Tales after Dusk 03

He splashes his face with the frigid water from the wash basin before picking up his brush. He combs the knots out of his hair, brushing it back away from his face quickly so that he can get into the main part of the Inn and stoke the fires before he freezes to death. He unlocks his bedroom door and walks out into the storeroom but barely makes it two steps before his knees buckle underneath him and he lands on the floor, paralyzed.

Finding it hard to stay awake, he struggles against the urge to close his eyes because he fears that it will mean death. When he hears tiny footsteps, followed by repeated sneezing, he wants to scream to the nearby dwarf. She wanders across the storeroom, the intensity of her attacks increasing as she nears the man.

Seeing him lying on the floor, she is barely able to cry out between her sneezes, "Help! Someone come quick!"

As a flurry of tiny women come rushing into the back room, the first dwarf points to him, managing to choke out, "Puffin flower! Wash him, hurry!"

If he were able to move, he would have flinched as ice cold water is dumped on his body. Hastily, six tiny pairs of soapy hands scrub him, managing to wash away the poison before he slips into the darkness. The man gasps for air as the second rush of cold water washes off the soap. Barely able to gather the strength to thank the women, he curls into a ball to stay warm.

...

The following morning, Daphne finds the King waiting patiently in the courtyard, fingers tapping against his dagger. She lets her eyes wander over to the metal cage, where ten humans huddle for warmth in a corner. They look desperately at the mysterious creature on the horse.

She does her best to hide the pain in her face as she dismounts the beast, forced to hold her side while she limps over to the King.

"I did as you asked," she says softly.

"Is that so? Well let us make sure," he says, spinning on his heels as he heads towards the castle doors.

Feeling like a wretched stray dog, Daphne hangs her head as she painfully follows the King inside. She is slow to catch up but she finds him waiting in the library before the mirror.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall...who is the fairest of them all?" His words send shivers down her spine.

His reflection disappears, liquid glass vibrating with a gentle whisper, "You are handsome, this is true, but Winter reigns, through and through."

She can hardly believe the words the mirror whispers—she did as she was told, there is no way that the man would have been able to live through the paralyzing toxin of the puffin flower. Her breathing is rapid as the panic starts to rise in her chest, "No, he is dead. He must be. There is no way he cannot be."

Slowly the King turns around, tilting his head to the side, "I am disappointed in you, sylvan. I would have thought for sure that you would be able to accomplish a simple task such as this yet, here we are yet again."

Daphne turns and runs from the room. Despite the pain of each breath, she pushes her feet faster, weaving through the halls of the castle, skidding on the slick stone floor when she rounds the corners. She doesn't slow down when she crashes into the doors to the courtyard, the cold air cutting sharply into her lungs. She dives for the frozen earth, using the small amount of strength she has left, she screams as she smashes her fists into the ground. Deep, dormant seeds of a long forgotten plant burst through the frozen earth, wrapping around the metal bars and bending them so harshly that they snap.

"Run!" She screams weakly, keeping her hands in contact with the dirt, directing the vines to flick away the oncoming guards.

Stunned, the humans scurry though the opening, moving as fast as they can towards the gate. They are almost there, when their bodies float up into the air as if plucked up by an invisible giant. Daphne whips her head around, eyes landing on the King standing in the doorway, his hand outstretched into the air. His face shows the exertion of his efforts, his breathing labored as he uses his powers to pull the struggling humans towards him. With his free hand he draws his dagger, his white knuckled grip shaking slightly with concentration.

"No," Daphne begs, "Please, your quarrel is with me," she crawls towards the King, groveling at his feet.

The first of the humans reaches him; he sets the woman-the dead boy's mother-down in front of him so that he can wrap his arm around her shoulders. The frightened lady looks at Daphne for help.

"Such a simple, menial task and yet you are not able to accomplish it." Though he speaks casually, calmly, he is out of breath. He strokes the woman's hair out of her face, speaking to her, "Aren't you disappointed in this pathetic creature?" The King raises his knife to her throat, eyes wandering back to Daphne as he drags it across the woman's skin.

