We come now to a place that was once a mechanic's garage. The whole block was purchased by a man of means, and gut remodels have been completed in all the old brick buildings except this one.

This one has become storage for things unwanted.

Bare concrete is occupied with stacks of dusty furniture, a broken hydraulic lift, and rat-nested boxes of magazines or books and receipts from forty years of businesses that occupied this side street off of the main drag.

A meandering path is cut through the forest of yesteryear's calendars and filing cabinets, and it opens into a clearing lit by a cracked skylight.

In a pool of starshine, glowing as if center stage beneath a spotlight, she lies.

Oil-stained concrete gives way to a bare, yellowed mattress.

Bare, yellowed mattress gives way to a bared, stained girl.

Bared, stained girl gives herself away so easily.

He took her, those months ago, when she strayed off the beaten after wandering away from the Greyhound bus station. That logo leers in her fevered dreams between his visits; she sees a silver, sleek running wolf in her deepest moments of need, and she prays for just one more beautiful release.

Thoughts of home fade when memories seep from her veins, and she is weightless as she floats into the warm oranges and reds of sweet surrender. Not even her worn, dirty crimson hoodie can comfort her as much as the poison that flows so sweetly.

Silver, slender fangs bite into her, but she welcomes the peace as she is consumed one fix at a time.

In a pool of starshine, glowing as if center stage beneath a spotlight, the savage beast of a man claims his prize.

We now draw the curtain, leaving the hunter with the hunted, in this place that has become storage for things unwanted so far from the gaze of grandmothers and woodsmen.

PART ONE

The Drei Baren Airbnb

1 Review

*

Goldie L.

I’m giving this place a one-star rating because zero stars is not an option. Where should I begin?

The food temperatures were inconsistent, ranging from either too hot or too cold. And porridge was the only entree choice.

Any seating that wasn’t uncomfortable was of shoddy construction. I’m a petite girl and one chair fell apart as soon as I sat in it.

The beds were too high (not ADA compliant) or too low (difficult to get out of). Neither were conducive for a good night’s sleep. I left before completing my stay.

With so many other establishments in the area, I would not recommend patronizing this one.

Response from owner

I’m dismayed to read this review. As a co-owner of the Drei Baren Airbnb, I feel it is important to address the issues raised and include information conveniently omitted.

1) You arrived unannounced when everyone was out getting provisions for our next guests. Since this is peak season, we have scarce time during our one “turn-around” day and must fully utilize it, which is why nobody was on site. Also, our records indicate that you did not have, then or previously, a reservation with us.

2) The CCTV footage shows you entering the unlocked front door without knocking or ringing the bell. Our Open-Door policy is for paying guests only. I’m not a cop, but it appears you committed a B&E to our BnB.

3) You accessed the personal quarters of our residence, disregarding the clearly marked “Off Limits. Staff Only” signage.

4) The porridge you tasted was part of a menu created specifically for the dietary needs of a guest who will be staying with us this week. That food had to be thrown away since you sampled each bowl, twice, using the same spoon.

5) The chair you broke was an antique and part of the décor, not a functional piece of furniture. (BTW, I looked up “petite” in the dictionary and did not see your picture.) The clean sheets you soiled necessitated rewashing.

6) As small business owners, we take pride in the service and experience we offer. Instead of leaving this false, negative review, you should have reached out to us directly with some monetary compensation for the damage incurred during your brief “stay” at the Drei Baren.

Pappa B.

PART TWO

“Run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me. I’m the Gingerbread Man.”

Glancing up from my phone, “I’m sorry, what’s that?”

“I said, ‘Run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me. I’m the Gingerbread Man.’”

Confused and looking around, “Ah, are you talking to me?”

“Why yes, I am. I feel it’s important to clarify that you can’t catch me. I’m the Gingerbread Man and am very fleet of foot.”

“Ooookay, that’s strange, but I don’t think I know you. Have we ever met?”

“We have not.”

“Then what’s this all about? Why would I want to catch you?”

“I’m the Gingerbread Man and you want to eat me, of course.”

“I understand you’re the Gingerbread Man. I heard you the first three times. But believe me, I have no desire to chase you or even eat you.”

“You’re saying that now so I won’t run away.”

“No, I’m saying that now because it’s true. Dude, seriously, why are you bothering me? I’m just sitting here minding my own business, trying to relax on my day off. So please by all means, run away. I promise I won’t chase you.”

“I will but I’m so speedy, you wouldn’t be able to catch me.”

Rolling my eyes, “That’s great. Fine. Whatever makes you feel better. You’re fast. There, are we good now?”

“I told you I was faster than you.”

“Listen, I never said I was…ah, geez. Alright Usain Bolt, let me ask you some questions before you sprint off. Are you gluten-free?”

“What’s a gluten?”

“Fair enough. Were you handmade in a locally owned, carbon-neutral bakery?”

“I’m not sure where I was made.”

“Are you certified Kosher?”

“I’m Presbyterian.”

“Super. Is your ginger from a sustainable source that doesn’t result in the deforestation of the Amazon?”

“I can’t say for certain because I’ve never been out of the city.”

“Here’s my last question, are you more compatible with the Keto or the Paleolithic diet?”

“Um, I know I’m tasty.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You’re trying to confuse me so you can catch me. And eat me.”

