At last. Gregoir held the fine, spider's silk between his fingers and slipped it through the eye of the needle. "Almost done, my love," his lips formed the words, but he did not use his voice. A spider leg lovingly caressed his cheek, feeling the movement of his unspoken words, as the enchanted spider settled herself atop his head. Her back legs worked at the thread trailing from her rounded body.

Gregoir righted a spool as high as his knee and began to wind the excess silk around it. Round and round, wind the thread. He spun his hands and the spool until he felt dizzy and his exhausted sweetheart collapsed against his head, front legs wearily stroking the pointed tips of his ears.

"The spell will work," the mute man said, though the spider's legs could not feel or interpret the movement in her exhaustion. Still, she seemed to feel his assurance and affection and her pincers clicked in a murmur of appreciation.

He picked up the half-finished garment, made from silk spun from the spider's thread. The garment shimmered in the candle light of the dark, underground home. Silently, he worked. The spider urged him on, stroking the bald spot of his head, the pointed tips of his ears, the long, frizzy red hair that still ringed the back of his head and covered his chin. She chittered at him when his head began to droop, keeping him company.

The needle flashed in and out of the silken cloth. His stitches were even now, unlike his first attempts, just as the cloth was beautiful in some places and ragged in others from his learning experience. He worked diligently, hemming the narrow sleeves of the unusual robe.

"Soon, soon, soon, almost done, almost done, almost done," his lips read, over and over again as he sewed and snipped and sewed some more.

At last, he turned the garment over and over, searching for one more hem to be sewn, one more seam to be closed, but found none. He shook out the garment. The spider clicked her pincers eagerly, admiring his work and quivering with anticipation. She climbed down his arm and side until she sat in front of him. He laid the robe over her round, brown body and helped her set each of her eight legs through the proper sleeves. As the last leg settled into its spot, the light came, growing outward until he had to shade his eyes.

When it fell away, Marilynn stood before him, wearing a soft, white gown. Gregoir opened his mouth to shout for joy, but fear stilled his tongue, for Marilynn stood as young and beautiful as she had been ten years before, when the spiteful gnome witch had cursed her. His head fell forward into his work-worn hands. Ten years had not been so kind to him, he had aged in their adventures, seeking out a cure for the curse, to return her to him.

Marilynn's soft hands stroked his cheek and his ears, pulling his hands away. With tears in her eyes, she smoothed her hands against his balding head, and kissed the wrinkles that now lined his eyes and cheeks. He felt the change within him, and he knew her kisses held the same magic the robe had. The years returned to him, the wrinkles faded and his hair smoothed into the softer curls of his youth. He opened his mouth, laughing for the first time in a decade and opened his arms to his true love.