The first had been a thief. Winter had been harsh the year before and had lasted far into the months when flowers should have been blooming. It was hard on everyone. Mother had been run ragged as she tried her damnedest to aid the sick with what little herbs she had left. Thankfully, spring eventually came - though with far fewer faces around the village. Then summer and finally fall. I was so excited about the harvest festival that I barely noticed the unease growing among the adults as it approached. Everyone’s work had calmed down and winter was still moons away. A frown formed on my face. The thief’s family screaming as the elders brought him out and declared him as that year’s sacrifice still rang in my ears. My grip tightened around the torch. The rest of the village stood there avoiding eye contact as they took him away.

I wanted to do something, but Mother held me back and tightly covered my mouth with her hand. No matter how hard I bit her hand or resisted, she did not budge. Yet, I could feel her tears softly hitting the top of my head. I never will understand why she chose for us to stay. I was eleven that year. Old enough to know a true criminal from someone trying to survive.

I continued down the dungeon corridor. It must have been that moment that my disdain and defiance of the elders was born. Maybe, if I survived this, I could steal my mother away from the village and we could live off the riches I’d find on the way out. We could be done with it all and see the outside world without worrying about elders or monsters lurking in dungeons.

It was silly now given the circumstances, but there had been a time when I wondered what it would be like to explore these darkened halls. As a child, I daydreamed about fighting monsters and finding treasure hidden away in lost chambers. A small well of excitement filled my chest before quickly being replaced with fear again. Listening for any sign of danger my long ears perked up, but the only sound was my footsteps along the cobblestone floors of the dungeon.

A few moments passed and in front of me was a singular iron door with large bolts. At its center where the sides of the door split, there were knobs that each formed half of the hungry giant’s face. Please let there be another way. I looked around for any path I might have missed that looked friendlier than this. There was nothing. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. I was about to walk into the belly of the beast, deeper into the dungeon. It was the last place I wanted to go, but seeing no other alternative, I would have to try my luck. The hollow eyes of the skull flashed into my mind. There was no way I was ending up like them.

Building myself up I started pulling on the door. It was stuck. You have got to be kidding.

“Really?” I called out to the dungeon. “You’re going to make me fight my way to my death?”

Grumbling I tried the door again. Still, no moment.

“Alright, if that’s how you want it.”

I set my torch in an empty sconce next to the door. Bouncing up and down and shaking my arms I tried to summon any kind of strength. Thankfully, no one was around to see my feverish dance. Clapping my hands together and putting one foot up on one side of the door, I pulled. I pulled with everything I had. A cracking sound came from the door then a cling.