“Oh my word, you don’t get it. I wouldn’t waste my energy chasing your crumbly little ass because I have strict dietary and moral requirements regarding what goes in my body, none of which you meet. So, why don’t you go annoy someone else?”

“Alright, I will. But remember, you can’t catch me, I’m the Ging…”

“I know, I know, for the love of God, I know, but I don’t care if you’re the Gingerbread Man. Or a Keebler elf. Or a Newton named Fig. So kindly piss off and leave me alone.” Under my breath, “This is why I don’t like coming to the park on the weekends.”

"You're worthless, Red." Mother spits at me, "You got kicked out of another school?! Are you kidding? You throw away your future like an idiot!"

I stand in front of her, my cheeks reddening with fury, "That is not my fault! Bad luck just follows me everywhere!"

"Oh sure! Get the hell out of here. If you won't get your shit together then get out of my house, you little leech."

"You want me gone?" I ask, "I'll go to Grandma's house. At least she gives a shit about me."

I spin and turn fast so Mother can't see the tears welling in my eyes.

"The slums of Fiaba are no place for a young woman like you." I look up to see a hooded man towering above me. I try to walk around him but he blocks me, "Scared?"

"Get out of my way, old man!" I yell. Yelling helps. Nobody can hear the quiver of my voice when I am yelling.

He tugs on my red hood, "You really don't know what you're doing. Let me help you." His voice turns gentle, "I knew another little girl, many years ago who almost got killed wandering the streets alone. She was quite similar to you."

It's like a spell is cast over my brain, slowing my heartbeat and turning the fight in my limbs to dust, "Thank you." I gulp.

"But of course," He drawls.

I show him the way to grandmother's house, something is clearly wrong. The door is open. The house is cold and dark and empty.

"Grandma?" I call out, "It's me, Red."

I turn around and the hooded man is standing right in front of my face.

My blood freezes in my veins.

He's got a gun.

"Never trust strangers, sweetheart."

I squeeze my eyes shut at the same time a deafening bang claps though my ears.

A dull thump penetrates through the ringing.

I turn around to see a dead Werewolf at my feet with a bloody hole torn through him.

There was once a boy. He was an orphan, living with his young sister in a cottage in the woods, nestled by trees. Honestly, it was more of a hut than a cottage, but he learned to appreciate what he had. When he was a child he had one goal: make something of himself. He would sometimes run to the edge of the woods. When he squinted and jumped, he could see a giant castle in the distance; sparkling and grander than he could even imagine. He used to think I'm going there one day. Once my sister is old enough to make the trip, the two of us will go, and make something of ourselves.

The days passed. The two siblings would make up stories of what would happen once their life began. He wanted to become a rich merchant or an inventor or at least be invited into the castle once. She was never really sure. Her dreams varied from baker to the queen herself. The only thing that stayed constant was that she always told him she would have a daughter. Emilia, she said. Emilia was a ridiculous name. Only two puny syllables! Six letters! And so despicably common! He indulged his sister's delusions but figured that when she did have a child she would at least pick a sensible name. He loved her so he kept his mouth shut. They agreed they would buy houses right next to each other right smack dab in the middle of town, bordering the palace.

Days turned into months and months turned into years. Finally, they packed their few belongings and said goodbye to the only home they'd ever known. They walked for weeks, hitching rides with whoever was willing to take them, housed in exchange for labor. Honestly, their journey could be a whole story of itself, but like life, this story marches on. The journey took a toll on both of their bodies, feet red like they'd danced by a fire. But they never wanted to stop, each footstep dragged forward by hopes, ambitions and dreams. They would make it though. He would never forget the look on his sister's face when they finally saw the palace. Sheer disbelief and awe, eyes shining. Was it all a dream? Marble and a thousand murals, guarded by a golden gate, ethereal. It inspired the two, determined to become great, worthy of a town with such a palace. Their heads filled with dreams of grandeur, they set out. He vowed that they would make something of themselves. No, not just something. Something extraordinary.

That was until his sister died. He barely even remembered it. Every thing seemed like a blur. When someone you loved dies, you want the whole world to stop. You want the skies to be grey. To mourn with you. But life goes on. There's a hole in your heart. It can never be filled, and as much as you try, it will always remain. You must accept it and allow it to be remembered yet not dictate your life. There's another option though. You let it fester. Spike your heart with despair. Become cold, twisted. Angry at the world. Lord why is the sky blue? when all he wanted was rain or thunder. The perfect little town. Full of opportunity. But it shouldn't be. Twin houses, just like they always dreamed, left vacant. And instead of the promising young man he was, as the years ticked by, he grew solem and bitter.

He stayed in town. Became a merchant. A jack of all trades, if you will. He had enough to buy both of those houses the two used to eye. But he never had the heart to do it without her. He liked traveling. It let him escape from the constant thoughts of his sister pounding through his head. But he could never forget. He picked up all kinds of impossible hobbies. Merchants were great teachers. He learned to make armour from fish scales, mirrors from pearls, gold from straws. He met all kinds of people. Mostly drunkards, but drunkards were good company. They would tell their stories, most of them of long voyages. They reminded him of himself. So young, so naive. But he smiled and wished them luck. That was until the miller walked in. The miller came in bragging.

