The Heart in the Golden Box

The Heart in the Golden Box
A Fairy Tale by Vladimir Vorobyov Abadensky







                Chapter 1. Where the Light Touched the Earth.



   Once, in the deepest valley, hidden by thick forests and silver streams—where even the wind seemed to know when to stay quiet—there lived a small boy named Ivanushka. His home was modest: an old crooked cottage at the edge of the village, with a tilted roof and a tiny window that poured warm light into the night.

Ivanushka had no father—he had died protecting the village during a winter flood. His mother, Maria, was a kind woman, with hands calloused from work but soft with love. From early on, she taught her son:

“Do not judge others, Ivanushka. Everyone has a storm in their soul. Help them, even when it’s hard for you.”

And he did. For the old—he carried firewood. For the neighbors—he walked their goat. With the children—he shared what little he had. In Maria’s home, there was always bread—dry, thin, but always half was given to anyone who knocked at the door.

One evening, as the wind whispered stories through the cracks in the walls and candlelight danced gently across the ceiling, Ivanushka asked:

“Mom, why do we share what little we have?”

Maria smiled softly, set aside her knitting, and said:

“Because kindness, Ivanushka, is like a candle. When you share your flame, your own light doesn’t go out—the world simply becomes brighter. A flame doesn’t warm just one—it invites others to warm themselves too.”

So he lived—with a small flame glowing inside his chest. He didn’t yet know that true kindness is always tested.

And one day… someone came to the valley who did not love the light.



                Chapter 2. Prince Gloom.



That day began strangely. The sun never rose—only gray clouds stretched across the sky, and the air felt heavy, as if it knew that trouble was coming. Even the rooster, usually loud, stayed silent. Birds huddled in branches. Dogs howled somewhere far away—as if they sensed something unseen.

From the edge of the old swamp, where even old Yegor—the village herb-gatherer—dared not go, came Him. Tall, slender, draped in robes of dark silk that flowed behind him like smoke. His face was handsome—frighteningly so—carved like marble, but lifeless. His eyes had no pupils. Only a cold gleam, like a fox in the dark.

He walked up to Ivanushka, who at that moment was feeding doves by the well. The birds took flight at once—as if they had felt something.

“Hello, boy,” he said. His voice was sweet, like sugar-coated honey, but there was something snake-like in it. Cold.

“Who are you?” Ivanushka clutched his piece of bread to his chest.

“A friend. I see you suffer. You give, you forgive, you sacrifice. But why? Where’s your reward? Your thanks? Would you like power instead? Would you like to rule? Let others bow before you. All I ask… is your heart.”

Ivanushka turned pale. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.

“But… how can I live without a heart?” he whispered.

“I’ll give you a box. A golden one. It will chime when you wish to feel something. Its sound—like a bell. No one will know your heart is gone. Only you… and me. And best of all—you’ll never suffer again.”

He reached out his hand. In it was, indeed, a small golden box, shining like sunlight. It looked warm, but it gave off a chill—not to the skin, but to the soul.

And in that very moment, as Ivanushka stood frozen between temptation and fear… someone appeared to remind him of the Light.



                Chapter 3. The Elder Silantius.



The shadow from the box crept along the ground like something alive. The grass beneath it turned dark. Ivanushka stood frozen, his hand trembling, heart pounding like a bird caught in a snare.

Then, from the air—or perhaps from light itself—appeared a figure. An elder. He was tall and thin, dressed in white robes, with a long silver beard and eyes that held the reflection of a sky no ordinary person had ever seen.

“Do not touch it, child,” the elder said. His voice was soft but powerful—like the wind over a mountain. It sounded like a prayer carved in time.

Prince Gloom stepped back, narrowing his eyes into a scowl.

“Who are you, old man?” he hissed.

“I am the one who remembers when the Word began. I walked in the Light before Darkness knew its name,” the elder replied calmly.

