Blood dripped from the walls. Kaitlyn shuddered as she began to try to delicately pull a hole in the tapestry, but every time she touched it, she got cut again. The threads grew slick with blood and slippery. A massive gash on her forearm made her stop. This wasn’t working.

Every hole she started began closing instantly she took her hand away. She somehow knew, instinctually or through some commune with the house itself that the green ring was important. A thread tried to wrap around her leg, slicing her calf deeply and nearly dropping her. She cried out in pain and for a moment felt panicked to think it was eating her.

She had not realized she feared the house this much. This house had been built on bones and blood. This house which was filled with unknown spells doing things she didn’t control and didn’t understand. She hated this house.

Anger and fear seeped into her through every cut. She was angry at Claus. She was angry at the black unicorn who had cursed her. She wailed as the fury filled her.

Pain continued to grow as the threads tightened, more and more cuts slicing her through her clothes. A thread wrapped around her throat and she relived the memories.

Claus swung the club with surprising control. Enough to bruise, enough to jerk Kaitlyn from her toes and jerk her arms at the shoulder. Not enough to break bones. Two men held her leg while he pulled out her toe nails. She screamed.

She screamed into the darkness, wishing desperately for the escape of unconsciousness but when it came they put something in her mouth and cool liquid seeped down her throat. She was forced awake again.

Claus slapped her, hard. She glared at him and said, “How long have you planned this?”

“We talked about how much money we could make on our way out of the kingdom,” he said calmly, washing some blood from his hands. “We all dreamed of hunting the mythic beasts that roam this forest, but you can’t go far from the road without running into elves or other monsters.”

He went to the fire and got a hot iron rod. He brought it to her and said, “One unicorn is all we need my love.”

“You don’t love me,” she wailed.

“Yes, I do,” he whispered and put the iron against her thigh. Kaitlyn screamed.

A ringing almost song-like sound echoed across the clearing. The beautiful beast which bounded towards them was like a miracle out of a dream. White as fresh snow, almost glowing with the moonlight’s reflection. A mane of glowing white almost looked like flames. Long, slender, almost delicate legs with tufts of white flame-shaped fetlock hair. The tail looked too long for the body, slender like a cat’s except for the white hair at the end of it.

The bright horn blazed with light as the unicorn rushed towards Kaitlyn. It lept as it approached and the horn sliced the rope holding her up. At the pinnacle of the jump, bolts seemed to sprout from neck, chest, and haunches. The unicorn squealed in pain and fell to the side.

Ignoring her own pain, Kaitlyn crawled to the creature, tears streaming down her face. She cradled the unicorn’s head saying, “No. No. No.”

The words were almost incomprehensible. The poor beast thrashed once, a whimpering whine. The horn nicked her chin, but warmth flooded even as it did and the wound healed. Many of her wounds healed, her toenails growing back and her burned thigh closing.

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“Please don’t die,” Kaitlyn whispered. “Get away. Get away…”

She tried to return the healing magic to the unicorn through will alone, silver blood covering her hands as she tried to stop the unicorn’s blood. Claus knelt beside her and heartlessly slit the creature’s throat. Kaitlyn screamed.

Kaitlyn screamed as the memories of the wounds she had collected over her life hit her. She gasped for breath as she pried the thread of magic from her throat. She tried to reach for the emerald ring, but even putting her arm up to the shoulder, it was out of reach. She began to tear at the tapestry of magic pushing through the hole.

Kaitlyn’s grandmother was sometimes called wise. She was sometimes called witch. She lived in the old farmhouse outside of town with Kaitlyn’s uncle, aunt, and cousins. When Kaitlyn visited, her grandmother often told her of the history of the women of the family, including that they were gifted with herbs.

The green plants seemed brighter after grandmother handled them. When Kaitlyn was eight she spent the summer out on the farm with these relatives. Her grandmother taught her about plants, telling her how ginger soothed a stomach and mint and honey as a cream for the skin.

Kaitlyn’s grandmother had been missing two knuckles of her ring finger on her right hand. That summer she told Kaitlyn she had traded that finger for a spell. She had met with a fae in the woods and in order to save Kaitlyn’s mother’s life, the old woman had traded that finger for the spell to heal her daughter.

Kaitlyn’s aunt shook her head and said, “Mama, don’t tell such stories to Kaitlyn. She is oft to believe you.”

“As you should child,” grandmother said. “Your mother was just a mite older than you are now and dying of the wasting pox. I traded this finger for the spell to save her life and though I think it meant I had no more children either and came into magic early, it’s why you live today. Never forget magic has a price and you must be ready to pay it.”

Magic’s price was about to be Kaitlyn’s life. Blood flowed from a hundred cuts on her chest, neck, arms and shoulders. Her clothing was soaked red as the sharp threads of magic attempted to strangle her. She scrambled her hand on the table, the old, bent witch woman watching her while talking to the red-haired witch.

“This can be yours,” the witch woman said, “but this takes it’s payment in one way or another.”

“I know how to pay for the power,” the red-haired woman said.

“Yes, I’m sure you believe that,” the old witch said with a bit of a cackle.

“Don’t toy with me crone,” the beautiful red-head said. “I have defeated you.”

“Me, yes,” the crone cackled again, “and I hope you can defeat her too, because she will be a far more challenging opponent.”

“Who?” the younger witch demanded.

The crone waved a hand around her head and said, “Her, of course.”

“The house is not alive,” the red-haired witch had almost a rough growl to her tone.

“No, she is not,” the crone said, “but she is. She is the one you must truly conquer to come into all my powers. Blood of my blood and bone of my bone. Put on the ring and you will be witch of this place. You will be mistress of all you see.”

The crone seemed to look past the red-haired woman as she said, “What price are you going to pay her?”

Kaitlyn’s finger touched the ring, it was like there was a whirlwind of the words repeating around her over and over, “Price. What price. Pay a price.”

“My price is that I won’t burn you down you ungrateful bitch,” Kaitlyn growled. “I will fight my curse myself. I will learn the magic I need. I will not be trapped by a house asking me to do evil.”

Kaitlyn was jerked backwards by the hair, her finger losing the ring as she stretched. She basically screamed, reaching until she was sure her joints would pop out of place. She felt the ring on her middle finger. It burned her until she thought she would lose all the flesh on it.

For a heartbeat she remembered her grandmother’s knuckled finger, and the price to save someone else. Would she pay something similar to save herself?

Her ring finger brushed the gold metal and cool, refreshing waves almost made Kaitlyn black out. She stretched with every ounce of will and strength she had as her finger closed on the ring, pulling it with her ring finger to cup inside the palm of her hand.

She fell. And fell. And fell.