"My daughter is so talented she can spin straw to gold. She can play the mandolin with her eyes closed. She can dance the merengue while juggling three chickens"

My daughter this, my daughter that. Perhaps she was somewhat talented, but her father gave an obscene amount of praise. Perhaps this was what parents were supposed to do. Regardless, he had met the daughter. She had two left feet and the fine motor skills of a goldfish. Annoying, but what was the harm in being proud?

Turns out there was a lot of harm. The miller came sobbing to him. His words were so hysterical they were barely comprehensible.

"Th-th-th-hey t-t-took my daughter. Said s-s-she had to m-m-make gold for th-them"

His daughter was taken by the king to spin straw to gold. She was locked in a tower, and if refused, was to be executed. Everyone knew she couldn't actually do it. Apon being begged for help, he was empathic. He agreed. In the dead of night, he scaled the golden gates. I always dreamed of being in the palace. How ironic. No invitation, but I guess fate works in mysterious ways. His joints squeaking and begging for relief, he lept into an open window filled with straw and a spinning wheel. The millers daughter sat inside, clearly distraught. Her green eyes were stained red, blonde hair laid limply at her shoulders, some of it clearly torn out. She recognized him. Kind of hard to miss. He was a strange little man at this point, grief weighing on his body, physically shrinking him. His red hair no longer seemed youthful, but rather a the curse of a mad man. She explained her predicament in tears.

"What is your name, child?" he asked, voice rusty from disuse

"Arabella"

His heart dropped in his chest. His sister's name. His poor Arabella-Wilhemina. Their parents loved long names. At least that's what he told himself. He hadn't even heard that name in thirty years.

Not even Ariana or Isabella. Arabella. As much as he hated fate for killing his sister, as much as she was the best, shiniest, kindest person he had ever known, he had to admit, this was a sign to help the girl. Perhaps it was a sign from his Arabella. And now that he was looking at her, the girl looked exactly how Arabella would have looked if she had made it to the ripe age of twenty-three.

Sensing an existential crisis afoot, the girl added "But you can call me Ari" Jesus, she was the one about to die, not him. If anyone had the right to break down it was her, not some random man in the tower.

Good. His sister was Arabella, or maybe even Belle, not Ari. Never Ari. However, he was not about to let her die. A glint of determination shone in his eye as he approached the wheel. He did the entire room in about two hours. The quickest he had ever spun gold. The girl, Ari, wept relief and joy. She insisted he take her bracelet as a token of appreciation. He didn't mind that one bit. He could sell it for a pretty penny or perhaps make a new mirror. As he carefully climbed back to the ground he studied the bracelet. Belle would have loved it. He decided to keep it, placing it in his pocket.

The next night he returned. How cruel was the king to force her to stay in this room? Ari told him the king decided it must be a fluke. This time the room was even fuller. He spun all of the straw while Ari told him about her life, her dreams her hopes. God she reminded him so much of Arabella. By the time he finished, he noticed a single tear rolling from his eye. He was sure Ari didn't notice. Ari lived with her single father after her mother's death. The miller was so proud of everything she did. Every piece of art she made was proudly hung on their walls, photos littered around the house. She had no idea what she wanted to do next. Probably marry some random man and wait for her life to begin.

When he finished, he jokingly asked "What are you going to give me this time?"

She replied by handing him her necklace. On the back, he read I will love you always - Mom

He tried refusing it. Clearly too much significance. If he had anything of Belle's he would hold onto it forever, protect it with his life

She insisted

"She's in a better place now, and I already know she loves me. It's too painful to hold onto anyway, and you could probably melt it down and sell it for a lot"

As he climbed down the walls, he knew he could never sell it. And yet again, he returned the next night. She was gushing

"The king is letting me out tomorrow!"

And the two were estatic. He spun in record time. They discussed their plans for the future.

When he left he asked her what she would give him

"I'm sorry. I don't have anymore more things to give you. What else do I have? My firstborn child or something?"

His voice softened

"You know, I think I'm ready to be a father anyway. One like yours. Celebrate a child. Brag about them to everyone who will listen"

"Make sure you don't go overboard. That's how I ended up in this mess" she laughed before becoming serious, "You've got yourself a deal. I would be honored. I've known you so long and I never even caught your name"

"Rumpelstiltskin. My name is Rumpelstiltskin"

She laughed and bid him farewell. She was finally released the next morning and returned to her father. The miller was so overjoyed he cried for a week straight.

He still went to see her even though she technically didn't need him anymore. On Wednesdays, they would meet up, have tea, and she would always leave him with some type of gift, whether it be bread, jewelry, or once a pile of straw.

About a year in, she exclaimed

"I'm getting married! To the prince!"

The wedding was beautiful. He had a front-row seat, cheering louder than anyone else. As much as he loved Ari he found himself thinking We did it, Belle. We're here. As much as he still thought of her every day, her remembered the good of her life, rather than resenting the world.

He still saw Ari every week. She looked to him for guidance, almost like an older brother. He heard of her woes as a princess; galas, embassies and most of all, her father-in-law. The king saw her as an insult, common blood, an ex-glorified-prisoner. The king essentially ran her life.

