Once upon a time, a very long time ago, in the world of Thiside there lived the last of the great Sorcerers. As his inevitable death loomed ever closer he was wrought with despair. As the last of his line the sorcerer had yet to leave his mark on the world. Those that preceded him had created amazing things, built cities from an acorn, created new creatures and, in one unique case, invented the toilet seat (which was never utilized for its true purpose but was instead implemented for a more practical application; stopping one’s buttocks from touching the distasteful rim around a toilet bowl).
And then it occurred to him. He realized what his contribution to the world should be: he would create the first ever perfect woman. It is widely known in Thiside that Sorcerers operate on a completely different wavelength from all other magical entities. They are infinitely more powerful than a wizard or magi and rather than creating spells they are able to manipulate the magical energy around them in the same way that a potter manipulates clay.
The Sorcerer waited for the perfect day when the clouds were just the right shade of grey and the wind would whip his bright red robes around his body in a dramatic fashion. He packed his singular supply and set out from his tiny cottage in the North Western region at the foot of the Grimm Mountains and began his long climb to the Peak of Magical Significance (so named due to its magical significance).
At the ripe old age of three hundred and seventy six the Sorcerer didn’t move all that fast and the sun was beginning to set with a flourish as he finally crested the peak. The Peak of Magical Significance, which was conveniently flat on top allowing any number of magical ceremonies, spells and songs to be performed, crackled with raw energy. The sky began to darken and the clouds loomed heavily above him as he removed a bright green rock from his bag and placed it in the center of the open area. The magical energy skittered and jumped toward the rock, causing it to glow, and lightning shot across the sky as if to prove a point.
The Sorcerer smiled at the atmospheric discharge of magic and raw power, felt it flow through his body and tickle his toes. He raised both his hands in the air as the wind whipped around him, opened his mouth … and then closed it again. He knew what he wanted to do but was unsure where to start. Sorcerers and wizards didn’t really consort with females other than witches, who were often ugly. This was silly. He was an all powerful Sorcerer with the elements at his command. He raised his arms again, lightning ripped the sky in half; he opened his mouth and began:
“Alright here we go then. I’m going to start with the body. Not too tall of course, classy but not a bone rack, a little curvy but not so much that she looks like she’s bent at all the wrong angles.”
The green rock began to luminescently throb and from the essence of nothingness the Sorcerer called into existence the skeletal frame of a woman floating in mid-air. Muscle and sinew threaded its way out of the air and began to wrap itself around the bones creating the physical presence of a body. The wind thrashed across the mountain top and the Sorcerer almost lost his pointy hat. He waved his hands for dramatic emphasis and then paused to scratch his head. The female body made only of bone and muscle rotated slowly and the wind abruptly dropped.
“What kind of skin should she have?” said the Sorcerer to no one in particular.
He seemed to remember his mother having darker skin but that never seemed practical to him. The perfect woman should be easy to find at all times.
“I’ll make her pale so she’ll stand out and can be easily located at all times.”
He threw his hands into the air and the wind began to rush and swirl once again as he called into action the most physical of elements and skin began to grow over the woman’s body. With his right hand the Sorcerer reached up and plucked a star from the darkening sky and flung it at the woman’s empty eye sockets. The woman blinked once to reveal grayish green eyes, like the depths of the ocean on a cloudy day with the sparkle of the stars concealed within.
He summoned the mental energy of the closest populated city and funneled it into the woman to give her a mind of her own. This was his last great mistake. What he had failed to do was research who lived in the closest populated city. As a cruel twist of fate the closest populated city was actually more of a settlement populated entirely by females. The four hundred or so women were an angry bunch who had joined together to fight the disease that they classified as ‘man’. This radical group did not believe in the notion that a woman needed a man to justify her existence and regarded the male gender as a problem that had no viable answer. The settlement had come to be known by the surrounding area as Feminisity. No one knew why, it just seemed to fit. It was from the collective minds of the residents of Feminisity that the Sorcerer drew the thoughts and beliefs and focused them into his creation.
The wind was now swirling around the mountain like a tornado as the Sorcerer called upon all the elements to finish what he had begun.
“Hair!” he shouted to the wind. “Make it red! Make it as red as the … uh … the … something very red!”
This part he was most proud of. Red hair did not exist in the world of Thiside. There was auburn and brown, blonde and black, and in rare cases an off shade of blue but not one individual in Thiside had red hair and the Sorcerer had always wondered what it would look like.
The most beautiful red hair sprouted from his subject, and grew to flow down her back. The wind slowed and the Sorcerer looked upon his creation. She glided to the ground and stared out through vacant eyes.
“Yes, very nice,” said the Sorcerer, “the perfect woman! I’ve done it! They said it couldn’t be done but I’ve done it! I’ll call her a ‘red head’, what a lovely name and she will be the sweetest kindest creature to ever walk the earth.”
The Sorcerer lowered his hands and snapped his fingers a couple of times.
“Time for you to awaken my beloved creature.”
The woman’s eyes took on a look of bewilderment as she blinked a few times and looked carefully at the Sorcerer and around at her surroundings. Her face was the picture of innocence. She looked down at her body and realized she was naked, then back at the old man who was grinning at her.
‘Why am I naked?’ she thought. ‘Why is he grinning at me? What does he want?’
The woman looked again at herself and back at the man and then something happened. Something ingrained in her very short existence bubbled to the surface, a sort of collective negative opinion formed from the minds of four hundred angry women.
The Sorcerer beckoned to her in a welcoming motion. “That’s right my dear, come to me now, I am your creat….”
The woman screamed a shrill scream that ricocheted across the peaks of the Grimm Mountains. A look of rage and indignation swept across her face as she searched for a weapon. Seeing the glowing green rock she grabbed it and flung it at the Sorcerer with all her might, striking the old man in the head and causing him to stagger backwards and off the edge of the cliff.
The woman, still angry, walked to the edge and watched with satisfaction as the last living Sorcerer bounced down the side of the mountain to his timely death with all the dexterity of an uncoordinated brick.
The first ever ‘red head’ in existence gave a satisfied ‘humph’ and disappeared into the night to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world.
The Moral of the Fairy Tale:
Do not dabble in that which you don’t understand and have absolutely no capacity to comprehend. Instead just stick to what you know.
Be wary of red headed women. While their scarcity and magical properties make them desirable their anger is powerful enough to make the fiercest of creatures pee themselves.