The Little Princess with the Golden Curls sat behind the Golden Thrones, dressing her new alabaster doll. Carefully she smoothed down the frilly lace dress, brushed the doll’s hair, then tied the final satin bow. "Mummy, Daddy, look!"

The King was a Good King and the Queen was a Good Queen. They worked hard for the people of the Kingdom. No task was too hard, no plea was refused, no petitioner was turned away. They knew every need and healed every hurt in the Kingdom.

"Mummy, Daddy, look!" she ran toward them, with the doll enfolded in her arms.

The King and the Queen were listening to a poor, troubled peasant. As the Little Princess approached from behind, the King opened his arms to the peasant. The Little Princess ran hard into his elbow. "Careful, Little Princess," said the King, then to the peasant, "I can help."

The Little Princess looked at the King. He was smiling at the peasant. She looked at the Queen. The Queen gave her a quick wink, then turned back to the peasant. Quietly, the Little Princess withdrew behind the Golden Thrones, tears welling in her eyes. She looked at her alabaster doll. One arm hung at a crazy angle. Its little chest was shattered into sharp fragments. Blood flowed down the doll, staining the body and the delicate lace. She looked at her hand. Blood was seeping from a cut. She looked at her dress. A red shard was sticking out of her bodice, over her heart.

Shaking, the Little Princess went back to the Golden Thrones. Quietly, she tapped Mummy on the shoulder with the forefinger of her good hand. The Good Queen turned to her, raised an index finger to her pursed lips, gave her another wink, then turned away. The Little Princess crept away, quieter than a mouse. In her chamber, she washed away the blood. Then she plucked the alabaster shard from her chest, binding her wounds with two dainty handkerchiefs to stop the bleeding. But the hurt flowed on.

That night the Good King and the Good Queen came to kiss the Little Princess with the Golden Curls goodnight. "Did you have a good day?" She thought of telling them about the alabaster doll, and showing them her wounds. But the Good King and the Good Queen would know. They would know that their Little Princess with the Golden Curls was hurt. They knew all the pain in the Kingdom. But they said their prayers with her, kissed her, and left.

"Why didn’t they say anything?" wondered the Little Princess. "Maybe my wounds are too ugly. Or maybe my wounds aren’t that important." And she decided there and then to do like her daddy the Good King and her mummy the Good Queen, and ignore her wounds.

As time passed, the wounds got a little better, but strangely they never fully healed. During the day, she held her left hand curled, so that the ugly red line didn’t show. Sometimes, particularly on cold nights, the wounds would ache a little, and the Little Princess would think of her shattered alabaster doll. To keep her mind off her wounds, the Little Princess followed the example of the Good King and the Good Queen. She worked hard for the poor people of the Kingdom. She became known as the Good Little Princess with a Warm Smile, devoted to the needs of the unfortunate.

She noticed that if she stayed very busy, she did not think often of the wounds. But when she did, they hurt more than ever. And sometimes the wounds would weep, a thin reddish water, staining whatever she touched. And the Little Princess became very afraid.

Once, a child said to her, "How did you get that ugly red sore on your hand?" And the Little Princess suddenly drew herself up, looked forbidding and replied sharply, "Mind your own business!" At another time, the Little Princess invited all the princesses from the neighboring kingdoms for a ball. The Little Princess loved the ball, with girlish giggles and whispered conversations behind one’s hand.

But after the ball, one princess gave the Little Princess a hug, and pressed on the wound over her heart. With a sharp cry, the Little Princess pushed her away, and she staggered into the princesses queued behind her. The visiting princesses looked at the Little Princess, then at each other in amazement. "You hurt me," she flung at them, and turned from the room.

Soon the word went around that the Little Princess needed to be handled with caution. When the other princesses had balls and parties, the Little Princess was greeted coldly. The other princesses still whispered conversations behind their hands and giggled, but they stopped whenever she came near.