"Please stop," the sylvan whispers as the King discards the woman's body and replaces her with another live one. "I can't—no, I will not watch," Daphne growls, shutting her eyes as she turns away from him, she covers her ears with her small hands, trying to block out the surprised horrified screams of the people.

"Oh no, my dear, you will watch. You will watch as the hope drains from each one of these people's bodies," his dark, cruel voice is so clear it seems as if it is in her mind.

Her body becomes rigid as guards grab her, lifting her body up and turning it around. Though she strains to keep her eyes shut, they open against her will. The King maintains a smile on his labored face the entire time. Daphne, utterly helpless, watches the disappointment on each face fade into death.

...

She awakens again, silently cursing the powers to be that she is still alive. Without moving she remains curled in a ball in the corner of her old cell. Daphne hasn't eaten since she was put back here and she has no idea how long it has been, perhaps a week. She tries desperately to shut her mind off, to force her body to die. Each heart beat causes her depression to deepen yet despite her efforts, she is granted no peace, as if something forces her to continue on.

A cold draft sends shivers up her spine.

"Wake up," an unfamiliar voice says, followed by a kick in her legs. When Daphne refuses to move, the kick is harder and in her ribs, causing her to cry out, "The King has ordered you to bathe and get dressed. You should probably eat something too so that you don't pass out in his presence."

She can feel his body remaining in the room, refusing to go until she reluctantly sits up and stares at him with harsh, angry eyes, "I don't care what that thing has ordered, I will not do it."

The man's jaw clenches. Just beyond him hover two smoke creatures through the absent wall outside of her cell, though they appear lighter than before, almost faded. Despite the hate written on the man's face, his eyes seem to retain a bit of softness in them. He steps closer, growling "You will do as you are told." His voice hushes to a whisper, "Please, creature. If you do not do it yourself, I have been ordered to do it for you. I don't think that is an outcome either of us want." His eyes beg her.

She looks at him carefully, searching his true nature. Finding his eyes to be real, she reluctantly nods. The man stands up right and crosses the small cell; turning his back to her, he remains in the entrance.

Daphne finds a small wash barrel in the middle of the room. Begrudgingly, she turns her back to the man and strips off her clothes, stepping into the frigid water. She makes short work of cleaning her body off, before she climbs back out and dresses in the clothes laid out on the cot. She pulls on the dark pants, sliding the long dress like, cream colored shirt over her head. After tightening the front of the dark green bodice, she is forced to sit down when her head grows faint. Breathing slowly, she tugs on the thick fur boots and rises to her feet. Daphne grabs a piece of stale bread off of the mound of plates on the desk before walking over to the man.

"I am finished," she says before biting into the bread.

She follows the guard up through the tunnels of the dungeon, expecting to be lead to the courtyard but is surprised when they turn the opposite way and enter the throne room. Sun shines through the stained glass windows, the room heated to a pleasant temperature by the large fire roaring along the opposing wall. Upon the throne she sees the King; to his left, she sets eyes upon the Queen. Though she is alive, her eyes are dull and dead. Her pale skin and perfect black hair make her appear as moving doll, nothing more than a puppet to the wizard who sits beside her.

Daphne stops behind the guard; though he bows she remains standing, refusing to show any respect for the cruel man before her. It takes all of her strength to remain upright as her body sways with weakness. The King ignores her rudeness.

"I am glad to see your injuries have healed, sylvan. I have decided to give you one last chance," he says, holding out his hand to present an apple. Half of it is a bright red, half of it is a pale, almost white, green. "You will get the man to eat the red half of this apple—you will watch him do it."

"And if I fail again?" Her voice comes out in a whisper.

"Ah yes. It occurred to me that your life wasn't enough of a reward for you to succeed, as you would rather perish and be done with it. So, this time I shall give you a greater reward. You are between a rock and a hard place, Priestess. If you succeed, you will kill a single man—one whom you do not know. In return for your deed, I will remove the spell that I cast upon the remaining sylvans."

Her antennae twitch, "Spell?"

