One moment, Winter was on the castle grounds. Next moment, he was being dragged through a run-down city by two dwarves arguing about which tavern to go to. 

It wasn’t until they passed by a group of giant fae—round eyes the size of plates, large noses, hairy limbs, and wide mouths that could easily eat a human—that Winter came down from the shock of the vine tunnel and the foreign light from his chest.

Trolls.

The confident prince, who was adamant that the 1:11 time was a sign to follow his gut and find answers here, was wrong. 

I think I made a mistake! 

This realization was cemented when he saw one of the trolls with the number 666 scratched into his wooden club with iron nails sticking out of it. In terms of angel numbers, that meant rethinking and considering whether it was wrong or right.

And seeing angel numbers during certain times that fit just right was not a coincidence.

I definitely made a mistake!

He dug his heels into the brick road greased in a tar-like substance. It didn’t do much to stop him. “Wait. I should… I should go back.”

Go back where, though? As a prisoner? To him?

“What?” the left dwarf exclaimed. “Just give us a moment of yur time, ya know? We just wanna treat ya to some ale. Then ya can go on yur merry way. Do whatever humans do in Myrkrheim.” He laughed for whatever reason.

Winter tried tugging his arms out of their tightened grips, but it was moot. If he were asked to run from here to there, he wouldn’t be able to, feeling like he was going to pass out any second from physical exhaustion. 

The right dwarf said in a fake-chipper tone, “But we’re almost there. See?”

There was an ale mug logo on a hanging sign. It was a tavern… or what was left of the building. In fact, many of the city’s structures were in the same battered condition. It was as if a battle had gone through here and the enemy did as much damage as possible.

“No, really, it’s fi—”

They kicked open the door that barely hung from its rusty hinges. The drunken individuals inside all stared at them—at him. No one batted an eye at the red footprints he tracked which were from the tunnel’s bloody flood.  

He swallowed when seeing the mixture of dwarves, green-skinned globlins, and a woman-like creature hidden in the shadows at the very back. All were injured in some way, such as broken bones, gaping wounds, and missing limbs. One dwarf to the side had a twisted neck, clearly broken yet still breathing. 

They watched Winter’s every move. He was forced to sit down at the table right smack in the middle of the room. Being the center of attention… he wasn’t used to it at all.

“There ya go.” The dwarves barked an order to the innkeeper and returned their attention to their new friend, aka him. “What’s yur name?”

Winter didn’t register the question and was distracted by the place. He noted the escape routes. For travelers, it was either upstairs to the inn rooms or the door they had just come in. There were not many options.

His tone was less patient. “We asked what yur name was, human.” 

He shook his head when realizing they were talking to him and replied meekly, “A-ah. I’m Snow White.”

All the fae narrowed their eyes, analyzing the name, and knowing. Knowing he wasn’t telling the exact truth. Knowing it wasn’t a total lie either. Before any of them became angry for his half-fib, Winter tried changing the subject as a distraction.

“Where exactly is Myrkrheim?”

“Did yur pops not teach ya basic world building?”

No. Because he died when I was young.

Though Winter was offended, he played along. “I guess not.”

“Think of the place your soul never wants to end up going. Forever tortured. Forever until even your soul begs for death.”

Riddles again!

“And who is your king?” 

The air grew tense, like he had brought up a taboo subject. “To mention his name is like blasphemy.” The dwarf flinched. 

The other started to say, “We don’t talk about King Tae—”

SLAM.

Three large mugs overflowing with white foam were roughly placed on the table. 

The innkeeper, an older goblin, glared at the dwarves. “Watch it,” he gruffed and threw a plate piled with food in front of him. 

When the goblin turned around to return to the kitchen, Winter ogled at the knife sticking out the back of his head. Yet, there wasn’t any blood. The gnarly injury that should’ve killed him had been cleaned, and he was going about his day like normal.

I’m scared to ask why they’re all like that.

Winter gulped at the sight of the huge plate. It was a massive stack of food fit for a king—thick chicken legs, hard cheese, wheat bread, beef slabs, potatoes, and more meats that he couldn’t see stacked under there. The meal was something straight out of an Ascelin kitchen. He salivated at the sight. The smell was divine.

This is fae food? I thought it was less… heavy.

RUMBLE.

“See? Yur starvin.’ Have a bite. It’s all yurs. Here’s yur drink too.”

The low-talking conversations hushed, becoming dead quiet. Even the wind seemed to calm down to watch him eat.

The mug was shoved in Winter’s hand, foam spilling over his fingers. While holding the tall cup, he picked up a chicken leg. Juices dripped over the food. It looked way too good to be true.

RUMBLE.

