The bricked ground was a flooded mess when the grime and moss-covered curtain wall finally made a turn. Winter had been going straight for a while, wondering if it would ever end. He was scared after talking to the jumping spider, but he did not run into any deadly monsters as the minutes passed. Fear turned to wariness. 

His shoes were a lost cause. There was no point in treading carefully. They were soaked by now; ankles, too. The freezing water numbed his toes while the outside temperature increased gradually. Sweat beaded his forehead. He could feel his lower back wet. And his thirst returned, mouth parched.

It was the coldest morning ever. Why does it feel like late spring?

Just when he was about to shed the white feathered coat, the pathway suddenly split into a T. This was like a labyrinth! Winter was back in the same dilemma—which way to veer? The left side was muddy, but clear. The cloudy sky provided decent light.

Winter looked to the right. Thick vines covered the walls. A suspicious, gooey substance coated the plants. They threaded together above and created a tunnel, which blocked out most of the natural light. A foul-smelling breeze wafted out of the dark entrance. His nose curled in disgust.

The spider said the right way would lead him to a terrible death. Did the same thing apply here?

I mean, look at it. The left path seems to be the safes—

Sounds were coming from the left—footsteps and distant chattering. It must be the fae who worked at the castle returning from their little… excursion from the lake! Winter panicked, feet unable to move. He had some choices to make—either face them without any defense, head into the unknown channel, or turn back. The latter wasn’t an option nor was he confident about facing faefolk.

So he went right, gulping as he entered the dark.

The smell was overwhelming like something had died. His only light source was the tiny beams trickling in between the cracks. It helped him somewhat see, but Winter almost wished he couldn’t.

Because he swore the vines were moving. It was subtle at first, believing he was seeing things move from the corner of his eye. His hunches were confirmed when he caught a particularly thick vine slithering between the tangle. More began to wriggle. Their slippery coating made squelching noises.

And…

Why does the tunnel seem smaller?

It used to be way over his head, with plenty of space on either side. Now, it was half of that. With every passing minute, Winter was losing room. 

He momentarily paused when bones started to appear. A vine crept through a fae skull’s eye sockets. One body was still decomposing. The horrid smell came from the corpse, bloated and blue from inner gases. Its wings were broken and bent. The rainbow sheen that had once glistened was dull. Whatever fae it used to be, Winter couldn’t tell.

More movement.

“Huh?”

The vines were… were…

Constricting.

The prince ran, mud and other mysterious juices getting on the coat. The tunnel moved inward, closing in on him. Those fae must’ve been crushed! Their bones were still here and forever trapped!

Wrong way! Wrong way! The right was not it!

Winter’s energy didn’t last long since he only ate one meal in half a century. His legs already wanted to collapse.

“Oof!” he gasped, landing roughly in a puddle, ankle twisting.

His foot had snagged over a vine reaching across the ground. Going to his knees, his surroundings were also brighter and saw the puddle was blood, not melted snow.

Winter’s hands trembled as he studied his reddened hands. 

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

About to have a panic attack, he stood and darted forward while slightly limping. Surely, the tunnel would end soon since it was lighter inside! It had to! It just had to!

The vines tightened, brushing over his hair and pulling out a few strands. Winter ignored the throbbing in his ankle, pure adrenaline taking over. Up ahead, there was light.

The end.

A way out.

The small dome-shaped exit became closer and closer. Just within reach! Though the vines looked soft, they were anything but. The stem fuzz were actually tiny thorns, sharp and ready to snag on their prey. 

Which happened to him. Winter was the prey.

Just before he reached freedom, a curly tendril lashed out and wrapped around his hurting ankle. The abrupt stop to his sprinting forced Winter to land on his side, the wind knocking him out.

Even when he couldn’t breathe, he knew he couldn’t take a few moments to recover. If he did, he would be swallowed up! His bones would also join the others who met such an awful fate. 

Gritting his teeth, Winter wheezed and went into a fetal position. He tugged at the tendril with all his might. Its minuscule thorns for hairs had embedded into his lower leg. The thin vine compressed, trying to cut off his limb, making it more painful.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

As if anything else could go wrong, Winter’s chest was burning again. Similar to the tunnel about to envelop him, it felt like his ribs were doing the same, about to puncture his heart. He tasted blood in his mouth. Something dripped from his nose.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

The pressure built up and pressed on his insides. If he attempted to stand, Winter would be unable to, as the tunnel was too narrow.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Vines wrapped around his body—waist, thighs, arms, and even his throat.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Winter wanted to claw at his skin and take out his beating organ himself. Help! The pressure was too much! Too much!

