(Winter’s point of view)

The nightmares wouldn’t end. 

Winter dreamt of old memories that he preferred to keep locked away. 

Some were recent, where his stepmother, the Queen, treated him cruelly, just a nuisance to be kept around for whatever reason. Even when he turned of age, she kept him in his tower, insisting he would have nowhere to go. 

And Winter believed it. Her words were so ingrained in him that it must’ve been true—no one cared about the late king’s only child with a weak disposition.

Throughout his long nap, other nightmares were scenarios that had never happened, cultivated by his unstable mind.

Or… were they made up?

Because one seemed pretty real and not off like dreams or nightmares usually were, with their fuzzy shapes and faceless people, unable to remember the exact details when waking up.

Nor were they usually painful.

And this was hell.

At first, it felt like he was choking. Then, Winter’s stomach twisted into nausea. His belly contracted, feeling bile rise. He tried his best to roll over, but his body was unbearably weak.

I wasn’t the strongest growing up, but this is jus—!

BLEGH.

The most damned awful taste left his mouth, emptying onto the ground. Someone used their foot to push him onto his side. Winter rested his head on the cool floor when nothing came out anymore. A massive headache made him wince. He blinked open his eyes slowly. It was a darkened room. His vision was too blurry to determine where he was.

Where are the dwarves? Why do I feel so sick?

Winter attempted to sit, hands sliding over the smooth, rocky floor. 

When did they change the wood to stone?

“Ugh,” He groaned. It was hoarse, barely audible, and more like a whisper. Thirsty. He was so, so thirsty.

“Why would you eat such a thing?” a harsh voice said from afar. There was a slight accent to it. “That apple was poisoned enough to kill even the strongest human.”

Winter leaned his backside against the wall. “A-apple?” 

“Yes. The apple I just helped you throw up.”

“With what?”

“My hand, of course.”

So when I thought I was choking, it… wasn’t a dream? This stranger really did put his hand down my throa—

He covered his mouth again, a wave of sickness ravaging his belly once more. 

“There is no point in holding the poison. It was the reason why you were in a deep sleep. Let it out.”

And he did, releasing the second round of nasty stuff. After wiping the sweat off his brow, Winter peered around the room, still dark as before with a flickering light in the distance. His sight came into focus, body swaying slightly with a sensation similar to a hangover—something he had only experienced once when the seven dwarves brought home a barrel of ale a few months ago. From what he understood, it was a rare treat, and they let him try. 

There was a tall figure leaning against the crudely made doorway. A very tall figure at that, higher than the doorframe itself. They’d have to duck to avoid hitting their head. Since the fiery torch on the wall in the hallway was behind him, the mysterious person’s front was darkened. Winter couldn’t tell what they looked like.

He started to get up, using the hard wall to hoist himself. It was difficult, legs trembling like a newborn deer. “Where am I—?”

CLANG.

He looked down. There was a thick metal shackle around his ankle. The effort to drag his leg around with that would tire him out easily! 

“What is this?”

And the freezing room… if it could even be called a room. The dim fire showed the deplorable conditions of the small space—elongated in length, dingy brick walls with unknown substances growing between the cracks, and a curved ceiling caked in mold. The odor alone wanted to make him puke again. There was a body in the corner, decomposed long ago, nothing but bones and scraps of clothes. Flies buzzed around the recently dead rat beside it.

A dungeon! This was a dungeon, a place for prisoners! The worst of prisoners!

Winter gasped, realizing he was in a terrible situation, a situation that he had no idea how he ended up in. The last thing he remembered was… was…

I was at the dwarves’ cottage. Why can’t I remember? Did the fair folk kidnap me? But I’ve never seen fairies around…

He was utterly speechless and terrified.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

His heart raced, fear clouding his mind. Fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, but he couldn’t run. That would mean he’d have to fight somehow.

Winter flinched when the man came into the dilapidated area. As he came closer, Winter stepped back, tripping over the shackle’s chain. CLANG.

He fell and landed roughly, scratching his palms on the fallen bricks. His feet kicked roughly to get away, leaving bloody handprints as he tried. It was moot.

The dark figure towered over him, much taller than originally believed! His long arm reached down, grabbing Winter by the jaw with a black-gloved hand. Slim fingers squeezed into his cheeks and forced him up without effort. 

Winter was on his tip-toes, trying to break free. His shaking hands pushed against the monster’s chest but didn’t budget. Their strength was unnatural!

If only I could see them clearly! It is too dark in here!

Instead of tearing him apart limb from limb, they tilted Winter’s head to the left. Then to the right. Up. Down. They leaned closer, faces almost touching, breaths grazing over each other’s noses.  

“Hmm. Your mana. It does not belong to you, Snow White.”

“M-mana?”

And he said the name that I hate. He knows! He knows I am not a princess! No one should know except the Queen!

“Yes. Mana that is mine. Since your heartbeat returned to normal after waking up from hibernation, I can finally check.” 

Winter watched the other gloved hand rise to touch him. He squirmed. The hand hovered above his chest, and there was pressure around his lungs. It didn’t hurt, but it was a little uncomfortable and left him breathless. 

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

His heart quickened as if responding to this person.

They lowered their arm when done with… whatever it was they were doing. The pressure disappeared, letting Winter breathe properly again.

It was silent. Neither moved. Winter was scared and did not dare to make a peep while the other contemplated.

“And yet, the mana has merged with your soul core. How long did it take for the shard to reach there? I suppose it does not matter. Now I see why you survived in the glass coffin.” 

His tone wasn’t mean, but making an observati—

Wait. Winter furrowed his eyebrows. His squished lips tried to murmur, “Glaff coffim?” (“Glass coffin?”)

“The poison apple should’ve killed you instantly, but a piece from my Magic Mirror ended up inside you, protecting you. It must have sent you into a deep sleep instead of death, and kept you young as the day you were buried in the cave.”

What do you mean by cave? The dwarves’ cave? Where are they?

“I-I-I bon’d ubrstamd.” (“I don’t understand.”)

“You have been missing for 33 years. I discovered you in an abandoned mine in a glass coffin under the earth. Your friends are dead. The knights and princes stopped searching for the supposed fairest maiden one could lay eyes on. There is no true love’s kiss to save you. I woke you up. And now… you are mine, Snow White.”

Dead? How long? It doesn’t make any sense! I was just with them this morning!

His grip clutched harder. Winter groaned, thinking his jaw was going to snap off. “What to do about my shard, though? Ah, I think I know. Perhaps rip your heart out and dissect your soul core? It seems that is the only way to get it back.”

“No!”

Frightened beyond belief, Winter shoved as hard as he could. The abrupt force shifted the bastard’s weight a bit to the side, allowing the hallway fire to lighten his hidden face. 

A scream caught in Winter’s throat, mouth wide open. 

Golden-yellow eyes stared back. They were cold. He was expressionless, ethereal features deadpanned. He gave no hint as to what he thought. His straight, white hair reached to his waist. A thin gold crown shaped like leaves curved up around his long ears. There was a smear of blood on his lips, where Winter had touched from his injured hands. 

He wasn’t a man or even a human at all—an elf.

Winter could not tell what type. From what he remembered in his private studies, that eye color was a characteristic of dark elves. Only light elves had light-colored hair, such as white. So, what was this elf? Dark or light? Either way...

The fae did kidnap me!

And thankfully, this elf may know his nickname...

But he did not know his true name—Winter.

Because if one were to provide their identity to the fae, there would be disastrous consequences. Knowing this fact may be the only way to save himself and escape from the tragic fate that awaited him.

Escape… from where?