Is Golden too Morbid?

I was supposed to write a fairy tale with an "ever after" ending, and the teacher's face turned into the same shade of pink as her dress, and I recieved a 0 and a shocked, good stern talking-to.

She asked for an ever after, but never asked what kind of ever after she was after.

disregarding her, do you believe my story is too morbid?

Golden

Once upon a Time in a land not quite so far away, there lived a little girl with golden hair. Everyday, her stepmother would send her out to the woods, but beat her when she came back.

One day, the girl went deeper into the forest than she ever had before, desperate for something to eat, when she saw something glint in the weak sunlight. Pouncing on it, she hurried to dig it free, and laughed in delight when a scrap of gold was resting in her hand. She thought eagerly to herself that perhaps it was worth enough to make her stepmother love her, at least for a while.

Suddenly, she heard something that sounded like thunder. Then from the depths of the forest, she saw a herd of horses running towards her, that seemed to be made of the wind itself. She froze in shock and awe, and her hand uncurled to reveal the shining gold.

Immediately, the horses slowed and stopped. The seeming herd leader, a golden stallion with a hideous scar over its heart, pawed the ground and reared back onto its hind legs, and charged to the frozen girl. Soon it stopped fast enough for bits of the forest floor to spray the air, and oddly, the horse looked as if it were about to graze. The horse hesitated, but then shuffled forward to eat the gold from the girl’s hands.

The herd roared and reared, attacking the air as they began to change from horse to wind to horse to a gale. As they changed, they almost seemed to dance for the girl. The roar and thunder of the horses were deafening. The wind tore the girl’s hair free, plastering her to where she sat awestruck, beating against her almost resentfully, but then slowed to where it seemed like it was holding the girl.

The girl smiled and cried as they danced, and sobbed when they finally left. She trudged home empty handed, and accepted her beating without a murmur of protest.

Now everyday, she would dig for the gold, and laugh and cry when they ran and soared. The beatings grew worse and worse, but the horses became more and more beautiful.

As the months slipped by, though she digged until her hands had more blood than skin, there was not a single ounce of gold left. She did not shout, she did not cry, she simply curled up, and waited for the horses. Not an hour later, and she heard the telltale thunder of the horses.

She watched in a heartbroken wonder as they flew past her, and as the last of them drew close, the draft swept up her golden hair around her in an untamed halo.

The smallest and slowest of the horses noticed, and whinnied loud enough for the girl to wince. The herd slowed, stopped, and turned around to stare at the girl. The leader came into sight, and charged towards the little girl.

Breathless, she held still as a rock, and quietly smiled in a private rapture, even as the leader tore out and ate her golden hair, lock by shining lock.

The girl had never felt so happy, so sad, as when she the horses dance next. When she watched them go, the leader paused for the first time to stare back at the girl. He shook and thundered off, and a breeze was suddenly writhing around the girl. She could swear she heard something tell her, “You have a heart of gold, little girl.”

As the girl entered home, even as she was beaten within an inch of her life, she was smiling.

The next day, she crawled out to the forest with a stolen item she held dearly.

As she heaved herself to the wind-horse place, she closed her eyes and focused on the gleaming dagger. A sentence played over and over in her mind, and the little girl whispered it with a touch of hope.

“You have a heart of gold, little girl….”

(and do you think I should tack on this?)

Centuries later, and a new little girl ventured deep into the forest, and found the cache of gold buried under the largest tree in the forest. Minutes later, and the little girl was gasping at the leader of the herd.

The leader of the herd of wind-horses was a palamino the color of gold. But what had the little girl gawking was that the leader was a young, delicate-looking mare, with an ugly scar over where her heart would be.