|Hosted by the Ugly House|
Would you knock on the door?
You’d have to, wouldn’t you? If you were wandering through a forest in Wales and saw it rise up ahead of you, that craggy little cottage jutting out of the ground as if the stones themselves had grown there, surrounded by a meadow of wildflowers? Throw caution to the wind, knock on the door, and take whatever adventure followed.
Anything could happen in a house like that. You might be invited in for tea by a bear with an Oxford accent, or a wizened old man with a long beard might demand you sing for your supper. A perilous beauty might fling open the door, furious at your presumption, and curse you with a geas that could only be removed after a long and improbable quest. Or a trio of fairies might bless you for your timely arrival, and promise you three wishes if you will only help them finish making the ball gown before nightfall. It could be anything. Anything at all.
And to think that they call it ugly…
(To all you Welsh tourism aficionados out there, I know, I know, the name is very old and may not mean what we think it means. Still.)