A smile crosses his pale lips, "I didn't kill them, you see. Well, not all of them at least. Those that survived the battle—a few at your fortress and almost all of the fairies you had in the woods, I simply turned into stone, freezing them in time. If you kill the man called Winter for me, I shall remove the spell. Needless to say, that will allow the seasons to once again change—for spring to come again, the weather to turn, plants to grow, crops to flourish and every living creature will be able to once again find food."

Reluctantly, Daphne lets his words sink in. She doesn't trust him and half suspects him to be lying, however he has kept every abhorrent promise he has made so far. "But?"

"But," he continues, "If you fail, I will not rest until I personally cut down every last tree in the forest, and slaughter every living creature I come across."

The pleased look on his face at the idea of all that killing makes Daphne's stomach churn. She walks to him, taking the apple from his hand, horrified that she has no other choice. She must kill the man called Winter.

...

Winter sits up suddenly in bed, taunt pale skin slick with sweat. He rubs his eyes, pushing his long, black hair back out of his face. He hates that nightmare, that...memory. He pauses for a moment before throwing aside the plain covers of his small bed so that he can get out of it. One step takes him to his dresser, where he pulls out a fresh set of clothes for the day. The dull morning light that shines through the lone window in his room, combined with the light that creeps under his door from the store room fireplace provides more than enough for him to see by. He pours the remaining contents of a pitcher into his wash bowl before splashing the icy water onto his face.

Getting dressed quickly, Winter slips on his boots before leaving his tiny bedroom at the back of the Seven Dwarfs' Inn. The seven dwarfs-Mildred, Davina, Florence, Gay, Luna, Allegra and Lainey—took him in when he wandered into the small town of Havenless as a child, those many years ago. Though he ran from the huntsman and was left cold, frightened and alone in the woods, he survived. He never told anyone about what happened or how he got to that tiny town, because he isn't entirely sure that he didn't dream the whole thing up in the first place.

In return for the food, shelter and security that his seven adoptive mothers provide, Winter cleans the tavern and the boarding rooms above, helps cook in the kitchen and lends a sympathetic ear to the girls that are under the dwarfs' employment, because despite what the respectable sign outside might lead a passersby to believe, the Inn is truly a brothel.

It had taken a long time for Winter to get used to everything. He had never worked a day in the few years of his life before the Inn. Though he was horrible at cooking, cleaning and pretty much any form of labor, the dwarfs saw that he was earnest in his efforts and thereby put up with him. He tried hard to please his new adoptive family because he knew that he could never go back to his old life, nor would he want to.

Eventually he became less awkward with the physical labor, discovering the small amount of pride he felt after successfully completing a task. He even learned that he was a natural at cooking. He used to be a shy, modest boy but that soon changed and Winter learned to come out of his shell. At first the five girls that shared a room down the hall from him dotted over him so. As he became more accustomed to his new life, he learned to be crass and sarcastic when needed, so as to avoid the constant flirting from the girls or the jeers from the men who came to visit them. Now, for the most part, everyone accepts him as a constant figure within the brothel, but one who is hands off to the women.

Winter struggles to keep up with his chores today, forced to sit down while cutting up carrots for the dinner stew. He isn't ill but he is still recovering from the odd occurrences of the past few weeks. When he first arrived at the Inn, he was always frightened. He slept with his door locked, always looked over his shoulder, jumped at every door slamming and hated going outside in the dark. As the days passed and no one came for him, he began to relax a little. His door still remains locked and he dreads going outside in the dark but within the walls of the Inn he is able to relax and let his guard down for the past few years. But then things changed when he discovered that necklace on his dresser a few weeks back. Florence barely managed to cut it off of his neck in time; no one from the brothel gifted him the necklace or even recognized it. Davina did say that the stone reminded her of something she read about in a book—something called a leech stone. It was rare and many thought it to be an old wives' tale. A leech stone could absorb the ability or power of whatever it was put on. If it was put on an infected wound, it would take the infection; if it was put on a poisonous bite, it would absorb the poison. Since it was put on Winter's throat, it took away all of his air. He had a headache for days after the disaster.