He turned to Ivanushka and knelt beside him, like a father to his son.

“Don’t take that box, child. The heart is a temple. It may be tired, wounded, even broken… but if you give it away, you’ll never again hear the voice of your conscience. Nor the whisper of God. Only an empty chime.”

Ivanushka lowered his gaze.

“But being kind is hard... People mock me. They take and don’t give. Sometimes I’m angry… sometimes kindness feels like foolishness.”

The elder gently placed his hand on Ivanushka’s shoulder.

“Light always climbs uphill. Kindness is not weakness—it’s courage. And those who laugh at goodness are just afraid of their own shadows. But listen: you are not alone. Even when it feels like darkness has won—it is only testing your faith.”

Ivanushka closed his eyes. The elder’s words were like hands gently pulling fear out of his chest.

“I don’t want to lose my heart,” he whispered.

“And you won’t,” the elder replied. “Because you’ve chosen the Light.”

At that, Prince Gloom vanished. Not in thunder or smoke—but like a shadow fleeing the sunrise.




                Chapter 4. The Dove Named Faith.



The sun, as if it had heard Ivanushka’s choice, slipped out from behind the clouds. Its rays touched the boy’s face—and suddenly, he began to cry. Not from fear. Not from pain. But from warmth, and the quiet relief that bloomed inside.

He didn’t notice how a dove soared from his chest. Not from his clothes, not from his hands—but from deep within his heart. Snow-white, with wings shimmering with a gentle heavenly light. Grown-ups might have called it a miracle. But it was faith.

The dove flew high into the sky. Her feathers sparkled like stars. The darkness melted. The wind stilled. Even the grass in the valley straightened—as if nature itself rejoiced.

Silantius folded his hands in a silent blessing.

“The Dove of Faith flies only from a heart where truth lives,” he said. “She cannot be made—only born.”

Ivanushka watched her rise, knowing his heart had not only remained with him—it had grown stronger, cleaner. He had witnessed a miracle, and yet knew the real miracle had happened inside.

The elder stepped close.

“Remember this day, Ivanushka. Let it walk with you like a story of light. And when one day you face another choice—remember how you did not sell your heart.”




                Chapter 5. Ivanushka and the Heart of Stone.



The next morning, while dew still clung to the grass and the air was fresh like after prayer, Ivanushka set out on the path. He felt his heart not only safe—but glowing. It guided him—not with words, but with quiet nudges.

He came to a nearby village, where, it was said, a boy named Artyom lived. People said his heart was made of stone. No tears, no warmth, no sorrow moved him. People avoided him. He grew up serious, silent.

Artyom sat at a cliff’s edge, tossing stones into the river.

“Hi,” said Ivanushka.

“Hi,” Artyom muttered without turning.

“Why are you here alone?”

“Who else would I be with? People are liars. They promise and forget. They love and leave. I don’t trust anyone anymore.”

Ivanushka sat beside him. They said nothing. Stones fell into the water. Ripples spread.

“Have you ever cried?” Ivanushka asked quietly.

“No. That’s weakness.” Artyom clenched his fist.

“No. Crying means your soul is still alive. Silence—when your heart wants to scream—that’s the real danger.”

Artyom finally looked at him. In his eyes—anger, armor, pain. Ivanushka gently opened his own palm and placed it over Artyom’s chest.

“There’s no stone in there. There’s a heart. It’s just scared. But I hear it. It’s still beating.”

And in that moment, something stirred. Not loud. Not magic. Just one tiny piece of pain inside Artyom crumbled.

He began to cry. Silently. As if remembering, for the first time, what it meant to be a child.

Ivanushka hugged him. A real hug. Strong and warm.

“You’re not alone. And I’m not alone either,” he said.

And on that riverbank, for the first time in many years, the sun rose truly golden.



                Chapter 6. The Forest of Forgetting.