Especially once she got pregnant. Ari never wanted kids but the king insisted it was her duty to produce an heir. She decided that instead, it would not be her child in anything but blood. She would give the child up. She did not forget their deal. She asked him to become her child's father.

While insane and the king would definitely be royally pissed, his love for Ari and his own desire for a child persuaded him to agree.

Turns out the king was more than royally pissed. He threatened the life of everyone. Ari's husband, the prince stood up against his father. He created a contest. If Ari could guess the name of the man who would end up with her child, she would 'be able' to keep it. If she could not within a week, the child would be his. But Ari already knew his name. The king didn't have to know that though. He wrote his name to be sealed in an envelope as proof.

On the first day, she would have to read an list spanning miles full of common boys' names while he, the king and the prince all watched. Pshh. Like he could be a Braden or Jacob.

The next day, same thing with no results. Ari was elated.

"It's going to work! We did it!"

However, the third day, the list was longer than ever. She read and read names for hours. The king walked over to her and whispered something in his ear. Suddenly her face fell. He knew. The gig was up. He braced himself. Even unborn, he had grown to love his child. Ari couldn't even bring herself to say it.

A slash echoed through the palace. He realized that a dagger was pressed against Ari's back. Still, she remained silent.

"YOU IDIOT!" he screamed "JUST SAY IT"

She stayed silent. She was going to get herself killed. For him.

"Rumpelstiltskin! Please! Just say it! PLEASE!"

Still nothing. Suddenly, as quick as lightning, the king lunged, pressing the dagger against his jugular.

"please" he begged.

She murmured, now sobbing.

"Rumpelstiltskin"

The king smiled, pushing him to the floor. This was the lowest of the low. Which is worse, having nothing or having everything and watching it get ripped away? The king walked away, caressed Ari's face, taking the prince with him.

That's when he realized it. His leg was stuck in the floor. He pulled and pulled but he couldn't get it out. Maybe it was his will to live slipping away. Maybe it was the loss of his child- No, his daughter. He could feel it. It would be a girl. Ari got up, helping to pull out his leg. He felt himself ripping. Yes, leg from leg, but he felt his soul ripping from his body. It was time to go. Perhaps he had finally made something of himself.

Ari looked horrified but tried to soothe him, assure him it would all be okay, even though it most certainly would not. He looked up at her, knowing it would be his last few moments. He saw the sky, a gorgeous light blue. There wasn't nearly enough time to say what they wanted to.

"Promise me. Her name is Emilia. Emilia. Promise. Please."

Understanding what he meant immediately, she agreed

"Of course. I promise"

As they said their goodbyes, Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes.

"I'll see you again, Arabella"

And he grabbed his leg, ripping it clean off, killing himself in the process.

"Tonto, where's Red?"

The Ranger had bolted upright in a cold sweat, woken by a nightmare of black jaws. The cold night poured into the old hunter's shack. The fire had gone out.

His Indian friend stood in the doorway, normally stoic eyes wide with alarm.

"Taken, Kemosabe. She went out into the night. I followed but the monster found the girl first."

The Ranger was on his feet in a flash, buckling on his gun belt.

"No time to waste, Tonto," he said. The brave stood aside to follow as he made for the horses. Silver's eyes were wide; she always knew when there was danger, but stood bravely until it was time to run.

The Ranger and his friend mounted up and bolted off into the forest.

"This way, Kemosabe!" Tonto shouted, leading the way into the trees.

The full moon is a double-edged blade, the Ranger mused. The forest is clear before us, but...

"Here, Kemosabe!"

They stopped in a clearing, clover glistening in the moonlight and lavender bell flowers with their heads down to sleep. Lying in the middle of the glade was a familiar red cloak. The Ranger bent to pick it up. Grasping it firmly in his gloved hand, for a moment he couldn't take his eyes off it.

"It does have her," he whispered. He tucked the hood into his side belt. "Are there tracks?" he said urgently.

Tonto was already leading his horse along the edge of the glade. "Here, Kemosabe. It ran north."

The moment he spoke, a howl echoed through the night, low and distant. The Ranger didn't waste another moment, shouting his horse into a run.

"Hyah!"

The forest blurred by as Silver ran more swift than the wind. In his mind the Ranger saw shadows of red and black, images of fates that he would not let happen. The trees seemed to constrict as he rode deeper, the shadows growing darker.

Suddenly, the forest stopped at a rock pass. The Ranger reined Silver in. Here the trees seemed to claw up the cliff, roots grasping at the mouth of the pass.

He heeled Silver on, riding only as carefully as need be over the roots and into the dark. Tonto appeared from the trees after only a moment, and they went on together, the pass just wide enough for both riders.

After a short stretch, Tonto called quietly. "Wait, Kemosabe."

The Ranger reined in, turning to his friend. "There's no time, Tonto."

"Listen," Tonto said, his eyes upon the air.

The Ranger felt a chill when he realized what his companion meant. It was too quiet... yet from the howl they had to be close.

They continued on, painfully slowly, but every sense told them they too had to keep quiet.

When they rounded a bend, the Ranger pointed. "There," he whispered.

Ahead was another glade in what looked like a circular canyon, moonlight falling on a figure lying in the grass. Red looked unharmed, her white blouse and red skirts untattered, dark brown hair a mess around her. The Ranger felt a spark of hope when he saw she was breathing.

