Droply 
Long ago, in a kingdom of green hills and slow rivers, a king and queen welcomed a baby daughter. They named her Rose, and the whole land celebrated.
For the feast, the king invited the wise women of the kingdom, who were known for their gifts. There were thirteen of them, but the castle had only twelve golden plates. So, with a heavy heart, the king invited twelve.
One by one, the wise women stepped up to the cradle. The first gave the baby kindness. The second gave her courage. Others gave her curiosity, laughter, a love of music, and a gift for friendship.
Just as the eleventh finished, the great doors swung open. In swept the thirteenth wise woman, her cloak still dusty from the road. She was hurt that she had been left out, and her words came out sharp. "When the princess is fifteen," she said, "she will prick her finger on a spindle… and fall into a sleep."
The hall went silent. But the twelfth wise woman had not yet given her gift. She stepped forward gently. "I cannot undo those words," she said, "but I can soften them. If it happens, it will be a peaceful sleep, a hundred years long, and she will wake again, safe and well. And she will not sleep alone."
The king still worried. He ordered every spinning wheel in the kingdom to be packed away. Years passed, and Rose grew up just as the gifts had promised: kind, brave and curious.
On the morning of her fifteenth birthday, while the castle bustled with preparations, Rose went exploring. She climbed a winding stair she had never noticed before, up to the very top of an old tower. There, in a small round room, an elderly woman sat spinning flax, humming softly.
"What is that wonderful thing?" asked Rose.
"A spinning wheel," said the woman. "Would you like to try?"
Rose reached out… and the spindle's point touched her finger. She felt a warm, heavy drowsiness, like the end of a long summer day. She lay down on a little bed by the window and closed her eyes.
And, just as the twelfth wise woman had promised, the whole castle fell asleep with her.
The king and queen, who had just come in from the garden, yawned and settled on their thrones. The cook, about to stir the soup, nodded off by the stove. The horses dozed in their stables, the dogs curled up in the courtyard, the pigeons tucked their heads beneath their wings on the roof. Even the fire in the hearth grew still, and the wind stopped rustling the leaves.
Around the castle, a hedge of wild roses began to grow. It grew higher and thicker every year, covered in green leaves and soft pink blossoms, until only the tips of the towers could be seen above it.
People told stories about the sleeping castle hidden in the roses. Now and then, a traveler tried to find a way through, but the hedge was too thick, and the time had not yet come.
Then, exactly one hundred years later, a young traveler from a faraway land arrived. He had heard the old stories from his grandmother, and he wanted to see the place for himself. He was not in a hurry, and he did not try to force his way in. He simply walked along the hedge, admiring the roses.
And as he walked, the branches slowly parted, opening a path of petals just wide enough for one person.
He stepped into the courtyard. Everything was quiet and still. The dogs slept in the sun. The cook slept by the stove. He climbed the winding stair to the tower, and there, in the little round room, he found Rose, still sleeping peacefully, as if she had only closed her eyes a moment ago.
"Hello," he said softly.
Rose opened her eyes. She smiled, as if she had just had a very good dream.
And all through the castle, everything woke up. The king and queen stretched. The horses shook their manes. The pigeons flew up from the roof. The fire crackled back to life, and the cook finally stirred the soup, which, remarkably, was still warm.
There was a great feast that evening, with music and dancing in the rose garden. Rose and the traveler became dear friends, and in time they were married, and the kingdom was happy for many, many years.
And every night, when Rose went to bed, she was grateful for sleep: for the way it rests us, and keeps us safe, and always, always brings us gently to a new morning.
So let the castle grow quiet around you. The fire is low. The roses are closing for the night. Rest now… and wake to a bright new day.
Good night.
