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Even the sturdiest heart of a child could be forgiven for harboring an unease in a dwelling as unnerving as this. Her pulse echoed in her ears, her throat parched; yet as her gaze swept the area, such flawless order reassured her inner longing for harmony, assuaging her discomfort into contentment. The chamber she occupied, while modest in size to us, would loom as a grand hall to dwarfs. The room boasted immaculate, gleaming wooden panels and floors, with a pair of doors standing sentinel at each endpoint. A fireplace gaped open, its black iron hounds sporting twisted tails, propping up logs that hissed softly in a manner suggesting they were ignited for ambiance rather than heat. Adjacent to the fire was an inviting armchair, and another seat was tucked beside a table positioned near the window. But it was at the sight of this table that shadows of doubt crept into her heart. Fit for dwarfs if they weren’t the shortest sort, covered with a linen as white as snow — yet set for only one. A lone setting greeted her: a singular plate, utensils, cup and saucer; along with a tiny loaf of bread and butter pat, a jug of milk, and honeycomb glinting like captured sunlight. What sinister plot did this signal?
“No matter,” she muttered abruptly to herself with an eerie sense of calm, “If all but one have vanished into shadow, it is beyond my control; they should not dabble in such mysteries. Hunger beckons me more than caution. Just like Snow-white once dared,” she thought determinedly. “I shall partake just a morsel.”
With trepidation veiled by resolve, she settled herself at the eerie table and filled the cup with milk — its sweetness a deceitful lure. Breaking bread that seemed to whisper secrets as she brought it to her lips, her demeanor lifted deceptively; she fancied once again that she’d been drawn into an adventurous tale most extraordinary. Soon she found herself humming a tune – not realizing it was anything but joyous...
“And I comed away,
And I runned away,
And I said I thought I did not—”
She halted in her tracks, a sense of trepidation washing over her as the door to the distant chamber creaked open ominously. From the shadows slinked the dwarf, his presence casting a sinister pall over the room.
The sweet melody of the child’s song shattered into a shrill cry, for even foresight does not fully steel one against terror; yet the cry morphed swiftly into twisted mirth. “Ah! I—it’s just that your appearance is so...amusing. I felt compelled to help myself to the bread and milk, driven by hunger.” She halted her words suddenly, choking back a burgeoning sob within her. The dwarf crept closer, an ominous shadow looming over her trembling frame as she gripped the chair’s back like a lifeline; but his approach ended with an outstretched hand, and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“How do you do?” he intoned with feigned warmth. “Your presence here delights me; please, resume your seat and partake in what remains of this feast.”
“But it belongs to you,” the child confessed, her integrity unwavering in spite of her fear. “I never meant to take it—I can’t help but wonder if there might not be enough for us both.” Her speech often lacked words that left listeners bemused, yet the dwarf seemed to drink in her fragmented sentences with eerie comprehension.
“There’s plenty for the both of us,” he uttered. “Come, take a seat here, and proffer me some milk. My hunger gnaws at me as well. And would you dare to partake in some honey?” His nod bore a semblance of warmth, and the grin that crept across his face was both delightful and unsettling — the kind of smile from which folks often said you could glean warmth, much like a flickering flame in the dark. The child, clutching a piece of bread, eyed him warily as she took small, hesitant bites.
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He was no miniscule fey, none of those diminutive creatures that tussle amidst the petals or joust with blades of grass. Far from it! He was a diminutive man, somewhat taller even than the child herself, though by no grand margin. His hair and beard were a soft brown; his eyes shimmered with an inner light yet hinted at hidden depths beneath their surface. All shaded in earthy browns and grays; his attire exuded a rustic charm — corduroy that seemed almost like velvet under the low light.
Melding solemnly with the stone abode and its rocky backdrop, he bestowed upon her another enigmatic smile.
“You seem utterly absorbed by some great curiosity,” he murmured, tempting her with more milk. “What’s plaguing your thoughts?”
“Partly I wondered where your kin might be hiding,” responded the child with an undertone of suspicion.
“The rest of me?” A flicker of something passed over his visage—an emotion quickly veiled. “This is all I am. Shouldn’t it suffice?” Though his lips still curled in a smile, his eyes betrayed a shadow of suffering.
“I meant the others—the remaining six,” the child clarified innocently enough, “For there were seven where Snow-white found sanctuary.”
“Seven what?” he probed.
“Dwarfs!” exclaimed the child.
“Ah,” he voiced softly.
A silence fell—a heavy, pensive lull—before it was abruptly shattered by his laughter, a sound chilling in its abruptness, matched only by the child’s own nervous echo. “What provokes your mirth?” she inquired.
“Indeed it is humorous!” he declared amidst chuckles that raised goosebumps upon her arms. “For you are akin to Snow-white herself. But banish such thoughts—there are no other dwarfs here. I stand alone.”
The child sensed the foreboding in the air. “Such a shame,” she murmured. “Seven like you could wreak exquisite havoc. Why not summon more?” But then, catching herself, her words tumbled out more quickly, “I’ve never dealt in the dark arts of cooking, yet I am adept at stirring a cauldron, and I can sweep away tracks and traces with ease. As for beds, I could certainly trap yours in linens, as it wouldn’t be vast like the others. When I attempt it, the sheets ensnare me, and the blankets become a suffocating sea; the bedspread is always reversed. My attempts are cursed!”
“I understand,” intoned the man.
“But you believe I can manage your humble resting place, yes? And should I err in laying the spread, would you take offense?”
“Not in the slightest. In fact, I despise those spreads. Let’s discard it.”
“A delightful idea!” exclaimed the child. “A cheer for our conspiracy! Do you shout ‘hurrah’ when darkness wins?”
“Hurrah,” echoed the man solemnly. “Would it vex you if I smoked my pipe?”
The child wasn’t perturbed in the least. Thus he procured an ornate pipe, packed and lit it with a flame that danced ominously; he settled down with a contemplative gaze fixed upon her.
“You should probably disclose your origins,” he stated grimly. “Not that it heightens our amusement, but presumably they’ll be plunged into despair without you at home, won’t they? Your mother—”
The youngling rushed to justify her circumstances. Her mother had vanished, spirited away with her father, leaving her solely in the custody of Miss Tyler and the nursemaid. Alas, Miss Tyler was quite the wretched guardian for a youth; her constant nagging and her chilling rebukes every time — for even the slightest of deeds that ventured beyond the realms of immobility and hymn learning—were unbearable. “I detest hymns!” the young one declared.
“As do I,” concurred the man with vehement agreement. “Miss Tyler seems quite the torment indeed. From whence did you emerge, my Snow-white?”
“It’s a place far removed; too distant to reconvene. Dwarfs never permit voyages back; they enslave visitors to toil in their stead. And I am nearly as tall as you!” she said with a tremor betraying her innocence.
“Indeed, you are,” he acknowledged. “Let us now cleanse the dishware and banish these troubles from our minds tonight, at least.”
But this chore of dishwashing unexpectedly transformed into a grim delight. They handled crockery painted in blue and white, portraying scenes of eerie estates and ominous avians. Through a doorway, they entered an ominous kitchen where everything glimmered with deceptive allure, akin to silver forged in shadows. The girl questioned whether they were truly wrought from silver, but he chuckled dismissively—no, merely Britannia metal; a term which bewildered the child for she knew Britannia to conquer seas—a hymn her father once belted out—yet she chose not to address this dwarf’s apparent ignorance.