“STOP!” he roared. There was an urgency in his voice he had never heard before, full of authority.

And then it erupted.

Grayish light exploded from his chest, illuminating the tunnel barely large enough to crawl through. Smoke burst around Winter—coming from him. The pressure slowly eased, but not without choking on his own blood. 

The stringy plants screamed. They let him go like he was fire. Wherever the light touched, it burned them. His body flopped back down as the vines retreated. The tunnel opened up to its original size. They wormed and slinked over each other to avoid the intense glow.

The gray light emitting from his heart flickered.

“Go,” Winter cried. “Must… go.”

It flickered more, about to be extinguished. Whenever the light went out, the vines aimed at him, only to squeal and recoil when it turned on again. 

He crawled faster. The way out was right there! The sky was visible!

The tunnel collapsed behind him, desperate to trap his flesh. 

“PLEASE!”

Just when he felt a tug on his shoe, a hand reached in and pulled him out quickly by the coat collar. Winter lurched out, skidding across the brown grass when they let go, tossing him far.

In shock, the prince lay on his back, depressing clouds swirling in his vision. It was hotter than before. The light was gone from him and pressure dissipated. 

W-what was that? What was that light coming out of me?!

“What the hell is this elf yellin’ n’ screamin’ for?” a gruff voice asked.

Another answered, “N’ covered in blood.”

Feeling his nose crusty, he wiped it and saw congealed blood on his hand. His nose had been bleeding. His palms were scratched from yanking on the tendril. When Winter sat up, he winced and clutched his sprained ankle. There was a nasty bruise on his leg where the vine had him.

There were gasps.

Winter, finally coming to, realized he had been saved by…

It was his turn to be surprised when he lifted his head to see his saviors. In front of him were two dwarves—the same short height, ragged beards, and stout, though not his friends. They both had a fatal wound on their chests, perhaps from an arrow. 

One of them was pointing at him, mouth opening and closing at a loss for words. “Yur a-yur-yur-a-a—”

The other put a hand, grungy from digging or mining, over his mouth to shut him up.

“Yur no elf, yet yur wearin’ an elvish coat.”

Winter wasn’t sure how to respond to these strangers. The white coat was covered in blood and ruined. Some of it was likely his, but most were from when he tumbled in the damned tunnel of death. Speaking of, he looked to the side and furrowed his eyebrows. The tunnel was gone—vines, plants, razor-sharp hairs, bloody pools, skeletons, etcetera. 

It had all disappeared.

In its place was a normal passageway such as the left side that he preferred to take earlier, before hearing the faefolk come. Just dreary skies, run-down walls, and the flooded brick path with weeds.

“Y-you… you saw that, didn’t you?” Winter stuttered. He swore he wasn’t seeing things! It was too real! And the smoke and beams of gray light blasting out of him! “Th-the…”

The dwarves laughed, sounding loud and big from their bellies. 

When they stopped, the first one answered. “Things are not what they seem to appear, human.”

“What do you mean?”

“Myrkrheim works like that. Things just... pop up, ya know? Yur lucky we found ya before ya vanished with it, as they do.”

Winter sighed, already realizing they would talk in circles, as fae usually did. They didn’t have to be like that, but it was to avoid telling the truth outright, which they couldn’t lie. Riddles were their thing.

Fine. I’ll have to find the answers for myself.

On shaky legs, he stood. Putting weight on his foot hurt. Even though the tunnel didn’t exist or went somewhere else, it sure as hell felt real. This place messed with the mind.

The pair grabbed his arms for support.

“Where ya headin,’ human?”

“To the cit—”

“Great! We shall go together. Ya hungry? The gatehouse is right around the corner. Let’s get rid of that coat. Ya don’ need it with this up and down weather.”

They stripped him and tossed it away.

There was another chilling howl, much closer than ever. It wasn’t far from the castle. What sort of beasts lived in the fae’s realm?

As they helped him walk, Winter inquired curiously, “Did you hear that?”

The dwarf on his right raised an eyebrow. “Hear what?”

This time, they really didn’t know what he was talking about. 

AWOOOOO.