Sometimes there were balls and parties to which she wasn’t even invited. "Why do they do that?" she wondered. "I invited them to my party. Why are they gossiping about me? I was their friend, and all they can do is hurt me." And the lonely Little Princess pulled her shawl even tighter over her bosom, and buried her hand deeper into its folds. But the wounds throbbed even worse.

She was deeply embarrassed when a handsome young nobleman teaching her archery commented, "Your hand, show me." She whipped it out of sight. Her face was hot with shame, and her voice cried, "Go away." But her heart whispered, "Stay," while her wounds wept.

She determined to prove to everyone that she was still the Good Little Princess, despite the rudeness of the little child, and of the other princesses, and of the nobleman. She worked harder, throwing herself into every cause she could find. Surely, if she only kept the wounds hidden, people would forget. Surely her devotion would be rewarded. Surely they would stop their attacks and love her. She worked so hard she even forgot how she got her wounds.

But they would never let her forget the wounds themselves. Once she helped an old woman, bent over with the years, take her snowy washing off the line as a storm approached. Suddenly, the woman snatched the linen from her hand. "You’re making it all dirty!" the old woman exclaimed, and the Little Princess saw that her weeping wound had left an ugly stain on every garment she had touched.

Every time she touched an innocent sufferer, she felt the pain of her wound. And each time she hugged a hurting soul, they pressed on her wound. Why did those people have to hurt her like that? She was just trying to help them. Would the pain never stop?

One day word came that a Handsome Prince was coming to visit the Kingdom. Rumor had it that he was looking for a princess to marry, to make her the queen of his kingdom. The Little Princess’s heart beat faster, and she thought, "Maybe, he will have heard of all the good I have done. Surely he will love me for that. But, perhaps I’m too disfigured for the Handsome Prince." So she hatched a scheme to impress the Handsome Prince. She wore her sweetest high-neck dress, and covered her hands with lace gloves. Then she found the neediest soul and gave them her all.

The plan worked like a dream. The Handsome Prince came to the Little Princess and took her by both hands and smiles. "Little Princess," he said, and squeezed her hands. She screamed and thrust him away. But he grabbed both her wrists, and gazed into her eyes. "Take off your gloves," he commanded. She shook her head and snapped her arms to break his grip. He held on even tighter.

Then, gently, he released one hand and tugged at the fingers of her glove. As she writhed to escape, he pulled it off. Then he turned her hand palm up, and said, "I love you, Little Princess."

"But my wounds, " she began. "They’re so ugly."

"You did not cause them," he stated. She stared at him in disbelief.

Then he laid his hand, palm up, over hers. "Little Princess," he said, "look." And she looked at his big hand, and there in the center was a long scar, clear but healed. He tugged the ribbon of his shirt and slid the shoulder down, revealing another large scar over his heart. Stunned, she stopped resisting. Slowly, she raised her right hand to touch the scar, then hesitated.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Doesn’t it hurt?" she asked.

"A little," the Handsome Prince answered, "but not like before."

"How did it get better?" asked the Little Princess.

"Like this," said the Handsome Prince. And he took her hand and laid it on the scar.

The Little Princess was silent for a moment. He raised her injured hand to his lips. "May I? It will hurt," he said. Her eyes moistened, but she did not withdraw. He kissed the wound, and a fire seared her hand and her whole arm throbbed and tingled. Then he carefully laid his hand on the wound over her heart. Agony shafted through her, impaling her heart till she thought that she would never feel again. Then the whelming flood burst, and she cried all the uncried tears of her wounds.

The Handsome Prince held her tightly. He wiped her tears with his great white handkerchief, and held her tightly again. And only then did she notice that the wounds did not hurt as much as before. She looked at her hand, then quizzically at the Handsome Prince. "They will still hurt for a while," he said. "And each time you touch someone with your scars, they will hurt again, but they will also heal a little more."

Cautiously, she reached up and touched his face. It hurt, but not like before. It was the hurt of a wound that is healing. The Handsome Prince beamed. "Little Princess, I love you. Will you be the Queen of my Kingdom?"

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