Corner
Fairytale
This is a fairytale. You can tell, because I'm about to start it with those traditionally fairytale opening lines, once upon a time, somewhere far, far away... Except it wasn't, really. Because the time it was in never existed, and the place was here. But it did, and it wasn't. Things change. Some things, anyway.
So.
Once upon a time, somewhere far, far away there lived a beautiful young girl. Actually, she wasn't all that beautiful at all, really, which was not to say that she was ugly -- far from it -- simply that, like most people, she fell into a kind of broadly sweeping category of aesthetic. She was not beautiful, then, but she had another talent far greater than mere beauty -- which is shallow and fades with time -- and that talent was for the Truth. Not only could the girl never tell a lie, but she could always detect one if she heard it. Actually, this in itself is probably a lie, thrown in for dramatic license to mythify the rest of the story. Really, she was just an honest young lady with a broad slab of empathy and intuitive understanding of human nature. She was the daughter of a shipbuilder, and her mother had died when she was very young. These are not particularly important facts, but they're the kind of thing that get thrown into fairytales. Her father either loved her dearly or treater her with cold indifference and hoped to marry her off at the nearest opportunity; you choose.
One day the girl was out in the forest doing fairytale girly things like picking flowers, or playing with the merry forest animals or whatever, when suddenly and with a big dramatic crash, something large and brown crashed through the canopy. The young girl, being rather curious, ran over to see what the fuss was about and discovered a falcon thrashing about injured on the ground, both its wings broken.
"Oh dear," said the girl. Being quite practical about these things, she removed her cloak and slowly approached the thrashing bird, who squarked and snapped at her in its vicious birdy way. Gently, she lowered the cloak over it and lifted it from the ground, taking care not to hurt its wings any further -- and keep its beak and claws wrapped tightly in the cloak.
"Now you stop all that kicking and biting and let me take care of you or I'll throw you right back out into the forest," the girl told the falcon when it refused to calm down. Much to her surprise, the words had their intended effect -- perhaps the falcon was feeling a bit stupid that day, or maybe he really was quite tired and ready for a bit of doctoring -- and he calmed.
"I see," said the girl. "One of those birds. I knew there was something wrong about you."
The falcon considered struggling again, but thought better of it, and the girl gently unwrapped his head and started to stroke his soft feathres. Sometimes it really was quite good being a bird.
The girl returned to her small house and promptly began arranging accomodations for the injured not-falcon. Her father either helped, or she hid the bird from him in fear of retribution; either is okay, he's not the main character, so who really cares.
Using her amazingly convenient knowledge of vetenary first aid, the girl set the falcon's wings and brought him raw meat to eat and cool water to drink. Sometimes at night she would stroke his soft feathers and tell him secrets, he was a very good listener and after a while decided that girl was indeed both very kind and very pretty. Which in fairytales generally equates to 'wife'.
The falcon stayed for as long as he thought he could, but soon had to admit his wings were healed and that he had to return to his own family -- pain in the ass little shits though they may be. He did so in the dark of night, when the girl was asleep, realsing that he did not have the heart to say goodbye. She woke up the next day and was sad, but in a practical, no-nonsense sort of way, with a minmum of moping and a maximum of Getting on With Her Life.
So that when, two weeks later, a golden apple appeared at her bedside, she found herself only mildly surprised.