Pandora’s Box

Quick Answer

Why This Story Works for Bedtime

It’s mythic and reflective, with a steady ending: even after mistakes, hope remains. Perfect for older kids when you want a calm, meaningful conversation before sleep.

Story Synopsis

In Greek myth, the world is given a mysterious gift: Pandora, and with her, a sealed container that must not be opened. Pandora is warned, again and again, to leave it alone. But curiosity presses like a whisper. What could be inside? Why would something be forbidden? One day Pandora can’t resist. She opens the container, and in an instant, troubles escape—illness, sorrow, worry, and all the pains that make life hard. Horrified, she tries to close it, but the harm has already flown into the world. Pandora is overwhelmed with regret. Her curiosity had consequences. Yet when she peers into the container again, she finds something still there, gentle and steady: Hope. Some tellings say Hope remained as comfort; others say it was saved so humans would not be crushed by what had been released. Either way, the story ends with a quiet truth: even when a mistake can’t be undone, something supportive can remain. Pandora’s Box is a short myth that helps older children name big feelings: actions matter, regret is real, and hope is a companion we can choose to hold onto.

Story Excerpt

Long, long ago—when the world was still young and gentle—there lived a boy named Epimetheus. He had no father or mother, and neither did the girl who was sent from a far country to live with him. Her name was Pandora. When Pandora first stepped into Epimetheus’s little cottage, her eyes landed at once on a great box set inside the room. It was so large and noticeable that it seemed to take up more space in her thoughts than it did on the floor. Almost before she had even fully crossed the threshold, she asked, “Epimetheus, what have you in that box?” Epimetheus looked at her kindly, but he answered carefully. “My dear little Pandora, that is a secret, and you must be kind enough not to ask questions about it. The box was left here to be kept safely—and I do not myself know what it contains.” Pandora’s eyes widened. “But who gave it to you? And where did it come from?” “That is a secret, too,” said Epimetheus. “How provoking!” Pandora cried, and her mouth made a little pout. “I wish the great ugly box were out of the way!” “Oh, come,” Epimetheus said, trying to brighten things. “Don’t think of it anymore. Let us run outdoors and play with the other children.” For in those days the world was different from ours. It was a world of children—children everywhere. There were no hard worries, no sharp dangers, and hardly anything that needed fixing. Food was always near. If a child wanted dinner, it could be found growing on a tree; and if you looked at the branches in the morning, you might see the blossom of that night’s supper. The whole day could be filled with games, dancing, and the sound of laughing voices. Most wonderful of all, the children did not quarrel. No one sulked alone in a corner. No one knew what it meant to feel heavy inside. The little winged creatures called Troubles—those prickly, buzzing, upsetting things that bother people in later times—had not yet been seen on earth. But Pandora’s curiosity about the box was like the first faint shadow of a Trouble. At first it was only a small irritation. Then, day by day, it grew stronger, until Epimetheus’s cottage felt less sunny than the cottages of the other children.

In One Glance