Once upon a time, a long time ago, behind three mounts of Carpathian mountains, thither was a small town. And in the town, there was a family. A family of woodcraft it was - giving timber to the whole of town. Therefore, they were quite of a richer manner, the richest in the town, in fact. A happy family. They were known as the “Appultre Family”, by the whole town, as they were known for owning a mighty apple tree in their backyard.
  However, while the craftsman and his wife had the riches all, they had all the joy, but a child that they've always wanted. Their riches did not fill all of their wants. They wanted something, someone; to get into their lives and bring joy that they have not felt, yore.
  Sadly for them, they've tried but a nights, yet never successfully. Well for them, all of the town-folk did not let them down, and showed but a support. Everytime they would deliver their timber to various town-folk, folks of tighter connection with the Appultres would give them a gift. The smithman, Gvozden, would give them a horseshoe. The bootmaker, Darko, would give them a four-leaf clover, that his kids would find in the green fields beyond the town. And the baker, miller, Prodan, would always give them a loaf of bread. All to give them good luck.

  Once in the winter, the lady of the house, thereabout sat neath an apple tree. A winter white it was, with snow covering the whole of land. Trees, had crowns of mighty. Flowers, had cosy white blankets, neath they slept. And the whole of the land was just getting itself into a long winter sleep, while they were snow-blankets - underneath.
  Just than it was, when she was cutting herself an apple. An ever-glowing, cherry-red hue. Her knife just slipped, but an inch - and thence, a little drop of red, flew from her index finger, onto the white blanket.
  She flinched in that very moment, but carried out a wish: “O ye mighty, mother nature! Give me a baby girl, pale as snow; lips as red as blood; and her looks as beautiful as the land around, covered in thy blanket! For I wish no more, than a child of my own. I could give any price for her.”

  And anon, thus it was. Her wishes were not unlistened. As weeks went by, she felt an ever growing, something, in her.
“It is her!” quoth she to Goran, ”I can feel her!”
“The wish was listened to!”
  And so it was. Eight months went by like a wind, but the lady of Appultre, Jasna Appultre, has fallen ill. For she was eating the fruits of the apple tree, all day long, from which her wishes were carried.
  But alas, a month later, a young girl was born. On Jasna's wishes, for she only wanted a girl, pale as snow, lips red as blood - Snižana, she was called. But her sickness has grown, and she fell into a bigger and bigger bother. Until she fell asleep, and never woke, again.