Winter

The nightmares wouldn’t end.

Winter dreamt of wicked 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 after he came of age, she kept him in his tower, insisting he would have nowhere to go.

And Winter believed it. Her words were so ingrained into 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 included scenarios that had never happened, cultivated by his precarious mind.

Or… are they made up?

Because one seemed pretty real and not ‘off,’ like dreams or nightmares normally were—with their fuzzy shapes and faceless people. He was unable to remember the exact details when waking up from those.

Nor were they usually painful.

But he was in hell.

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

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

*BLEGH*

The most damned awful taste left his mouth and emptied onto the ground. Someone pushed him onto his side by using their foot. That helped so he wouldn’t die from asphyxiation.

When nothing would come out anymore, Winter rested his head on the cool ground. He grimaced at the headache that followed and slowly blinked his eyes.

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? What the hell happened?

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

When did they change the wood panels to stone?

“Ugh,” he groaned.

His voice 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 with an unfamiliar accent said from afar. “That apple was poisoned enough to kill the strongest human.”

Winter leaned his back 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 did put his hand down my throat—

He covered his mouth again as a wave of sickness ravaged his belly once more.

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

And Winter did, releasing the second round of nasty stuff.

After wiping the sweat off his brow, he peered around the room, which was still dark as before with a dim light in the distance.

His sight came into focus, and his body swayed slightly with a sensation similar to a hangover—something he had only experienced once, when the seven dwarves had brought home a barrel of ale a few months ago. From what he understood, it was a rare treat, and they had let him try it.

A tall figure leaned against the crudely made doorway—a very tall figure at that, taller than the doorframe itself. They would’ve had to duck to avoid hitting their head.

Since the fiery torch on the wall in the hallway was behind them, the mysterious person’s front was shaded. Winter couldn’t tell what they looked like.

He started to get up, using the rough wall to hoist himself. It was difficult, and his legs trembled like a newborn deer.

“Where am I—?”

*CLANG*

Winter 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?” he asked.

And the freezing room… if it could even be called a room. The conditions were deplorable—the room was elongated, there were dingy brick walls with unknown substances growing between the cracks, and a curved ceiling was caked in black mold. The odor alone made him want to puke again.

There was a skeleton with an inhuman-shaped skull in the corner. It had decomposed long ago. Flies buzzed around the recently dead rat beside it.

A dungeon! This is a dungeon, a place for prisoners! Prisoners!

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

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

He was utterly speechless and terrified.

*THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP*

His heart raced as fear clouded 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 stranger 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 at the floor to get away, leaving bloody footprints. It was moot.

The figure towered over him, much taller than originally believed! His long arm reached down and grabbed Winter by the jaw with a black-gloved hand. Slim fingers squeezed into his cheeks and forced him up effortlessly.

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

If only I could see them! It’s too dark in here!

Instead of tearing Winter apart limb from limb, they tilted his head to the left, then to the right. Up. Down. They leaned closer until their faces were 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! Otherwise, she will hurt me!

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

Winter watched the other gloved hand rise to touch him. He squirmed in an attempt to avoid that.

It hovered above his chest. Pressure lightly compressed his lungs. It was a little uncomfortable and left him breathless.

*THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP*

His heart quickened as if responding to that person.

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

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

“And yet, the mana has merged with your soul’s core. How long did it take for the mirror 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 observation—

Wait.

Winter furrowed his eyebrows as his squished lips tried to speak. “Glaff coffim?” (“Glass coffin?”)

“The poison apple should’ve killed you instantly, but one of the pieces from my Magic Mirror ended up inside you, using your body as a host. It must have sent you into a deep sleep instead of death, and it kept you as 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 thirty-three years. I discovered you in a glass coffin in an abandoned mine. 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! This is a lie!

The stranger’s grip clutched harder. Winter whined, 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’s core? That seems to be 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 to the side, allowing the hallway fire to illuminate his hidden face.

A noiseless scream caught in Winter’s throat, and his mouth was left wide open.

Golden-yellow eyes stared back. They were cold. He was expressionless, and his ethereal features gave no hint as to what he thought. His straight, white hair reached his lower waist. A thin, gold, leaf-shaped crown curved around his long ears.

There was a smear of blood on his lips, where Winter’s injured hands had touched him.

He wasn’t a man… or even human at all. He was 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 is this elf? Dark or light? Either way...

The fae did kidnap me!

And thankfully, that elf may have known 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 that fact was possibly the only way to save himself and escape the tragic fate that awaited him.

Escape… from where?