The twins Josephanie and Persephonie lived with their mother, Lady Trianor in the palace of the king of Elendal. They loved to run and play with the princes and princesses, and attend fancy parties and royal festivities. They loved to listen to the fine musicians who came to court, and Lady Trianor told then of how their father, Lord Escalot had been the finest harper in the land.

“Why did he die?” asked Josephanie.

“That’s a long story,” replied her mother. “His harp is sitting in the corner as you know.”

“Yes,” said Persephonie. “You always tell us not to play it, but it has that golden string on it that glows as if it is waiting to be played. Why can’t we play his old harp?”

“Well,” continued Lady Trianor, “Just before you were born Lord Escalot was invited to play for the king’s mid-winter feast. The celebration lasted for two weeks, and you father played every night at the banqueting hall. On the third night however, one of the wire strings broke, the third from the bottom. He didn’t have a spare string, so I gave him my golden ring which had healing powers handed down through the Trianor lineage. He took it to a goldsmith who cut it and drew it out into a wire suitable for a harp string. The string was a success, and every time he plucked it health, peace, and prosperity touched all who heard its golden resonance. The king still enjoys fine health from that feast of harping.”

“So if the golden string brings such good things to everyone, why can’t we play it?” asked Persephonie, who was quite musically inclined anyway, and loved to sing.

“It is not quite that easy,” continued her mother. “Like so many things in life the string carries with it a high price. At the time we did not know that each time the string is plucked it takes away one year from the life of the harper. After that mid-winter feast your father looked like an old man. I begged him to have the string formed once more into a ring, but he wouldn’t. He promised to never use that one string in his music.”

“That must have been hard, since many pieces would use that low note.” Josephanie was always very practical.

“True,” replied the lady. “He managed very well until I became sick in child-birth. Once more I begged him to destroy the string, but he played the harp in my sick-room all day and all night. He played the golden string even though I wept so he would not kill himself in saving me. He would not stop until you girls were safely born into this world. I recovered quickly, but Lord Escalot died of old age that same evening.”

Lady Trianor’s gaze rested on the small willow harp in the corner, dusty and full of cob-webs. Her eyes were misty with memories and regrets.

“I should have the string formed back into a ring again, and give away his harp,” she mused.

“No, no,” cried the girls in unison. “It is too precious, and we three would not be alive today if it weren’t for our father’s love. We should honor his memory.” And so the harp remained where it was.

No one played it for years. Then one fine summer’s day as Josephanie was out hunting with the royal family, a viper rose up out of the grass and bite her on the heel. She rushed home and lay paralyzed in bed. Lady Trianor was off visiting her sister in a distant kingdom. Word was sent immediately on the fastest horse that one of her daughters lay dying. But the poison was working too quickly for any help to come. Persephonie wept and wrung her hands, for she loved her sister more than anything in the world. Her eyes came to rest on the old dusty harp in the corner. As before, the golden string seemed to beckon to her...