Claret and Gold
Rumpelstiltskin miscarries yet another baby girl—and they are always girls. The fluids seep claret down his breeches halfway to the hamlet where Mary-from-the-newspaper lives. Mary-who-births-monsters.
Sometimes he whelps animals; often, fruits. A few times he gave birth to shapes. Squares, circles, once even a hexagon. It tore his body bloody. A scar to remember each daughter by.
Rumor disseminated of Mistress Mary’s rabbit offspring. Rumpelstiltskin pilgrims to Mary Toft’s abode, to beg her to take his own curse into herself. But as he window-watches, Mary shoves slaughtered rabbit parts between her legs to egress in the morning—a fraud.
Mary Mary quite contrary, sings he of impish hands crushing a woman’s windpipe. The word on the tip of his tongue is unbirth, so—
He unbirths her.
Roaming back through the countryside, Rumpelstiltskin passes a mill. The miller’s daughter is another Mary, another curse for him to bear. Upon seeing her, his belly spasming, he knows she has no firstborn. Mary had a little lamb. He bore a lamb once, clumps of wool tinted afterbirth-pink like a lady’s peplum.
He asks for shelter in the hayloft, but the halo-haired Mary refuses. She eyes his belly. It’s already bulging anew. The child will come before dawn.
Under a spinning-wheel sky, he labors squatting, and the sky heaves with him. When it’s over, he doesn’t check if his baby girl is dead or alive; animal, vegetable, or mineral.
Fuck their straw and fuck their gold.
Instead, he looks up at the spindle-prick stars and lets the sky birth and unbirth him.
© 2025 Avra Margariti
About the Author
Avra Margariti is a queer author, Greek sea monster, and Rhysling-nominated poet with a fondness for the dark and the darling. Avra’s work haunts publications such as Strange Horizons, Apex, The Deadlands, Asimov’s, F&SF, Podcastle, and elsewhere. You can find Avra on twitter & bluesky (@avramargariti).