"No, Kemosabe. There." Tanto's voice was grave.

The Ranger followed his raised finger up to a sharp cropping of rock that jutted out from the cliff. There the full moon hovered above a dark figure, the crouched and menacing silhouette of the beast.

The Ranger's brow hardened as, slowly and smoothly, he drew a silver bullet from his belt and loaded it into his revolver. As he did, a low growl came from the shadow, a warning to go no further. The Ranger felt the corner of his mouth raise just slightly.

With a flash of steel and pull of a hammer, the Lone Ranger fired, a deadly shot for the beast above.

Yet as surely as the birds fled the trees, he saw the shadow dash aside, as if black smoke in a sudden breeze. They heard a growling, an awful snarling, descending somewhere out of sight.

"It comes, Kemosabe."

When the dark shape fell into the pass and began bounding toward the riders, the Ranger tried to load another silver bullet, but was too late. He dove off the horse as the creature lept, a giant mass of black fur and gleaming fangs. As he flew aside, a claw slashed and tore away his gun belt, and it fell back into the shadows of the pass. Scrambling on the ground, he looked to where the belt had been. The beast snarled as it turned back in rage, glowering at the Ranger. The pistol had only one silver bullet.

A figure in tanned leathers suddenly appeared between him and the monster; Tanto had flown from his saddle, holding a wicked tomahawk to face down the thing.

In a moment of reprieve, the Ranger turned his eyes back to the clearing. Red had stirred awake, her head rising to look their way. The horses, he saw, had circled around to the far side of the canyon. He turned back to see Tonto circling and dancing around the creature, making war sounds as he kept its attention.

Lying at his feet, the Ranger saw the red hood. He swept it up, getting to his feet as he raised the pistol again.

"Tonto!" he shouted.

The brave came up from a roll and darted toward the Ranger, leaving the monster seething as it prowled, watching them from the edge of the shadows.

"Stay on Red," he said as he began to circle to the left, his pistol trained on the mouth of the pass. He waved the red hood out in front of him, but the creature's growling only faded, it's eyes sinking back into the dark.

"Is there any other way into the canyon?" he said, not taking his eyes away.

"Monster could come down from any side of canyon," Tonto said.

"I'm sorry, John," Red said. "This is my fault."

"Take it easy, Red," the Ranger said. "We're not going to let it hurt you. Tonto, get the horses. Don't go until I say, it could still be in the pass."

Just as he said it, Red let out a scream, trembling hands covering her mouth, and pointed up to the far side of the cliff. There again it crouched beneath the full moon, jaws open in what could have been a wicked smile. They stood for a moment frozen, as it raised up on its hind legs and let out a howl to the sky.

"Go," the Ranger said. "Go now!"

In the corner of his eye he saw Tonto lift Red up onto Silver. As they rode for the pass, he heard Red's voice.

"No... no!"

The creature's eyes followed the escaping riders, but the Ranger waved the red hood high above his head, shouting, and they returned.

"Just you and me now, friend."

The creature growled and lunged down the side of the cliff. The Ranger fired at the black shadow, but the bullet missed and struck the stone behind it with a shower of dust and rock. He dodged away as the thing tore past, barely avoiding its claws. It turned on him far too quickly and he could only raise his arms as the hand swiped at him, cutting into his sleeves and skin and knocking him across the ground. Tumbling, his head hit something hard and everything went black.

*****

He stirred, hoping it had only been a few moments. There was a pain in his head, but his senses were oddly clear despite it, as if on the edge of a dream. The dirt and deteriorating twigs beneath his face were a rich and welcome smell. Yet he knew there was still a shadow nearby.

He pushed himself up, his hand finding the rock that had struck his head, and looked around the glade. The creature was contentedly stalking the edge, watching him. He stood up, his arms feeling limp.

"You want a fight?" he said. "Alright then." He stooped to pick up his empty revolver. Aiming it at the creature, he pulled the trigger and made a firing sound with his mouth. The thing seemed to be smiling again. It knew he was dead.

"Kemosabe!"

A jolt appeared in the Ranger's chest and he whirled around. Tonto stood at the mouth of the pass, holding the gun belt. The brave tossed something up and a small gleaming shape sailed through the night, reflecting the moonlight.

The Ranger caught the silver bullet in his free hand and loaded it as the beast charged. The muzzle flashed as the shot rang out... and the creature fell.

It collapsed and tumbled over the ground, stopping still a few feet away. The Ranger raised the pistol back and let out his breath.

Both he and Tonto came to stand over it. Its wolfen features were clearer now that it was still.

"Third time's charm, Kemosabe," Tonto said.

The Ranger let out a laugh toward the sky, a hearty hand on his friend's shoulder. "Well done, Tonto. Well done."

A light gasp came from the pass and they turned to see Red leading the horses. She dropped the reins and joined them, hands covering her mouth.

"Well... there it is," she said.

"Oh," the Ranger said, picking something up from the grass. He handed Red her hood. "You dropped this."

She smiled as she took it and put it on, shivering lightly.

"We better get back," the Lone Ranger said. "The old hunter will be awake soon."

"I guess we'll have quite a story for him," said Red.

The sky was beginning to brighten when they saw the old hunter's shack.

As ugly and disgusting as I am, you will not believe my story.

