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What a thrill it was for the youth to ponder! She was incrementally convinced that perhaps this figure was a fitting specimen of a dwarf. However, his back bore an arch uncanny, not as those depicted alongside Snow-white. How peculiar and delightful it was that elevating herself upon the cricket rendered her equal in stature to him. Isn’t that wonderful? Wasn’t he content in his brevity? Could it be that his very creation had little girls like her in mind? Had he ever encountered such youthful beings before? Did she resemble his notion of Snow-white in any regard? Why did he withhold words when she spoke unto him?
The ordeal of dish-washing unfolded into an occasion marked by hidden gaiety. The shadow clung no longer to the man’s gaze; he found his smile once more and engaged in spirited discourse. The man was indeed a marvel, much akin to figures of lore. Here, amid solitude, he dwelled. Yes, perpetually solitary. He admitted no yearning for companionship until these moments - Snow-whites were an unknown variable altering his desires profoundly.
Midst laughter she interrogated – did he indeed harbor affection for beings of Snow-white essence, as candid as bruises violet and sapphire? Did she emanate beauty surpassing that of malevolent stepmothers, if such a one she claimed - though bereft she was - only her mother radiant with beauty; did he share this awareness? How could he possibly know? Had his vision ever graced her maternal presence? What wove such peculiar tapestries in his gaze? Perhaps it was soap assaulting his eyes – poor twisted figure! And why did this land lack others of his kind? What prevented him from summoning a band upon first arrival?
It emerged that solitude was his sole desire; upon departure from society, no flicker of longing for human sight accompanied him for the rest of his days.
Such an oddity sent the child into fits of laughter so spirited that the vessel she had been tending plunged back into scalding waters.
Why spurned he the company of others? Had they dealt him grievance too terrible for recall?
Indeed, they had been utterly vile creatures. He withdrew into the gloom of the forest, seeking solace among the ancient trees until weariness overtook him. Beyond that point, his journey would take him further, to a place of uncertain name yet familiar in spirit—the very essence of where he belonged. His path was not one of meandering streams; he knew a more rapid route hidden in shadows. Would he reveal this secret trail to her? He thought not. How long had he tarried here, you ask? A considerable stretch of time. Initially, following their wretched acts against him—no, the details would have to wait; perhaps when they were cloaked in idle moments—he had traversed across the ominous expanse of the sea; yes, he would unfurl those tales another time. The conversation trailed as he returned—
“Why do you halt in your words so?” inquired the little girl, her voice a delicate murmur. “Have you lost your train of thought? It happens to me often! But you were speaking of when you returned; did you confront them? Did you proclaim their vile hearts and swear never to grace their presence again?”
“No,” murmured the man with a darkened tone. “No, my dear Snow-white, that was a path I did not tread; for such actions would have been futile. Instead, I sought refuge here.”
“Did you not even brand them as wretched souls?”
“What purpose would that serve?”
“They remain ignorant of your hideaway here in the shadowy thicket, then?”
“They do.”
A flush of anger tinted the child’s cheeks crimson. “How utterly foolish!” she declared. “Had it been me—I would have thundered my disdain at them and stamped my resolve for all to witness!”
In the shadowed silence, the cricket’s resistance faltered, and with a treacherous flip, it upended the child, plunging her chin-first into the scalding caress of the dish-pan. This spawned a well of misery from which only the darkest solace could be drawn. The man enveloped her in his embrace, whisking her into the bleak expanse outside; her cries ebbed into faint whispers as he cradled her beneath the looming buttonwood, its branches an eerie canopy above.
“You inquired of my haven last eve, Snow-white,” he murmured. “It was there, aloft in my arboreal crypt, I reposed. Gaze upon it! High above, past yonder sinister limb, perchance you spy an aperture? Within lies a cavity where one might recline or repose in deathly slumber. The avian souls and I, we commune there; and ‘twas there I lay ensnared in Morpheus’ grasp.”
The child’s voice trembled—a tenuous balance between dread and mirth—“Was there... Did your rest entail a bed?”
“Ah, the most exquisite sepulchre—shrouded in moss and the desiccated remnants of autumn. Dare you ascend to witness this nocturnal sanctum, Snow-white? I deem it within my power to hoist you to that grim berth.”
“Ah, what a curious gnome you appear!” exclaimed the child, sliding from his grasp and circling him with an air of eerie delight. “Aren’t you pleased by my arrival? I find your presence serendipitous. But how might I ascend? Would your hunch serve as my pedestal? How peculiar that you bear such a deformity, gnome. Was it crafted for the sole purpose of hoisting young maidens aloft? Did the thought of me cross your mind as you shaped it into being? Does it please you to offer it for my amusement? May I leap upon it without care?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Poised atop the hunch, which undeniably served as a perfect platform, she could barely touch the lowest branch of the looming tree. Could she entwine her limbs around it and dangle precariously, if just for a fleeting tick? Indeed, she could and did so; whereupon the nimble gnome quickly joined her, hoisting her onto the bough beside him with unnatural swiftness. Climbing from limb to limb became a simple task thereafter until they arrived at the ominous void. The girl inhaled sharply as the creature propelled her forward into the darkness; then her laughter emanated, disturbingly vibrant in its volume that it startled a multitude of birds into flight from within the hushed bowels of the tree. They soon returned, swirling overhead with strange chirps and twitters, their song one of bizarre greeting, as if acknowledging one of their sinister own.
