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Cease not your tale at such a juncture, dear Snow-white! What fate befell them? Even if yon dwarf absconded with the Princess under a coerced promise of matrimony—as you’ve claimed—surely he has not secured her final fate. Dwarfs possess no venerable rights to which we must yield recognition, do they, Snow-white?
Alas, the latter portion leaves me discontented for its grievous resolution. Enamored by desolation itself was the Desert Fairy with our sovereign; she desired his heart and hand. Yet he spurned her vile affections with utmost contempt, so much so that he could not bear dwelling beneath one roof with her presence. Forsaking comfort for emerald barricades, he encountered a siren of sea’s depth who mourned his sorrow. She bestowed upon him a blade of retribution which would smite those it touched. A word of caution she imparted—never to release it from his grasp.
Expressing gratitude profound, he embarked on a grim crusade against sphinxes and nymphs alike until at last setting eyes upon his beloved Princess. In a moment’s weakness born of elation heedless folly arose; the sword slipped from his hand. That moment spawned disaster as that detestable dwarf procured it and posed an ultimatum most vile—the return of the blade for the relinquishment of the Princess.
“Refuse,” uttered our King defiantly, “thy twisted terms I hold in scorn.” Yet tragedy struck swift as that contemptible dwarf plunged steel into royal heart; thus fell our King; thus perished hope. The Princess loathing each fiber of that accursed being declared her defiance even unto death’s grasp and collapsed lifeless without stir or breath.
Their stories end not in salvation but transformation; condemned by insufficient power to an eternal existence as palm-trees—the mermaid’s limited gift their infinite curse. Tell me now, will sustenance be sought? Shall repast be taken aloft within these stoic halls? Is my company not a solace amidst loneliness? Would you not exclaim victory for our plight? This odious tale I find no cause for cheer but if you insist... ‘hurrah’, though soul may reject such cheer amidst this tale turned grim.
“What dark deed shall we undertake now?” whispered the child, an eerie expectation dancing in her eyes.
The evening meal had been an uncanny affair; an otherworldly banquet derived from shadow-sealed tin containers and porcelain vessels that seemed to hum with ancient secrets. It rivalled the fantastical feasts of Little Two-Eyes in the twisted rendition of the tale “Little Kid Milk, Table Manifest,” as the child morbidly named it. With her eyelids sealed shut, she uttered her desires into the silence, and upon opening them, it was as if arcane forces had transported her whims into reality on the tabletop before her. This dark magic had summoned chicken, jam, and Albert biscuits with a whisper. But her plea for sponge cake was met with void - no such delight graced the table, leaving the dwarf shrouded in chagrin, vowing to reprimand those unseen entities that they should wallow in their disgrace.
“How do you conjure them?” interrogated the child. “Do you force your heel upon the earth, and command ‘JAM!’ with fierce authority, as thunderous as can be? Do they erupt from beneath like specters? Will you invoke them at this very instant?”
Alas, the dwarf could not perform this bewitchment presently – his footwear lacked the eldritch power required. Furthermore, shadows of undisclosed reasons crept behind his words.
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“What sinister escapade awaits us?” implored the child once more.
“Let us proceed to extract the essence from the cow,” proposed the dwarf with a malevolent glint in his gaze.
The idea filled the child’s heart with a terror akin to excitement. Was it a genuine beast? Did it morph into horrors unknown at daylight’s end, returning to bovine form under the cloak of stars? What nightmarish shapes did it assume? At times they were creatures of eerie calm like fawns or creatures of deceitful tranquility like ducks - but what malefic form would he choose were he not bound to this dwarfish curse? Could it be that he too could transform according to his whims? Was this guise of a dwarf merely a macabre masquerade before he revealed himself as a ghastly Prince clad in cold silver and darkness, amidst an illusionary palace wrought from bitter candy? Would he indeed?
“And perhaps one day, you shall become my bride,” whispered the child with a hint of darkness in her tone. “By then, age will have claimed me—”
“Indeed, time spares none,” the dwarf murmured, his voice a low growl.
“Our union shall be celebrated; I shall don a gown ablaze like the dying sun, and we shall parade in a chariot gilded with the sufferings of men, drawn by six steeds as dark as the abyss—or perhaps of spectral pallor, what say you, Mark?”
“I envision them draped in the purity of death.”
“As do I decree! Plumes will crown their heads like specters—and—alas—regardless, you shall unveil your hidden hoard to me, dwarf. Your secrets lie bare as none before. Where do they lurk?”
“Merely one treasure is mine,” confessed the dwarf with a sinister gleam in his eye. “A purloined treasure.”
“Stolen? But such deeds reek of malevolence, are you blind to sin? Are dwarfs immune? Humans falter so when tainted by shadows. Do dwarfs wander in our realm of morality at all, Mark?”
“We are not akin, Snow-white. Yet truth be told, my ‘stolen’ gem was merely reclaimed from oblivion.”
Relief washed over the child like a chilling breeze. The morals twisted to favor her fantasy; finds were keepsakes unless claimed by malevolent spirits or draconic beasts. She wove tales of heroic finds from her beloved Fairy Books while the dwarf basked in her acceptance.
“I demand the tale,” she pressed. “That tale you once alluded to but left untold, Mark!”
Her gaze cut through him sharper than any blade; disappointment was her veil. “This is not our custom!” she proclaimed with authority that belied her years. “Remember when the Bear came upon Snow-white and Rosy Red’s hearth? He spun dark fables until the spell cast upon him shattered and he stood a prince once more.”
“Yes, but I am naught but a bear,” countered the dwarf grimly, “nor destined for princely rebirth. Nevertheless, I shall indulge you with my chronicle, Snow-white; I swear it on this very earth—after tending to that forsaken cow.”
“Damnation! The creature slipped my mind!” she exclaimed. “We rally now, Mark; we dart through shadows fast as nightfall itself. You’ll find my pace can rival yours, for we are both creatures clipped by curse and stature alike. Does it please you? It thrills me! Sometimes I pine for your diminutiveness—to remain evermore ensnared within this youthful guise.”
“Approach,” growled the man, his voice rasping like a serrated blade slicing the silence. The child’s eyes widened in fear, but as she cast her gaze upwards, he ensnared her in his iron grip, and with a deceptive gentleness that belied his gruff exterior, he pressed his cold lips to her forehead before settling her atop his hunched and shadowy form. He declared himself her steed for the day, promising a spectral journey through the woods. And what of his hunchback? It was to be her throne, he insisted. She must cling to him, lest she fall, as he lurched into a macabre trot.
They embarked on their eerie cavalcade amidst the sinewy arms of the forest green, and despite the child’s trill of delight dancing on the wind, their pace was languid - so much crumbling beauty bedecked their path. Meandering trails snaked through the thicket like veins through flesh, trodden by unseen specters. Here, ancient pines and hemlocks stood as sentinels ” over a sepulcher of fallen needles.