I am below the filth of the fields and am worthy of nothing. That is how I grew up. My bone structure and skin wasn’t appealing and my rags made other rags wilt in shame. I knew little of human interaction; just enough to sell the hair on my head for the penny that would feed me.

I traveled daily so that wouldn’t bother the normal, good people around me. Initially I was ignored, but apparently my face was so ugly it drew just enough attention to have me removed from town by force. I wish I knew what it looked like.

One day I sat below a tree to rest my aching feet and an old man joined me. I was more than a little startled when I realized he was trying to talk to me. The man had wispy white hair and his beard was like a cloud hovering below his nose. I noticed his dark and wrinkled skin and realized he must be a hard worker. Only hard workers had dark skin from the sun. I couldn’t be a hard worker.

“Where might you be going?” he asked. He was smiling, at me. I’ve never known anyone to do that before.

I shrugged. In reality I just followed the road to the next town and then the next one after that. Then I turned around and went back the way I came. The cycle always seemed to work for me. At the time, I didn’t know how to explain this to a stranger.

“Mmm,” he mused, still staring at me with that really nice smile. “do you like games?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know if I liked games since I’d never played one before. I loved watching children play in the streets and watching the older men play cards and stones were interesting enough.

“I-“ I said and had to clear my throat. He was old and I wasn’t sure if he would be able to hear my voice. “I don’t have a ball…or cards…or stones-“

The man laughed, “No, no, young lady! Not those kinds of games-“

I didn’t catch what he said next because my ears were ringing with the words, ‘young lady’. Everyone just called me a ‘hag’. It was true that I wasn’t really that old, but no one ever saw me as young. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks and I really didn’t know how to respond.

“-so what do you think?” He asked.

“Um, sure,” I said. I hadn’t been listening, it’s all my fault. Before I could ask what game we were going to play he lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.

A moment later I sat blinking the shadows from my eyes. There had been a white light and for a moment I couldn’t see. I could feel that there was no longer grass beneath me, but cold stone. I dared not move. I had been in jail once for disturbing the beauty of the rich side of town. It had not been pleasant. Still, to be so kind and then put me into prison, well, that seemed like something that should be normal for me. So while my eyes adjusted I sat still and silent; it’s better to not draw anyone's attention.

As my eyes adjusted to the new light and I noticed at once that I wasn’t in a cell. I felt kind of stupid since it hadn’t smelled like one, but I had to see it to make sure. It was a singular room with a table, a bed, a wardrobe, and a small fireplace. On the table was a plate, utensils, and a goblet made of gold. The bed was big enough for two people.

Turning in a circle I realized that there was no door, only a single window. I stumbled to the window and, looking down at myself, realized I was wearing a large dress…silk, with LAYERS! And LACE! I was so stunned that I forgot about the window. I instead stumbled to the wardrobe and threw it open. It was full of rich and beautiful dresses.

I couldn’t find my rags anywhere.

Making my way through the silk to the window again I threw open the shutters and let out an, “EEP!” as I looked at a sea of clouds. I couldn’t see the ground at all. My vision spun and thought I would vomit. Somehow I was able to back away from the deadly drop and tripped over the hem of the useless dress.

It took me a moment to notice I was crying. I didn’t know what to do or what was expected of me. This was all very unfamiliar and, though it was just me and myself, I was humiliated. I didn’t know how I got here, or in a dress I didn’t know how to manage!

After I calmed down a bit, I took a deep breath and tried to focus on what i should do.

I won’t bore you with day by day details. I panicked and had fits for the first little while, then when hunger won me over, I figured out how to get food. It was strange since magic wasn’t something that was common- or even welcomed- in most countries. I had to ask the plate and goblet for what I wanted to eat and drink. At first I asked for what I’d always eaten, bread, water, and sometimes hard cheese. But then I thought that maybe I could ask for some meat and fruit and, forgive my reaching, but I asked for sweets. I’d never eaten so well in my life! I started to fill out and, magically, the dresses would resize themselves to fit my new form.

The dresses were something else I had to figure out. It took longer than I’d like to admit to take off the dress I had started in. And It took longer to learn to put one on. It was a good thing I was alone and could take my time in my shiff to work it out.

The fireplace was also magic, where it lit when it got cold and doused itself when it was too hot. I could open the window with the broom I found under the bed, but when it was open, I stayed on the other side of the room. I also used the broom to close the window.

Days melted together, and the only evidence I had that time passed was my hair, which grew to an impossible length. It had been irritating at first, but I soon got used to it and liked playing with it.

Then he happened to climb into my room.

With a grappling hook.

He stumbled in, heaving after what I was sure must have been a long and hard climb. He wore leather armor and his dark hair blew about in the wind coming in from behind him. I honestly was too stunned to speak. I had been sitting at the table enjoying some tea and cookies. When it finally occurred to me that I should be panicking he spoke.

“Princess,” he still sounded a little winded, “I’ve come to get you-”

What?

“-I am Prince Quin Hue Grimmton-“

Wait wait wait!!

“-I was met by an old man that said you needed rescuing-“

“WAIT!” I winced at my own raised voice and pressed a hand to my mouth. I stared at my feet. It was getting really hard to breathe. “I-i-i…I’m not…not a p-p-p-princess…”

“What?” He looked confused. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak again.

