The Grimm Conclusion Read Online Free PDF Page A

voices dripping with sweetness, simpered, “Oh, dear sister, we are so happy for you! So happy! We love you so, so much!”
    Well, Jorinda was not sure what to make of this. After all, it was the first nice thing the girls had ever said to her. But, because they were her sisters, she invited them to come up with her on the great balcony that looked out over the throngs of adoring subjects.
    She stood on the balcony, holding hands with the prince (who was very handsome and, of course, quite clever), waving at her future subjects, with her stepsisters by her side and the little bird still perched on her shoulder.
    I strongly recommend that you close your eyes while you read this next paragraph.
    And while she and the prince waved and smiled at their subjects, the little bird flew from Jorinda’s shoulder to the elder stepsister’s shoulder. And there, he leaned over and pecked out the stepsister’s left eye. She screamed, but the cheers of the crowd were too loud, and no one could hear her. So the bird hopped to her other shoulder and pecked out her right eye. Then he hopped onto the younger stepsister’s shoulders and pecked out her eyes, too.
    Yes. Really.
    That’s what actually happens.
    And the last line of the real, Grimm story called “Ashputtle” reads:
    And so the stepsisters were punished with blindness to the end of their days for being so wicked and false.
    The End

Except, of course, that isn’t the end.
    I mean, it is the end of the sisters’ story. They wandered through the world, weeping, weeping, weeping. Nothing could be as terrible to these two sisters as losing their eyes—for their beauty was hidden from them forevermore. And eventually, after many months of wandering, they stumbled into a dark and forbidding forest, where they were eaten by bears.
    But Jorinda’s story is not over.
    And neither, of course, is Joringel’s.
    Oh, no. Far from it.

The Juniper Tree

O nce upon a time, a young girl lived in a sumptuous room in the highest turret of a castle, waiting for her wedding to a prince.
    She was not entirely sure how she felt about it.
    On the one hand, Jorinda was proud. She was going to become the princess of all Grimm. It was strange. It was wonderful. It made her dizzy.
    On the other hand, she wasn’t sure about this whole marrying-the-prince thing. He was a man, and, really, she was just a little girl. They didn’t talk to each other often. They didn’t seem to like the same things. And she was pretty sure his father, the king, hated her.
    Jorinda spent most of her time in her turret room, playing with the little bird from the juniper tree. He had made a small nest for himself under the eaves of her window, and while he never sang words to her, as he had before, he always kept her company, and chirruped merrily. He almost made her forget about that little grave under the juniper tree and that lonely house. Almost.
    She did try to. She pushed those memories way, way down, out of her head, beyond her heart, down into the bottom of her stomach. And, most of the time, she could forget about them. But now and then she would catch a glimpse of a solitary tree on the castle grounds, or a closed door, and she would grow sweaty, and her stomach would slosh and churn as if there were a great deal of water locked inside. She asked the servants to bring her an extra mattress to sleep on. But still she tossed and turned at night.
    After a few weeks, Jorinda returned home to have a meal with her family.
    When the carriage pulled up, her stepfather greeted her with a vigorous hug. As he held her close, he whispered in her ear, “Come with me to the kitchen, so we can prepare dinner.” He held her at arm’s length and smiled at her. Around his eyes, Jorinda could see grief and fury.
    She followed him into the kitchen. And she followed him out the back of the kitchen. Then she watched her stepfather open the icebox and draw out a great