Finally finishing the carrots, he dumps them into the stew pot before heading over to finish up the dishes from yesterday. After just a few minutes, he feels his body grow tired so he grabs the stool and brings it over to the large wash basin full of dirty mugs and bowls. Winter rests his forearms on the basin, dunking his hands into the tepid water, washing each dish out with a rag. Doing the dishes is just one of the menial tasks that allows his mind to wander away from his now mundane life to the possibility of something better. He doesn't wish the life he was born for—to be the King of Haven—he just wishes for a simple, quiet life in a home of his own, with someone of his own to share it with, if he manages to live long enough to find that person.

The second odd occurrence was a close one. If Allegra hadn't been severely allergic to the puffin flower, he would have died that day in the storeroom. Though it affects her in a particularly brutal way, she managed to scream for help between her sneezes. Luckily the dwarfs were all nearby and able to wash the poison from his body before it was too late.

As Winter finishes the dishes, he peeks out into the tavern floor, where he sees a few heavy drinkers who have started early. Picking his way among the tables to the bar, he finds Lainey tending it alone.

"If there isn't anything dire to be done until supper, I think I will take a bath and rest a little," he looks into her bloodshot eyes and flashes her a soft smile.

Lainey giggles at him, "Is there ever anything dire to do in life, young one?"

Winter kisses her on the cheek before heading to the bathroom that the girls use. He is disappointed to find one of them in it.

"Have you come to wash my back?" She says seductively, pouring the last bucket of warm water into the old copper tub.

Winter rolls his eyes, "No matter how hard I scrub, you'll still be a dirty whore."

She laughs musically, tightening up her robe before she turns around to see him. Her smile fades as she looks him over, lips pursed with concern, "You look weak." She walks over to him, putting her hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature. "Go ahead, honey, I'll bathe when you're done."

Winter raises his hand to take hers off of his forehead; he gently kisses the back of it, flashing her a cheeky grin "Such a lady."

Pinching his cheek she pulls the door shut behind her, "You'd better lock this door, Winter, or I will be tempted to show you how much of a lady I am."

As he always does, Winter slides the thick wooden arm across the frame, so that he will be undisturbed during his bath. Even though the girls have watched him grow up, since Winter has become a young man they like to play a wicked game amongst themselves. Each month the game begins anew and the girls try their hardest to rack up points by seeing who can get a rise out of him. It may seem odd that Winter is still inexperienced when it comes to firsthand knowledge of what to do with a woman, though he has seen every woman—full size and dwarf-in the Inn naked and in various stages and positions of copulation at some point. It isn't so much that he doesn't know what to do but rather that he just hasn't done it personally. His dwarf mothers insist that relations amongst those that are employed are taboo; just like Winter, the two bartenders Finley and Owen and the cook Chester have never had relations with any of the dwarfs or girls.

He strips quickly, sinking down into the hot water. Winter lets his body steep, trying to force out the last of his ailments. Though none understood why or how those things had happened to him, Winter had an awful feeling that the King—his stepfather—had something to do with it.

He had never told his dwarf mothers anything about his past; he simply said that he no longer had a family or a home to go back to, and it wasn't exactly a lie because he didn't have anywhere else to go. When his mother, the Queen, took a new husband, Winter thought things would be fine but soon the Queen grew more and more distant until it appeared as if she were nothing more than an empty shell. The King hated Winter for no other reason than the fact that he was a pretty, kind child. Winter had hoped that the new King would love him as much as he desired but whenever they were alone his stepfather would grow irritated and impatient with him. Winter used to follow him everywhere, he even spied on him, just to see what he was doing. Several times he watched his stepfather talk to a mirror in the study. After one particular episode the King became enraged, shouting "No he is not!" It was later that night that Winter was ripped from his bed and drug into the woods.

Though he is the rightful heir to the throne, he tries not to think about it much. He appreciates the slightly perverted, simple life that he has become accustomed to at the Inn. But with the two near death occurrences, he has started to think about his past more often then he wishes.

A quiet knock on the door brings him back.