Three days later, Ivanushka reached the edge of a vast forest, known among the elders as the Forest of Forgetting. They used to say: one who enters empty-hearted forgets who they are. But one who carries light—remembers more than they knew.

The forest was silent. No birdsong. No rustling. Only the hush of something sacred. Tree branches formed arches, as if the forest itself decided who may pass.

Ivanushka stopped. He knew—this was no ordinary forest. It was a test. The dove Faith, ever with him, landed on his shoulder and tilted her head gently.

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

With each step, the light grew dimmer. Sounds muffled. Thoughts twisted. Ivanushka heard whispers in his ear:

“You don’t matter... Forget why you came… No one is waiting…”

He stopped and closed his eyes. His heart fluttered. He whispered:

“Lord, don’t leave me.”

And just then, a narrow path appeared before him. Dimly glowing from within. Along the path came voices—kind, familiar. His mother. Elder Silantius. Artyom.

“We are with you…”

“You’re on the right path…”

“Don’t be afraid…”

He stepped forward. The forest began to retreat. Birds began to sing again. The air lightened.

He had passed through the Forest of Forgetting.

And at the clearing stood a girl, dressed all in white. She held a book in her hands—the one she was writing herself.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Memory. I help those who haven’t forgotten themselves. Do you want to write your story?”

Ivanushka nodded.

He understood: this too was a gift. He was now keeper of not only his heart—but the hearts of others.




                Chapter 7. The Heart that Hides in a Mirror.




After meeting Memory, Ivanushka walked a long while along a leafy path. The sky was bright, his heart full of a melody—soft, like a lullaby. The dove Faith circled above, while sunlight played between branches.

Suddenly, he came upon a clearing. In the center stood a strange building. Round, white, its walls smooth like mirrors. All was quiet, like in a library—or a chapel.

“What is this place?” Ivanushka whispered.

A wooden sign read: The Mirror House.

Inside, there were mirrors everywhere—big and small, round and square. But in the middle stood one tall as the ceiling, glowing with gentle light.

Ivanushka stepped forward—and saw a boy in the mirror. He looked like Ivanushka, but his face was hard, his eyes sad.

“Who are you?” asked Ivanushka.

“I’m who you might’ve become—if you stopped believing in good,” the boy said. “I’m strong. I don’t let anyone hurt me. I feel nothing—and I’m never in pain.”

“But you’re alone,” Ivanushka said softly.

“Yes,” the mirror-boy replied. “Sometimes being strong means being alone.”

The dove Faith flew up and perched on the mirror’s edge. From her wings spread golden ripples across the glass—it lit up like a sunrise.

“You don’t have to be afraid to feel,” Ivanushka said. “Being kind is strength too. Even when it’s a little scary.”

The mirror-boy smiled—his first smile. His face softened. His eyes lit up.

“Can I come with you?” he asked.

“Of course,” Ivanushka said. “It’s always easier to walk together.”

They stepped out of the Mirror House, side by side. The dove led them on.

And above them, a rainbow quietly bloomed.



                Chapter 8. The Town Where No One Cries.



On the fourth day of their journey, Ivanushka and his quiet new friend reached a large town. Above its gate read: Joyville – Everyone Is Happy Here.

Tall houses with bright roofs. Banners in the windows. Music, laughter, dancing in the streets. Every passerby smiled. But something about the smiles… felt strange. They all smiled the same way.

“How pretty!” the friend gasped.

“Yes… but why doesn’t anyone cry?” Ivanushka wondered aloud.

In the square, a cheerful old man played a tambourine.

“Welcome to the town of joy!” he said. “Here we have no tears, no sorrow, no hurt. Only happiness!”

“But what if someone feels sad?” asked Ivanushka.

“Oh, that’s not allowed. If someone is sad—they go to the House of Silence. There they ‘get better.’ Then they smile again!”

The boys glanced at each other.

“May we… see this House of Silence?” Ivanushka asked gently.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” the old man frowned. “Not for guests.”

