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As dawn’s first light crept morbidly across the table where they broke their fast, one would scarce believe the little one before them had ever succumbed to the clutches of slumber; a shimmering glint of malevolence sparkled in her eyes, betraying a hunger for knowledge that was untamed and feral.
“How many?” echoed the dwarfish figure, his voice distant as if carried by a chilling breeze. His attention barely grazed the surface of her query; instead, his gaze pierced through her with an intensity as though he were attempting to unravel some macabre riddle inscribed upon her visage.
“Yes, how many?” she pressed on with biting sharpness. “Your wits seem dulled and blunted at this hour, dwarf. Or perchance you share kinship with creatures of shadow and dusk? Have you affinity with nocturnal beasts? Are dwarfs akin to bats? Possessed of the unholy ability to suspend from arboreal limbs by your hind limbs? Are your feet armed with talons?”
In her imagination, dreadful and thrilling visions blossomed, widening her eyes with a mixture of awe and terror. Yet from the dwarf came a deep chuckle that rumbled like distant thunder. “Nay, my dear Snow-white. The webs of my thoughts ensnared me; not once did Morpheus enfold me in his embrace.”
“And your repose last eve?” prodded the child, a hint of dismay souring her voice. “Twas impossible with me as interloper in thine abode of rest. Where then did you seek refuge in slumber? Pray pass more bread to sate my appetite. It is a mystery most vexing where you conjure sustenance for our table; and I remain ignorant of your nocturnal whereabouts; you’ve yet to satisfy my curiosity regarding your winged prisoners. Swiftly shall my displeasure kindle if you continue this game.”
The dwarf regarded Snow-white solemnly and countered her flurry of questions with a caution wrapped in shadowed tones. “Prattle on at such pace and surely your tongue shall be rendered lifeless before you reach the age when life languishes.”
A frown etched upon Snow-white’s face. “Seventy? Such an accursed number,” she spat disdainfully. “I loathe it with every fiber of my being, reject it entirely, and refuse to embrace such a fate.”
“Rejoice!” the man hissed, a wicked gleam in his eyes, “My disdain for it matches yours, and I refuse to embody it. But concerning the flock; can you fathom their numbers? Tell me, have any graced your sight?”
“Countless!” the child exclaimed, a tremor in her voice, “and the others, their songs filled my ears. At dawn’s light, they chorused an ominous symphony as if vying for a sinister prize. One dared to breach the window’s veil, perching upon my toe with feathers of deceptive sunshine. But when I cried out in alarm, he vanished into the shadows as if chased by demons. Do you command such a creature?”
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“Indeed,” the man replied with a sly tone. “That was my kin, Goldfinch - a harbinger you’ve unwittingly banished with your shriek. Had silence been your choice, he might have serenaded you with a haunting melody. He knows not of fearful exclamations; mornings bring his loyal visitation, wherein he presents me an eerie serenade.”
“Are all these winged enigmas bound to you?” the child prodded. “Will you ever uncover their legion to me? Your reluctance borders on discourtesy. Miss Tyler decrees such evasion dreadfully impolite.”
“Miss Tyler’s presence is absent here,” the man retorted darkly. “Was it not you who declared her exile from our discourse?”
“Aye!” the child rejoiced. “I revel in her absence, sorcerer. Will you echo my exultation?”
“With fervor,” intoned the man deeply. “Come now, Snow-white, and witness the extent of my feathery dominion.”
“Ere we purify our hands from this culinary aftermath? Is that not a macabre proposition?”
“Nay, it teems not with malevolence but with promise. Observe and be patient.”
The man took a portion of bread and crumbled it malefically as he stepped onto the grass that encroached ominously upon the abode’s edge; he instructed Snow-white to remain within and gaze forth from behind paneled glass. Captivated, she watched as he scattered the tainted morsels on the dew-laden blades below while letting out an eerie timbre:
“Coo! coo! coo!”
Suddenly, the air was thick with an ominous rustling; it emanated from the deceivingly vibrant canopy above, from the twisted yellow birches, but most ominously, from the foreboding depths of the buttonwood tree. A swarm approached swiftly—a mass of shadows with wings, grazing each other in their flight—circling the man who stood petrified beneath the gnarled giant. Slowly, they descended upon him, a sinister blanket of feathers settling on his head, shoulders, outstretched arms, and at his feet. With a grim smile, he tore another piece from his dark loaf and crushed it, strewing crumbs indulgently wide. The creatures swarmed the scattered offering with fervor, greed coloring their gratitude; their shrill chirps were laced with a haunting resonance. They thrashed about in frenetic glee beneath the morose skies as if enacting some macabre dance.
Rooted in place among them, the man whispered commands that seemed to ensnare their wills. Occasionally, he would grasp one in his hand and stroke it—the lightness of his touch mismatched with the stark malice in his eyes—as this occurred, the captive would let out an eerie tune that would spur others to join until an overwhelming chorus filled the once silent clearing. Had any observer stumbled upon this scene and grasped its bizarre nature—understood that such wonder was unnatural—they might’ve recoiled in dread; but to her—the child—it appeared as nothing but enchantment similar to her Fairy Books. Yet a dark yearning stirred within; she longed to possess this daunting power herself and silently vowed to master these dark arts.