The Tale of Lying Lolly and the Verse Curse

Once upon a time in a village much like this one, there lived a girl called Lolly. She was not a particularly big girl or a particularly gifted witch, but she was very good at one thing. Lolly was a storyteller. No, more than just an innocent entertainer, Lolly was a liar. She loved to spin a tale, to have everyone paying attention only to her, and to have the admiration of all the villagers. In fact, she told so many lies so often, Lolly stopped being able to tell the truth from her own lies.

One day, much to Lolly’s glee, there was a strange old witch hanging around the village green. It was the perfect opportunity for Lolly to impress somebody new with tales of her daring and cleverness. She marched into the green with her hands on her hips and posed dramatically in front of the old woman.

She opened her mouth, but the little old witch beat her to it. She smiled a gap-toothed grin. “Hello, dearie. Can you get this old lady a cold drink of water from the well?” Well! Lolly was certainly disappointed that her ability to tell a good story had been taken from her, and she jumped at the chance to make up a new one.

“Don’t you know where you are, Madame? This is the richest village in all the world. We absolutely never drink water here. No, no… we drink liquid gold out of golden goblets. Do you not feel lucky?” Her face was alight with pride at such a very good story.

“Lying Lolly, do you know the truth?” The woman cackled, and Lolly felt nervous. How did she know her name? Why did she ask about the truth? The woman continued. “A liar you are and a liar you’ll be, but your words are rhymed ‘til truth set you free.” She giggled madly and disappeared in a flash of smoke.

Lolly didn’t really understand what that crazy old witch had been talking about, but she was already trying to figure out how to make her disappearance into the best story of all time. It was a pretty good story without any lies, but Lolly was sure she could make it even better. “The truth is fine. The truth is fair. But the truth won’t get you anywhere,” Lolly muttered to herself. That was odd. Her words had made a little rhyme without her meaning it.

From that day forward, every word Lolly spoke came out as part of a verse. Limericks, couplets, and even a ballad or two, Lolly was now known for more than just her lies. She was known for her rhyming lies.

At first, Lolly loved her new fame. The villagers gathered around her and clapped after she announced, “I tell you the truth, I’ll tell you no lie. A flock full of owls flew out of the sky. They started to squeal, they started to squawk, and all of a sudden they started to talk! They told me a story of gold to be found, all we need do is dig up the ground.”

But soon enough, Lolly was tired of all the rhyming, and the villagers found it more tiresome than amusing. They went out of their way to avoid her whenever she was spotted coming down the path from her cottage. After all, no one wanted to hear a rhyme about taking out the garbage or watering the garden, and Lolly had to rhyme everything she said.

“I wish that I could come out and play, but I have to practice my spelling today,” Lolly frowned as her friends skipped off to the green, leaving her behind. They were leaving her behind all the time lately, and she thought that it probably had to do with all her rhyming.

Finally, she was ready to start thinking about what the old hag had meant. The truth would set her free? What kind of truth? She practiced telling the truth, standing in front of her looking glass and staring very hard at herself.

“You are a nice girl, and don’t need to lie…” She grinned and struck a pose, putting her chest out and her chin in the air. “Everyone loves you, no need to cry.” Her grin turned into a sulk. Even by herself, she was lying.

It seemed to be a hopeless case. Lolly couldn’t stop lying, and the more she rhymed, the more people avoided both her and her stories. What good was a story if no one would listen? And really, what good was a story if no one could tell whether it was a story or just a lie?

One day, several months after the visit of the old woman, Lolly returned to the village green and found another stranger there, this time a pale wizard with a long beard and a bald head. He had sad eyes, and at the sight of Lolly, he patted the bench he sat on. “Come sit with a miserable old man, child, and help cheer me up. Are you happy?”

“No,” Lolly admitted, sitting next to him. Her head drooped almost to her knees, but she perked back up. That wasn’t a lie, and it wasn’t a rhyme.

“What’s your name?” the man asked.

Lolly considered his question, running through a delightful list of made up names before admitting, “Lolly. Just Lolly, sir.” And just like that, she knew the curse was broken. All it had taken was a little bit of truth and a whole lot of being happy as just Lolly.

“Just Lolly?” the man’s eyes sparkled in a way that was oddly familiar. “Do you know any good stories, Just Lolly? Someone told me that the best storyteller in the kingdom lived in this village.”

“Well, yes, sir,” Lolly climbed on her knees and prepared to tell him a fantastic tale of dragons and princesses and maybe a hero named Lolly. “I know just the one.”

Translated by Cassirin