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However, not all sought the light; some strayed into the abyss, drawing her ire. “Foolish spirits,” she cried out, determined to command them toward radiance. “Drift this way and steal color from the sun! Your obstinacy is folly!” She threatened one wayward spirit with a vengeful toe – but her zeal betrayed her. With a sinister plunge, she found herself engulfed by the stream’s icy clutches. She emerged in haste, a vengeful spirit now haunts the banks – her temper as heated as her skin was chilled.

“You needn’t cloak your treacherous rocks in deceit!” she hissed at the uncaring brook. “I graced you with my presence in vain belief that you would revel in it. My limbs cry out from this betrayal, and I shall not suffer your presence a moment longer! Revel in your isolation and let your cacophony be serenaded only by unworthy creatures of slime and muck—no noble prince will grace your cursed depths!”

With scornful eyes, she cast a final glance over her shoulder at the faithless waters before turning away. But a creeping dread seized her—a tempest behind cherubic brows.

“Listen well,” spoke the child with a foreboding chill. “I do believe I’ve strayed too far from home.”

Doubt shrouded the forest; a clear path was nowhere to be seen. Imposing trees hemmed in on the murky water’s edge, branches drooping and interlacing above stagnant pools. All around, dark green corridors were formed by the overhanging shimmer of leaves and the dense undergrowth of cool ferns; that was all there was to see. Fear was alien to the child, and it did not seize her now. She pondered momentarily before her expression lightened. “I must discover a House in these Woods,” she proclaimed to the brook, her voice tinged with a resolute cadence as optimism flickered in her thoughts. Certainly, a house lay hidden amidst this wilderness; in each tale of every forest, one resided. Sometimes it sheltered two children with one metamorphosed into a white fawn by day, regaining human shape only under the cloak of night – what enchanting mischief! And at times an elderly crone dwelt within – indeed yes – yet that crone could be a malevolent witch who would imprison you within a coop and devour you once plump enough. But such dwellings could be discerned by their edible construction made from candy and pancakes, which allowed one to stealthily snap off pieces from behind before fleeing with haste – for haggard witches lag behind youthful sprinters.

Yet above all others, one should seek out the abode of the Dwarfs. The illustrious Dwarf House was optimal, where seven dwarfs resided and had prepared a feast fit for unexpected visitors. Then upon your arrival, nibbling samples from each dish and cup would be permissible until they returned and discovered you slumbering peacefully. And stars would shimmer in their eyes as they gasped, “Who is this fair maiden?” inviting you to stay and tend to their domestic needs akin to Snow-White herself – it was an idyllic fantasy woven from darkness!

“Oh, how I yearn for its prompt discovery,” mused the child with an edge of weariness in her whisper. “I have become quite famished; I believe some nourishment is rather overdue.”

Stolen novel; please report.

She was no ordinary child; her belly gnawed with hunger, limbs sore and weary, yet she trudged through the shadow-laden forest with a grim sort of gaiety. At times her voice rose faintly above the whispers of the trees, singing or conversing with specters unseen; at others, she moved in oppressive silence, weaving between the twisted ferns and trailing vines. Determined, she shadowed the murky brook’s course—a haunting memory from her father’s newspaper fueling her resolve. In ink-black print, a tale of a boy lost like her whispered secrets: to follow the stream to salvation and feast on blackberries along the thorny path.

But in the stark chill of early May, blackberries were but fantasies whispered in Fairy Books—where secret strawberry patches lay hidden beneath winter’s frost awaiting those pure of heart. The child clung to this lore. Intense yearning had her believe she would charm ancient crones with courtesy unparalleled and offer indefatigable service in exchange for wondrous fruits to soothe her invalid sister’s pain—even if it meant parting with non-existent morsels.

Within her ribs, a gnawing void clawed fiercely; it birthed an impending sob that sought to choke her resolute spirit. She willed it away—sternly shaking off tears yet unshed. For amidst these suffocating woods God must be lurking, a spectral guardian compelled to shield His innocent charges—as sure as darkness swallows light. So she convinced herself, even as doubt’s tendrils coiled around her heart—until—

With a jolt that stilled her soul, there stood before her the House in the Wood—its windows akin to baleful eyes and timbers moaning deep-seated secrets.

Immersed in a sea of towering ferns that rose to her chest, the girl diverted her gaze from the murmuring brook. Through an opening in the forest’s shadowy embrace, there was a clearing bathed in an ominous glow, dominated by an ancient tree whose branches stretched toward the heavens like gnarled fingers; and beyond it loomed the house. Its gray facade held a silent vigil; backed by a looming cliff, it gave the impression of a fortress. The door was sealed as if guarding secrets within, yet the windows gaped wide like hollow eye sockets; the roof was overgrown with vegetation, a deceptive camouflage suggesting life where there was none—it materialized before her exactly as depicted in the dark tomes of fairy tales. The child perceived instantly that this place harbored no threat of cannibalistic crones. This abode bore no resemblance to confectionary constructions; its portals were not crafted from sweet treats but were merely mundane glass. No, unmistakably this was the domicile of the Seven Dwarfs—a bastion within an enchanted tale.

She lingered in stillness for moments, absorbing her surroundings with an uneasy anticipation. Perhaps one of the dwarfs might emerge? An uncertain trepidation took hold at the prospect of such an encounter. But then logic whispered that they were entrenched in their labor deep within the foreboding woods, as they always were until nightfall enveloped them.

“Patience is no virtue here,” she muttered with resolute defiance. “Snow White herself harbored no hesitation—not even for an instant. Hunger gnaws at me, and I’d wager everything lies in ready repast inside.” With that proclamation, she set forth across the verdant expanse toward destiny.

Yet upon reaching the threshold, she hesitated once more—a palpable silence emanated from within. Vines danced macabre waltzes atop the roof, avian onlookers perched atop the colossal buttonwood tree erupted into cacophonous dispute; beyond these disturbances... nothing. Undeterred, she prodded forward, coaxing open the portal with but a gentle push against its protesting latch—the barrier relented to her touch as if in grim invitation. Within two paces, she crossed over to shadows’ embrace.