“Beneath the murky skies, Mr. Ellery,” the visitor declared with a grim tone, “I find myself in your presence.”
The diminutive figure emerged from the depths of the forest, having entrusted the slumbering child to the secretive hollow of an ancient tree, with only a vigilant Goldfinch as her sentinel; he now perched upon a gnarled root fashioned into a throne at the foot of an aged yellow birch, his piercing gaze fixing on the somber man standing before him.
“Indeed,” the dwarf retorted with a chilly air; “here you stand amidst shadows. What tidings do you bring? Scarce a moon has waned since your last disturbing visit.”
The man insisted it had been longer than that. “I bear documents,” he intoned gravely. “Deeds crying for seal, and endless scrolls demanding scrutiny. Shall we not retreat to your lair to conduct this morbid business, sir?”
“Anon!” The dwarf’s eyes flickered towards the looming tree with suspicion. For all he knew, the child’s dreams could be teetering on the edge of a nightmarish awakening at any moment, and to find herself adrift in solitude might thrust her into untold terror.
“You appear fraught with malaise, Phillips,” he observed with deceptive lightness.
With an outburst tinged with desperation, Phillips confessed his ailment. “My very vigor is ebbing away, Mr. Ellery,” he lamented bitterly. “I am beleaguered by your whimsical escapades. It is utterly beyond my grasp how you can indulge in such abyssal folly! While leases decay and clamorous pleas besiege us, missives and invoices pile like tombstones—and there! The office swarms like a crypt of lost souls,” he raged suddenly, “with scribes drowning in their toil, and I am drawn perilously close to ruin’s edge, as I stand before you—”
“A moment!” interrupted the dwarf with unsettling nonchalance as he nestled further into his earthen seat. “Pray tell, where have I ensconced myself this time, Phillips?”
“In Thibet,” Phillips muttered darkly. “Pursuing some infernal wild beast.”
The dwarf offered a slow, unsettling smile. “Ah, splendid sport indeed!” His voice weaved through shadows like silk. “You must acknowledge your own creativity here, Phillips—a testament to grim invention! How you rail against me yet fail to recognize the monstrous transformation within yourself—you once lacked even the ghost of imagination; now here you are: twisted by my designs yet gloriously reborn through them. Truly fascinating, Phillips; oh yes quite fascinating indeed.”
With a somber grin, he gazed upwards at the man whose eyes held a storm of melancholy, tainted with a hint of endearment.
Fervently, he implored, “I yearn for you to abandon this path,” his words as earnest as the night is dark. “For the love of all that is holy, Mr. Ellery, forsake this beastly existence and return to whence you came. A man of your stature—cavorting like mere wildlife—it’s an abomination. Reflect upon your empire, your lands rich and waiting, on all those souls who cast their eyes towards you; on—”
“Tell me,” interjected the dwarf with a thread of darkness in his voice, “the legacies—have you settled them?”
“I am blissfully ignorant about any sort of legacies,” retorted the man, his patience worn thin and splintered. “I’ll not engage in such macabre discourse. When you lay lifeless and confined within your wooden shroud, Mark Ellery—that will be the time to speak of legacies.”
“Coffins are an abhorrence,” whispered the dwarf eerily, his gaze drifting towards the gaping maw within the towering sable buttonwood tree. “My intentions steer clear of such endings—proceed, Phillips. The funds—you implied they were disbursed?”
“Indeed, sir,” Phillip affirmed somberly. “Yet I withheld from the venerable sisters the morbid news of your demise; falsehoods of such a grave nature are beyond me. Occupational deceptions I may weave at your behest; but to sully their perception with lies? That I could not bear.”
“No,” soothed the dwarf with a touch as cold as the grave, “of course not; such expectations would be unspeakable, Phillips. And they were informed that my whereabouts lay—”
“In distant Thibet,” claimed Phillips under his breath. “Amidst wild beasts as stubborn as asses—a tale previously spun.”
“Ah yes,” murmured the dwarf, a sinister smile upon his lips. “I’d advocate for creativity in our stories, Phillips. A diverse array of locales could prove rather entertaining—you could have enthralled them more compellingly had you conjured scenes of me in Mashonaland amid savages and wild beasts alike. They’ve been keeping well—the dear ladies?”
Frail and faded they appeared, Mr. Ellery,” responded Phillips in a tone shadowed with concern. “Their tears flowed like rivers in their affliction; they proclaimed you a paragon of virtue—”
“Perish the thought!” uttered the dwarf in a voice that hinted at malice lurking beneath. “Let us forgo that chapter, Phillips. But lest I banish it from my memory, there are errands you must run in the depths of town. Peer into my thoughts,” he mused darkly, enumerating his demands on twisted fingers. “Procure for me a doll, not just any effigy but the most bewitching one detained within a chest of vestments, better yet, make it twin coffers, Phillips. Also, ensnare some illustrated tomes of grim fables and a wheeled carriage—though the latter, I reckon I’ll craft with these sinister hands. Add to the list a feast set for tiny ghouls, perhaps in lustrous silver, should you stumble upon such treasure; coupled with confections, an abundance of them—let’s decree ten pounds to suffice our needs. And don’t forget, acquire a pair of new tapestries, plush and opulent, only the finest to grace these cold floors; plus—oh! Pillows; amass a dozen or so pillows, sheathed in satin and velvet; stuffed with down of creatures most rare. Is my intent clear?”