We stood, well he stood, I sat, in silence while we each came to terms with each other’s company. After a while he let out a heavy sigh and plopped himself on the floor. He even laughed a little bit.

“Sorry,” he said, “I knew it was too good an opportunity to be true.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, why was he apologizing?! No one had ever apologised to me! I stared at my plate full of cookies and decided to offer him some.

“What’s this?” he asked as I brought over the cookies to him, trying extra hard not to trip.

“Cookies,” I muttered, my head still as low as i could make it, now second guessing myself, “Th-they always make me feel better…”

By the heavens what was I saying?! He was a prince! I was scum! How could I even admit I’d eaten them let alone offer him some!

As I stressed I heard him laugh. It was a lovely sound, but it still didn’t fix my dilemma.

“I would love a cookie,” he said, “And if I could ask for some water?”

“Um,” I set the cookies down and walked to the table, so flustered that I forgot to watch my step and fell flat on my face.

“Are you ok?” He rushed over and helped me up. He lifted my face to look at my head and i finally got a good look at the man in front of me.

He was tan, his eyes were a shade of blue i wasn’t familiar with, his nose had been broken - i’d say more than once - but it didn’t take away from the beauty or strength of his bone structure. My vision spun and if there ever was a time in my life I felt more like a cockroach, I couldn’t remember. Forcing my head down again I saw the cookies.

“Oh,” my heart sank and i began to tremble, “I put it on the floor. I can’t believe I put it on the floor….”

“That’s not the point,” he said, leading me to the chair at the table. “That was quite the fall.”

“Oh, oh, that was n-n-nothing…”

i could feel his eyes on me and I wanted to cry again. I was never a “crier” before. I took my knocks and I was grateful they weren’t worse. But for some reason I couldn’t take this level of stress.

"Do you want to be a princess?"

The question came out of nowhere.

"Eh?" Came my intelligent reply.

"Forgive my selfishness, but I need a wife," he said .. and he got down on the floor and locked eyes with mine. "If not, a betrothed. We need not get married so long as I can hold off the joining of my country with the other. I need to settle the major problems with the treaty. You see, if my country rushes into this…I feel as if there's something we've overlooked. My intuition is rarely wrong, but I need time. Will you give me that time?"

“Ah…” I was on a role. He took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. As he led me to the window I instinctively I dug my heels in. I wasn’t going anywhere near that window!

“Do you not want to?” he asked. I shook my head.

“T-t-t-to high,” I squeaked. He laughed again.

“How about this,” he said bending slightly to be eye level to me. “If I can get you out of this tower without you being afraid, will you come and be my fake bride?”

I was so confused, but he spoke with such confidence and authority I nodded without much thought.

He beckoned me toward the window and I made sure I was looking straight and up, not down. He grabbed my arms, not hard, but it still made me jump. He wrapped my arms around his neck so that my hands clasped in front of his throat. Then he bent forward and lifted my legs up to rest on his hips and I was clinging to his back.

"Don't be so stiff," he said turning his head to the side a bit. "Hook your ankles in front because I'll need both hands to climb down. Also, don't hold on so tight around my neck, or you'll choke me."

Right…it’s not good to choke the man that's the only thing connecting you to a flimsy rope! What was I doing?! I was touching a prince! I was going to be beheaded! Did i want to fall or be beheaded?

"Close your eyes," he said and I didn't need any urging. I could tell he was climbing out the window and my heart jumped into my throat as in my mind I saw the long drop down. Beheading was looking better every second.

"Keep your eyes closed," he said; before I was able to tell him that it wasn't working he added. "So, what's your name?"

"Huh? Oh, ummm, i-it’s, ah," I had to think for a moment. I only remembered my name on principal since no one had ever asked it of me before. "I-its Sabilla."

"You can call me Quin," he was panting slightly. "Prince of the Kingdom of Halron. Second in line to the throne."

Only second? Then why was he part of the treaty? This was not like the stories I'd hear from the the performers.

"My older brother is already betrothed," he continued, answering my unasked question, "I'm actually a military man myself, being the second son, but I was forced home in order for this treaty to be made."

"You don't trust your enemy," I mumbled starting to get the gist. I didn't know much about politics, but I knew that when one person has been fighting another for a while, then it's natural for them to mistrust each other.

"No, I do not," he said quietly, "We've been fighting for too long and are too different for them to suddenly decide to draw up a treaty. Things like this take time; it's just too soon."

He was seriously uneasy about it. I guess if he was desperate enough to try to get me to pretend to be his wife, whatever that meant, then he must really be in a bigger fix than I had ever been. I also didn't know much about the military or wars, but I'd been in a few fistfights. So I could see why the guy you had been beating up suddenly wanting to be friends would be a bit awkward.

"We’re here," He said suddenly interrupting my thoughts. My eyes snapped open to find that I was on solid earth once more.

"So," he set me down, "how did I do Princess?"

He had distracted me with chatter to keep me from thinking about the drop. That was very clever. I quickly stored that information in case it needed to be used again.

”So, Princess Sabilla," he said bowing and holding out his hand. "May I escort you to your new home?"

I blinked a few times and wondered what in the name of the seven angels I'd just gotten myself into. I couldn't pretend to be civil. There was just no way. I was a street urchin at best. Lower than that even!

