What?

I walk through the empty throne room, my boots pressing against the paper floor, letting out not a clank, but a quiet tearing. Like stepping over freshly fallen leaves on an autumn day. The floor sags a little, as my weight presses against it, but it doesn’t tear. Looking around at the strange, literally picturesque floor that I find myself on, I run a finger over the paper throne of the storybook world. The colors smear and blur a little, not like wet paint, but like that of chalk or a coloring pencil.

  Something giggles in the distance, the sharp voice echoes out from behind us and I turn my head to look down the dark passage, leading out of the throne room. The slime bubbles uneasily, quivering in my armor as she stares out into the darkness beyond. What are you afraid of? It’s just a bunch of paper.

I step away from the empty throne on which nothing sits but a memory of a shadow and I head down towards the hallway. The king with no name is dead and even if he is still on this floor, I’ll just have to kill him again.

  I don’t like killing. I never have. But sometimes, there are just things that need to be killed. It’s a tool, a process of removal that is unsightly, but necessary. Sometimes. Sometimes someone just has to go for the rest of our sakes. My fingers run along the shaft of the lance as I hold it tighter in my grip and step out into the hallway.

  Not even storybooks can be nice in the dungeon, huh? What a world. My eyes scan the darkness ahead of us as we walk together. The slime dribbling out of my armor along the length of my left arm to hold the lance together with me, as we pierce through the veil of shadows. A dark presence seems to linger here on this floor, like the sensation of someone standing behind you and looking over your shoulder. But every time I look, there’s nobody there. There’s simply you and I.

Something giggles ahead of us and I stop, watching as a small shadow runs across the hallway, exiting from one room and quickly pulling the adjacent door open to dive inside before I can fully see its small visage.

“Gribbler!” yells the slime nervously, my lance-arm shaking. What? It’s not the gribbler. It’s just whatever freaky thing lives on this floor. It’s probably something from the story, remember? We’re here after the floor has been cleared. So there’s nothing left except scraps.

She loosens her grip a little, understanding, but still seems displeased. Turning my head back forward, I head towards the door that the creature vanished inside of and haphazardly tear it open. I’m too dead to care about being cautious.

Looking inside the small room, I see…

An unkempt bed. A wooden dresser. A small, green rug. A rickety chair.

  It’s just a bedroom? Looking inside, I peer around what appears to be a rather plainly kept room. If I had to guess, I’d say it belonged to a girl. There’s also a familiar smell. It smells vaguely… foresty. I scratch my head, wondering how it is I can smell here, given my uh… ‘condition’. Maybe it’s because of the storyworld we’re inside of. Weird how dungeon-magic works like that. Let’s not think about it more than we have to, okay?

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  Something giggles, not inside of the room, but further down the hallway. My fist clenches at the sound. It’s bothering me, though I don’t know why. But it’s making me angry. Turning, I look back and close the door. I watch as a shadow in the distance vanishes down through a different door and curiously, I walk towards it. By the time I get there, the next door has long since been closed and the shadow has long since departed. There’s nothing here.

I open the door and look inside.

There’s nothing. There’s no bedroom. There’s simply a void. An empty space. Looking down, I gaze into the hole, wondering how far it goes. But I think it just goes on forever honestly. You know what this reminds me of? Remember when the thing that skitters tried to trick me?

“It called me honey!” says the slime-girl excitedly, remembering the memory for me. I nod. It did call me honey. That was nice of it.

    What wasn’t nice of it was trying to trick me to fall into the endless void though. But… you know? Sometimes interpersonal relationships can be complicated like that. I close the door, sealing off what I assume was once the bedroom of the boy from the story. I never was good at being read stories to, you know? I get too antsy. Hearing stories makes me excited and I want to get up and go and live the adventure that I’m being told about. Why would I want to hear a story? I want to make my own.

  Two somethings giggle ahead of us and I turn to look at the two shadows running down and away from us, having sprung from the crevices and cracks in the paper walls apparently, as there are no doors left to open. I tilt my head, watching them reach the edge of my vision where they then turn around, holding hands and staring down our way. As if they aren’t afraid of me at all.

   The blade of the lance thuds against the paper-stones of the hallway, as I look at the two silhouettes standing in the distance, far outside of my reach. Their ghoulish, eyeless faces stare my way and they look at me. I narrow my eyes. I hate them. Look at them. Look at their disgusting, eyeless faces. I hate them. I hate them.

The two of them stand there at a distance and the slime bubbles inside of me in a frothing rage. What kind of stupid story is this? I hate it here. I hate the dungeon. I hate these stupid kids. I hate the king with no name. I hate the queen with no face.

Stepping forward, I walk towards the two giggling shadows at the end of the passage who stand there with interwoven fingers. They aren’t real. They’re just a manifestation of shadows. They’re nothing but goo. Nothing but black-water.

“You took the easy way out,” I hiss at them, looking at their hollow sockets. Their bodies begin to quiver, the paper that makes up their forms rippling as if it were floating atop the water. “Why wouldn’t you just kill him? Why would you let him win like that?”

The two of them giggle, looking at each other as if they know something that I don’t. The closer I get, the more loud their incessant giggling becomes and its starting to piss me off.

I smash the blade of the lance against the stones, the sharp lashing motion cracking like a whip as I approach those two little shits.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

They keep giggling and I clench my fists tightly, the slime boiling as she shares my rage. Those insolent little rats. How dare they? How dare they not just kill the king with no name? How dare they take the easy way out and close their eyes?

I crack the belt against the stones and they flinch, but they don’t move. Are you disrespecting me?! You brats?!

  I lurch forward, my long, apish arms reaching for them and the boy jumps forward, blocking my grasping claws. You little shit! I spin around, throwing him, his body smashes against the paper wall and he falls down limply to the ground, broken. My other hand reaches for the neck of the girl and I lift her up into the air, she kicks, she squirms. You little runt. You disrespectful little… The belt in my hands cracks against the stones, as I stare into her hollow eyes. As I stare into the empty sockets that are supposed to be green. I won’t forgive you. I won’t forgive you.

  She giggles, her sharp, elven ears bobbing up and down as the belt strikes her midriff and rips her body in half. Her form flutters free, falling out of my hands as if carried away by a gentle wind and I watch with lurching, heavy breaths as they both die. The last thing on their lips is a smile that I hate. It’s like they know something that I don’t and it’s pissing me off.

I won’t forgive them.

Dragging my lance across the stones, like long, dragging knuckles behind myself, I walk through the empty castle. Lurching, encroaching, reaching for the exit as something buzzes in the walls. The paper vibrates with a gentle hum as I move with an awkward candor.

Dook. Dook-dook.

I’ll show them. I’ll show them.

My eyes are wide and frantic.

I’ll show them.

Dook. Dook-dook.