A long time ago there was a little wooden marionette named Pierrot. He was dressed in an elegant black suit with a bowler hat and he carried a cane. Besides Pierrot there were dozens of marionettes and puppets living in the marionettist’s house. But the most popular among them was another wooden marionette named Polly. Her wood was of the best quality, her clothes pure white, and she had the most beautiful silky hair.

Every night Pierrot sat in a corner near the chimney and stared at Polly. He was awestruck by her grace and elegance. Pierrot couldn’t help it. He spent hours day dreaming, hoping to be brave enough to talk to her and ask her for a dance. Sadly enough, he knew this was impossible because if they were to dance their strings would get mixed up badly. So Pierrot resigned himself to mere dreams.

One night Pierrot sat in his usual spot when he noticed Polly was missing. Worried, he looked for her until he found her coming his way. His first impulse was to run, but in the last moment he decided to be brave and stay.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hi,’ she said sitting beside him.

‘To what do I owe this honor?’ he asked.

‘I wanted to talk to you and know why you stare at me every night.’

Pierrot’s cool façade dropped as he blushed. Suddenly his bow tie was too tight.

‘It’s not just me,’ he excused himself. ‘It’s impossible to look anywhere else when you are near.’

‘But you look so sad when you look at me.’

Pierrot’s jaw fell. Hard.

‘How do you—?’

‘It’s impossible not to notice when it’s also impossible for me to look anywhere else when you are near.’

Pierrot thought he would explode.

‘So tell me, my dear Pierrot, why you look so sad every night?’

‘Because I dream of a dance with you,’ he answered. ‘But I’m scared that if we dance our strings will get mixed up and will break.’

‘Who cares about a few strings if I can be with you?’

That night they danced until the sunrise. Happier than ever. And every night they danced and danced until their strings were all tangled. And when that happened, they cuddled together by the chimney till the sunrise. Every day their strings were fixed and every night they would mix them again.

Until one day, the marionettist– tired of the same mess every morning– decided to cut their strings. He knew that without strings he would never use those marionettes again. But he saw no other way. Pierrot– desperate by the possibility of not being able to dance again with Polly– gathered his last strength to throw himself into the fire. Not realizing, that without strings, one can dance better.