But that night, when the town dozed under cheerful music, Ivanushka and his friend snuck out. The House of Silence was gray. No windows. No doors. Just a small slit—like for letters.

From within came quiet sobbing.

“There’s someone inside…” whispered the boy.

“We have to help,” Ivanushka said firmly.

They knocked. No reply. The dove Faith flew high and let down a gentle ray of light. The slit opened.

Out stepped a boy—tearful, but safe.

“I just missed my mom,” he said. “But they said crying wasn’t allowed. I had to smile.”

“Crying isn’t wrong,” Ivanushka said. “It means your heart is alive. It’s light too—just wetter.”

They embraced.

The next morning, all three left the town.

And when they looked back, for the first time—rain fell over Joyville. And people… smiled differently. Warmer.



                Chapter 9. The Song They Forgot.



After leaving Joyville, the friends walked through a tall meadow where grass reached their waists and flowers jingled in the breeze. In the sky, a new rainbow bloomed—as if to say: you're on the right path. Faith flew ahead, landing on bushes or soaring above.

“Why didn’t anyone sing real songs in that town?” the friend asked.

“Maybe they forgot them,” Ivanushka said. “And a heart without song… gets lonely.”

Just then, they heard a strange sound—not quite a tune, but like someone humming something very old. A little sad. But kind.

They followed the sound and found a girl sitting beside a large stone, eyes closed, gently humming a forgotten melody.

“Hi,” said Ivanushka. “Are you singing?”

“I’m trying to remember,” she said. “My grandma used to sing this to me… but no one remembers it anymore. Not even me.”

Faith landed on her shoulder and touched her cheek. The girl opened her eyes and smiled.

“I remember a line!”

She sang softly:

Where the heart breathes light and wonder,
Where the springtime fills the soul,
There walks love—behind and under—
And its flame is always whole.

Ivanushka closed his eyes. He knew this song. Somehow. Maybe in a dream. Maybe in childhood.

“That’s the song… the one about the heart,” he whispered.

They sat together and sang the rest. The words returned like birds. The melody was simple, but true.

And around them—flowers began to bloom in the shapes of notes.

The song was alive.

“At home,” the girl said, “they used to say: if you forget your song… you might forget yourself. Thank you for reminding me.”

“It’s yours now,” Ivanushka smiled. “And for everyone who will hear it.”

In that meadow, real music played—not from machines, but from hearts.



                Chapter 10. Finale — Where Fireflies Are Born.



As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the friends reached the foot of a hill. No trees. No houses. Just a wide, quiet field. The breeze was warm. The grass whispered. The air smelled of honey and spring.

“I think… we’ve arrived,” said Ivanushka.

“But… where?” both friends asked.

Suddenly, a tiny light sparked ahead. Then another. Then a dozen. Soon, the whole field was glowing with gentle fireflies. They floated slowly, like dancers in the dusk.

“Is this… magic?” the girl whispered.

Faith flew high, circled once, and perched on a stone in the center of the field. There, carved in the stone, were a heart and the words:

“Here roads end. And paths begin.”

Ivanushka smiled.

“I think… we didn’t just walk a road. We gathered what was scattered—songs, tears, memories, kindness. And now… we can pass it on.”

From his pocket, he drew the golden box. The one Prince Gloom had offered. But now it was empty.

He placed it on the stone. It disappeared—like it had never been.

“What now?” the boy from the mirror asked.

“We tell our story. To those who’ve lost faith. To those afraid to feel. To those who’ve forgotten how their heart sounds.”

The girl took his hand. The boy took hers. Ivanushka held them both.

And so, under the music of wind and fireflies, they walked on. Not children—but carriers of light. Not heroes—but living hearts.

And in the sky… the first star appeared.

And if ever you see it, know this:
They are walking the heavens.
To remind you—

The heart is a temple.
And anyone can light its flame.

                The End.