most of all, she ran. The little rose ran to the streams and through the forests with her sister. She ran around the kitchen as her mother baked her cookies and fed her strawberries. She ran to the school where her father taught, becoming a welcome and common sight for student and teacher alike. The little rose was happy and filled with childlike imagination and wonder. The gentleman and his wife hoped that she would never lose that spark in her wide silver eyes. The sparkle that filled her with glee whenever she learned something new, or ran somewhere for the first time, or whenever she saw her sister.

And so, the seasons changed, and the months continued. The family grew a garden outside their tiny home. Strawberries for their youngest and mint for their eldest. Their home changed landlords. All was good and peaceful for the happy little family on the little island of Patch.

The beautiful wife left on a regular, calm night. Gave a loving kiss to her husband, the gentleman, a kiss to her eldest daughter, the fiery blonde, and a big hug and kiss for her youngest, the joyful rose. And then she set out to work another day.

And then she never came home.

The family was heartbroken. The gentleman in tears. The youngest, who laughed and played and ran, did so less. But, even with all she knew and all she learnt everyday, was still too young to understand what had happened. She asked her big sister, the kindest and friendliest person that the little rose knew, why did mother not return? The eldest, as heartbroken as she was, was still the eldest. Her father was broken, but she could not be. And so she was not. Left to take care of her father and youngest sister.

And the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. The months went by and things started to return to normal. As normal as things could be, for a perfect family whom had lost one of their perfect members. The father returned from his stupor and then returned to work as a teacher. The eldest baked cookies and went to school, deciding that she wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps. And the youngest played and laughed and learned all she could.

And the seasons changed and the smaller family was happy for a time. The youngest daughter became as intelligent as she was joyful. For her seventh birthday, her father and sister gifted her a small work shed outside and away from their tiny house and next to their garden to use as she saw fit. The little girl loved her work shed and spent many a night sleeping at her table as she did her bed. She was happy and the spark never left her eyes. And so, her elder sister was happy. And so, their father was happy.

The summer turned to fall, and the first hints of snow fell onto the tiny island of Patch. And the near perfect family was happy. The father taught and the blonde studied, and the rose learned all she could. It was a peaceful life, and none would change it for anything. They would venture every year out of their village, across a single stream and through a bright forest to the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sparkling blue and green of the ocean. Atop the cliff, just steps from the long shadows of the tall trees was a small stone and plaque, commemorating the woman, that beautiful wife whom had made their family as perfect as it once was. Even without her physical present, none thought that they could lose her from their hearts.

The months passed and things stayed as they always did. A normalcy that one would always wish for, but with enough variation and adventure to keep a fiery blonde and excitable rose content. Their home changed landlords. All was right with the world on their little island known as Patch which they called home.

One kind winter's day, as normal as any other, the gentleman, that father whom had raised two beautiful daughters, developed a cough. For many a night, he thought nothing of it. A cough in winter was nothing out of the ordinary and so he was content to believe it as such. But as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, the cough remained. And the cough grew worse. The gentleman, as strong as he was kind, grew weaker. His eyes which shared a fiery nature with his eldest and the spark of his youngest, lost their shine, becoming sunken pits. His tall frame became frail and weak. His adventurous attitude gave way to one of quiet melancholy as days as well as nights were spent in bed. In bed with nothing to keep him company, save for his beautiful daughters and his never-ending cough.

And the days turned to weeks and the two daughters were nervous for their father, that kind gentleman. Still they learned all they could and made their father the proudest a father could be. The eldest, the blonde whom had lived through the death of her mother, continued to take care of her only sister. She was her parent as much as she was her best friend. And the youngest, now old enough to understand, could only think about what would soon come to pass. But still she remained calm and kind and joyful. Her eyes kept their spark, even as their father grew weaker. She would remain strong, if not for herself, then for her elder sister. Just as her elder sister would remain strong for her.

And the hours passed. So too did their father. The gentleman whom had started their perfect family went into the black night with but a whisper of love for his two girls and his beautiful wife. Tears were shed and words were said. The quiet nights continued. And the tiny house changed landlords. All was as normal as it could be without a husband and wife; father and mother.

The days turned to weeks. The weeks to months and the months to years. The fiery blonde grew into a beautiful woman and the delicate rose into an exuberant girl. The blonde studied and worked and the rose learned all she could, spending many an hour in her work shed.

It was as normal as it could be. For what remained of such a perfect family, was still perfect in the eyes of the two daughters. The two sisters whom looked so different, yet were so similar. The days turned and the seasons changed. And they continued to do what they loved, living in their tiny home on the little island that was known as Patch.


This was written to be similar to the original source material. The rest of the story won't have this stylized form of writing. Let me know if you can tell what fairy tale I'm taking this from!

Also, Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canucks! And what is better than starting a whiterose story (red and white. eh) on Canada Day!