story snippets: aziza's crown
I imagine a world where Black girls are the protagonists of fairytales.
hello, my friends,
A while ago I asked my mother to wash my hair. She immediately packed herself up into the car with a tote bag full of jars, and arrived at my house.
When she came, she sat me down on a pillow on the floor. As I settled between her knees, I was called back to 1999, when she would braid my hair while we watched reruns of Star Trek or Babylon 5 (Momma was a Trekkie, for real. Real afrofuturism shit.) We sat there talking, laughing and detangling, and I was struck by the profound nature of storytelling ritual that is present when Black women care for each other’s hair.
When she brought me over to the sink, and the warm water caressed my tresses as her thick and nimble fingers worked my scalp, an image of a young woman with magical hair, imbued with ancestral stories woven into her locs, twists, braids and knots washed over me as well.
This snippet is the beginning of what came next. I hope you feel the magic. If you want to see more of this kind of work, please consider a paid subscription! All my fiction writings will show up for paid subscribers only going forward.
XOXO,
B
Prologue: A Braid Unravels.
There are a thousand stories braided into my hair.
Each strand is a whisper of other times. Their magic hums beneath my scalp, a crown passed down from mother to daughter, a legacy older than the wind itself. Tonight, I’ll unravel a single braid for you, but it is not a single story.
This braid contains many tales. Listen.
In a time before time…
All that existed was a vast, dark, endless ocean of nothing. But within that darkness, a tiny spark flickered. It was the Cosmos itself, stirring awake, yearning to fill the void with vibrant stories.
And so, the Cosmos created. Stars, like a million glittering fireflies, ignited in the blackness. Planets swirled into existence, cradled in the starry arms of the night. Moons rose and fell, painting the endless darkness with their silent songs. Yet, the Cosmos desired more than just a canvas – it craved a storyteller and characters, voices to breathe life into these celestial pages.
And so, the Cosmos created the Weaver. She was born from the very fabric of the universe, a being of pure cosmic energy. Her skin was dark as the night sky, and her hair, woven from stardust into a long, intricate braid, cascaded down her form like a shimmering waterfall, each strand holding the promise of a thousand tales. In her eyes, galaxies twinkled, reflecting the boundless imagination of the Cosmos.
The Cosmos bestowed upon her a magnificent loom, fashioned from the silver light of a thousand moons. This magical instrument allowed the Weaver to weave beings from stardust and stories. Nimble and quick, her fingers danced across the loom, plucking a star from her radiant braid and transforming it into a living creature – people and animals, fairies and spirits, creatures both wondrous and strange, all woven from the same celestial braid.
But the Weaver yearned for more. She desired a child of her own, a being born not just of stardust, but of her flesh and blood and love. She called out to the Cosmos, her voice echoing through the vast emptiness, and the Cosmos, touched by her devotion, granted her wish.
As the Weaver carried her child, she filled their heart with tales. Ancient stories of the universe’s birth, of her own creation, and the countless beings she had woven. This child, born under a sky teeming with constellations, was named Dreamer.
Dreamer grew up bathed in the Weaver’s love, their very essence infused with cosmic magic and the stories their mother had woven. Every night, as Dreamer slept, their mind wandered through the maze of dreams, encountering characters and settings spun from their mother’s stories and their own imagination. Upon waking, Dreamer would find new stars nestled within The Weaver’shair, each one a catalyst for a new story she would weave.
One night, Dreamer dreamt of a world unlike any before. Lush forests whispered secrets to the wind, rivers flowed like liquid sapphires through valleys, and a town shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Waking with a gasp, Dreamer shared the vivid vision with the Weaver, and both marveled at its beauty.
Inspired, the Weaver dipped her hand into the cosmic wellspring that was her hair, and plucked forth a single, radiant strand. As she wove, the dream solidified, becoming a reality separate from their own – a place woven from stardust and stories. She wove deftly, with a fervor that the Cosmos had not yet seen. The Weaver filled this magical place with beings with skin like the night, and tresses full of tales. This place was Havenswood, a town where the magic of the Cosmos, the essence of the Weaver, and the dreams of the Dreamer intertwined, where the very air vibrated with the echoes of a thousand tales.
But this, my dear, is where our true story begins. In a place not quite untouched, but a town unbothered by the world around it. Hidden away with trees and shrouded in mythology, Havenswood had never been seen by an outsider.
Until the spider came.