"A-are you sure?" I asked, my eyes fixed on my feet. I had left the slippers in the tower. He straightened up and lifted my head. He was smiling at me.

"If I wasn't sure I would not have bothered to take you out of the tower," he replied, his hand still out for me to take.

I took a deep breath and took it.

In a kingdom bound by fairy tale rules, Princess Elara longed for adventure beyond happy endings. She defied tradition, seeking her own path. One day, she met Zephyr, a dragon cast out for being different. Together, they explored enchanted forests and faced dark truths behind “happily ever afters.”

Their friendship inspired them to challenge the kingdom’s magical council. In a fierce battle, Elara and Zephyr fought for the freedom to rewrite their destinies. They discovered that true happiness lies in embracing individuality rather than conforming to a scripted life.

With their victory, the kingdom transformed, celebrating unique stories. Elara realized that life's unpredictability was more enchanting than any fairy tale, as each person's journey became a beautiful adventure in its own right.

4o mini

It always rained in the lower decks, and it was hot too, the whole damned year-round. The underfloor ducting from the Uppers leaked down onto the lower folk, in a grimy, warm, trickle of a storm. Concrete-moss high rises grew up towards the uppers, built out and extended, until they leaned and grew into each other.

The tops were never the same from one month to the next. New floors were tacked atop old foundations, stacking up until, like a grey-green, proverbial Icarus they flew too close to the sun. Then the uppers would send down a demolitions crew and take them down a notch. Loxley looked up as one of those towers fell with a controlled boom.

“Can’t have us lowers getting too close to the sun, ay kid?”

“No, sir.”

Loxley had heard about the sun all his life, the Sherriff talked of it often.

“One day, kid, I’ll see it again. That golden yellow sun. Kid, maybe I’ll even bask in it, ya never know.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever see it.” Loxley said, looking down at his big toe, poking out through a warn recycled-paper-sole shoe.

“’Course not, kiddo. You ain’t born right for it. Me, I was born just on the cusp. I got rich blood somewhere in here. That’s why Jonny keeps me around. He’ll be up there before long now. Maybe I will join him, ya never know.”

“Ya never know.”

The Sherrif never took his eyes away from the upper level but pulled out a thumb drive and waggled it towards Loxley, who reluctantly pulled out his government issued cred-lock. The Sherrif connected his drive to the device, and after a few moments a green light flickered on, after which, he removed it again.

The Sherrif pulled at the invisible brim of an imaginary hat and left Loxley, standing on a balcony overlooking the underfloor. Once Loxley was sure he had left, he let out a few quiet tears. It was no good letting’ people like that see you cry, he thought. The wounded rat meets the grinder.

Later, Loxley found his way to the front of the queue at the WFP. The operator barely looked towards the boy before beginning his monotonous script. “Twenty-five items maximum, every three days. Place them five items at a time in the bagging area, here.”

The boy raised his basket and tipped out the only five items he had in there. The man looked down, then up at Loxley with a lifeless exasperation.

“Come on, boy. You know the score. One in every five items has to be a from the personal care section.”

“But I don’t need soap or toothpaste. I need food.”

“Trust me, boy, you need the soap. Besides, if we give you the food, someone else goes without. You can always use another token and get another five.”

“I cannot. This is my last token.”

“Not my problem, boy. If you can’t ration the food out, then you will have to go hungry. You’ll learn to do it better next time.”

Loxley was about to argue when a fat hand flumped down onto his shoulder. The operator looked up, and Loxley followed his eyes, wheeling to see a tanned, tubby man with sleepy red eyes and wild eyebrows.

“Excuse me, son, but I believe we can fix this mistake.”

Loxley could feel the heat in his face overcoming his cool.

“No, I am sick of this. What do you expect of me? Of us? We are trying, but they take everything. Everyth-”

“Calm yourself.”

“I will not, and I am not your son. I am not your son, I am not that guy’s boy, nor his kid.”

“That’s good to know, but I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to this gentleman here. Excuse me, son, I believe we can let this slip, for now. Tick the box that says exception, in the bottom right corner.”

The man sighed but complied.

“Initials?”

“FT.”

Loxley didn’t trust what was happening, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity and quickly scooped up his five items and strode toward the exit.

“Hold up.”

“Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.”

“Oh of course, how rude of you. What’s your name?”

“Rude of me? Oh. Loxley, Sir.”

“Friar. I am not a Sir, I’m Friar Tuck.”

“Like a line cook?”

“He he he, no, not a fryer, a Friar. A brother.” Loxley’s blank expression spurred him farther. “A religious man, Loxley.”

“I see.”

“The man is right, Loxley. You do need to be able to ration your meals.”

“I know how to ration. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Oh, then I guess the rumours are true. The Sheriff has a scalpel. Well at least he left you one token.”

“It won’t be enough.”

“I don’t suppose it will.” Tuck looked deep in rageful thought. “Hm, well that settles it. Come with me, Loxley. I have some friends I would like you to meet.”

Loxley had learned not to trust. He didn’t think it was a smart plan, going with the religious nut, but there was the possibility of more food. He kept his eye open for exit strategies as they walked but felt more at ease than he expected. He didn’t trust the man, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t distrust him, either.