His stomach had a chokehold on him, nagging at him for nourishment. In his belly. In his mind. It was whispering to take a bite—like someone was behind him, encouraging him in a way that he couldn’t stop.

Winter brought the meat closer.

Take a bite.

He opened his mouth.

Take a bite.

His teeth were about to sink into the crispy flesh.

Stop. Now, it was an entirely different whisper, less aggressive and pushy.

Stop? The prince paused right before tasting the chicken. Stop? Stop what? A headache behind his eyes made him wince. He touched his temple.

“What’s wrong, las? Tell us how good it is. What does it taste like? What is it?” 

Winter slowly opened his pained eyes and wondered, ‘What does it taste like’? ‘What is it’? It’s obviously chicken.

He stared at the meat and tilted his head. 

Wait…

There was movement under the chicken skin. It was probably a bug, which was common, but…

All it took was that little whisper urging him not to eat and focus on his surroundings. 

And it was correct. Winter gasped at his own stupidity. Shock or no shock from the tunnel, he shouldn’t have let the dwarves tow him here, even if they did save his life.

What am I doing? Fae food? If I eat this, I’ll be stu—!

Winter dropped the chicken when the squirming skin started to split open. It plopped on the table and knocked over the mountain of food on the plate. He let go of the ale mug in a panic. The meal began shimmering like a mirage. 

“What is this?!” Winter exclaimed and stood from the table.

“Just eat.”

“No! I’m leaving!” 

The dwarves’ faces darkened when they saw he wouldn’t dine or even stay. They said simultaneously, “Eat.”

Is this a freaking nightmare again?!

He had to be in one as he watched maggots spill from the rotten chicken that had been left out for a week or two. The bugs wriggled on the table and floor. The cheese turned into a foul-smelling carcass of a rodent. Potatoes rolled into eyeballs. Those scrumptious meats shifted into body parts such as severed tongues, fingers, and toes. 

Vomit rose from his stomach, losing all appetite. 

I almost ate that!

He went to cover his mouth but saw black mold spots on his hand, which held the ale cup. The cup was now caked in fuzzy mold and a murky liquid substance.

“This,” Winter hesitated while trying to figure out what the hell was occurring. There was more shimmering. It changed into an entirely different thing—the real thing. The yummy, Ascelin cuisine food was an illusion.

“This is glamour. You put glamour on the food?” he accused.

Glamour was a fae talent, though Winter only read about the ability in books. It tricked the brain into seeing or feeling things that were not true. A scammer could sell a stone that looked like a diamond. A dragonfly could become a fire-breathing dragon. It can make one believe they were smelling flowers when it was actually poisonous fumes. Or inedible limbs could be served on a platter as a delicious meal. 

It was a misconception. To fool the foolish since the fae could not lie. Glamour was their loophole way of lying.

And Winter had been fooled and almost consumed this “feast.” It was a deceptive way to get him tied to this realm by eating fae “food.” Adding glamour to eat that waste was to mess with him cruelly.

The dwarves had also put a little glamour on themselves. Their spines protruded from their backs, and their clothes hung ragged. Eyes sunk into their pale-skinned faces. And their souls. Winter did not like what he saw. Nasty. Putried. Evil. They had done some horrendous deeds to end up like that.

He didn’t bother staying. Rather, he turned around and began marching back outside. When he opened the door, the frozen wind rushed through his clothes. The intense chill made him yell a little and slam it shut.

What happened to the spring weather?

“As we said, the weather is up and down lately until King Ta—, er, until he eases the worsening curse,” the dwarf smirked. His few teeth were crooked and coated with black plaque. “Sorry about yur coat. Guess we shouldn’t’ve disposed of it. Our bad.”

Before Winter could consider his next move, he heard talking from outside. The voices didn’t sound right. They were sinister. Dark. Hoarse. Sinister. 

“I smelled one,” the first one growled.

“Me too.”

“It’s here.”

“Where is it?”

During this conversation, Winter noticed the fae in the tavern. They were approaching him slowly with their grimy weapons out. He pressed his backside into the door, mind reeling from the looming panic. 

Those rough-sounding voices continued.

Can they not hear them?

“Must hurry.”

“The dark elf who is not a dark elf will come soon.”

“Soon, yes. Upon us soon. His cursed mana is close.”

“But where is the smell?”

“The smell we smelled. Where?”

“The human.”

“Where?”

Human?

It went silent.

“There.”

Just when the demonic fae were right on him…

CRASH. CRUMBLE.

The wall next to Winter was demolished when two enormous forms lunged through. He tumbled aside in the dusty chaos and landed hard in the rubble. The fae screeched. 

Winter now understood why only he could hear the conversation—they were massive wolf-like beasts. He had seen these as crude illustrations in a book of animal folklore and demons.

Hellhounds.