Page 2 of Rose's Untamed Bear

Serilda restored the place with her own hands, making it a home. When the time came, all alone, she bore twin daughters.

The first was born with cheeks as red as wild roses; her cry was strong and fierce. Serilda named her Rose Red, for she was flame and courage given flesh.

The second was pale and fair as new-fallen snow, with hair just as white; her gaze was calm and deep even as an infant. Serilda named her Snow White, for she was serenity and stillness in the storm.

Thus, in secret and sorrow, the sisters were born—one of fire, one of frost—and the fate of curses and kingdoms would rest in their hands.

Over the years, Serilda raised her daughters in the little cabin, teaching them kindness, thrift, and the ways of the forest. Snow tended the hearth, sewed, and kept the garden green, while Rose chased deer through the glades, climbed trees, and laughed at storms. They were as different as fire and frost, yet bound as only sisters can be.

Sometimes, Serilda caught them listening to the hush of the woods as though the trees themselves spoke to them. She never told them the whole of their father, nor of the curse that lingered over the land, but she could not stop the shadows from creeping closer. For every year that passed, the roses bloomed redder, and the snows fell colder, as if the woods themselves were watching—waiting—for the tale to unfold.

But beyond the edges of the glade, Alarion’s fury only grew.His rage at Serilda’s escape—his unfulfilled greed at the power he might have claimed when she slipped through his fingers—burned hotter than his sorcery. The more he fed it, the smaller he became. His proud stature withered, his beauty curdled, until he was no longer Alarion the Wise but a crooked, snarling thing. His beard grew long and heavy with dark runes, binding his greed and his curse together. The embodiment of his magic. Thus was born Grimbalt, the evil troll, whose malice poisoned the woodsyear by year.

And so, the tale began?—

of two sisters,

and a prince who became a beast,

a troll whose beard bound kingdoms in chains,

and a mother who carried the memory of what she had loved, and lost, and feared would one day return.

Fable Forest had more kinds of darkness than even loneliness could name.

Darkness pressed in where the moonlight didn’t reflect off the icy cold snow all around me, whipped up by the fury of the wind that was slowly turning into a blizzard, shrieking through the trees. None of that was anything compared to the darkness that festered inside my own thoughts and gnawed like teeth on the bones of memory.

Doggedly, I dragged myself from hollow to hollow, and each step through the snow wrenched pain from the wound in my foreleg. Magnus and I had gone at him together, beast and man snarling in one body, claws and fury against his jeers. But Grimbalt’s magic—embedded in that accursed beard—was stronger than weguessed. With a howl, he’d swung his rusted axe, the cursed metal biting deep, nearly severing my paw.

Once again, Magnus and I had failed in our quest to find the hidden horde and wrest the heart crystal from the troll before ridding the world of his evil presence once and for all. I could’ve curled up and slept. That was how Magnus wanted to go: a final slumber as a bear beneath the snow, letting the blanket close in. But I was Derrick, too, still. Prince Derrick. I owed it to the man I used to be—and to the man I’d never get to be if I let the cold and pain have me—to keep lumbering forward. And I did. Step by painful step.

The trees dripped needles of ice, branches bent like dowagers’ backs. I could see well enough, though the snow slowed even the moonlight down. Somewhere in the far-off black, a fox yipped a prayer for sunrise. I pushed past a clutch of brambles and let the thorns rake my pelt, because the pain proved I wasn’t beyond hope yet. Or so the human part of me whispered.

The memory of the kingdom I’d left behind swept in, bitter as the wind. My father’s castle iced over for years after the curse. The empty halls, once filled with life, servants, and nobles, were now filled with figures made of stone. Where once hearts beat to the rhythm of life, now, only cold rock and death remained. I used to roam those halls as a child, cuffing the ears of the younger courtiers if they fell out of step. Now the only court I could claim was the animal parliament that ruled these woods with fang and famine.

A gust of wind staggered me, and the pain screamed up my side. The poison was working its way in deeper, a slow magic. The troll's laughter tracked me in every shadow, ugly and wet.

I tasted blood behind my teeth, and the beast inside me rose, hungry as winter. For a moment, my vision flickered—a madness blacker than night—and I almost lost myself to the Magnus part for good. But then, through the murk, a pinpoint of light flashed ahead: not the wandering phosphorus of a will-o’-the-wisp, but a clear, steady yellow, warm as hearthfire.

Hope is a liar, and yet it’s the only liar you want on your side when death is closing in. I angled through the trees towards the light, fighting both the storm and my own failing leg. Branches lashed me; snow clotted in the wound, half-freezing it. My thoughts ricocheted between clarity and wildness. The light grew larger.

It was a cabin, walled up so snug the storm only licked at its eaves. Smoke thumbed up from a crooked chimney. In its window, a lamp glowed as if it had been set to catch a poor wanderer’s eye, like mine. Through the glass, I saw the silhouette of a young woman bent over a table. Or a girl—it was hard to tell from this distance, and the beast’s eyes lie about such things.

I made for the door, knowing better than to expect mercy. Who in these woods would welcome a bloodied bear at midnight? Even so, I crawled up the threshold, pawed at the frame, and let out a low, guttural sound— pale imitations of what once would have been a prince’s polite knock or a majestic bear's loud roar.

The girl inside jerked around. Her hair was white as birchbark, her skin pale as moon slush. She took a step forward, and her mouth formed a largeO.

It was nearing midnight. Snow was still bent over the dress I ripped this morning, trying her best to mend it. Mother was by the stove, working on tomorrow’s bread, and I sat by the fire, working on the pelt of the rabbit I killed this morning. Tomorrow, once all traces of blood were gone, Snow would add it to the other pelts she was sewing into a blanket for Mother, who could tolerate the cold less and less with each passing year.

From our looks, Snow’s and mine, nobody would have guessed that we were twin sisters. She with hair as white as snow, and mine as red as blood. She was willowy and tall, whereas I was shorter and more curvy. Her temperament was that of a sunny day, where mine mirrored more the weather outside with its coming blizzard—the reason we were still up at this hour. The only thing Snow and I had in common was our blue as crystal eyes. Eyes, it was said, that no human should have. Some peopleeven crossed themselves when they saw us coming. Something that disturbed Snow to no end, but I found vastly entertaining. I enjoyed the fear my eyes could bring out in others.

A sudden bump against the door, followed by a low, pitiful howl, made all of us look up. Snow was closest to the window and peered out. She let out a yelp. “A bear!”

The panic in her voice made me jump to my feet, reach for my bow, and grab an arrow from my quiver.

“A bear? This time of the year?” Mother fluttered her hand against her chest, shaking her head, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s true, it’s true,” Snow backed away from the window, her face as white as her hair. “Kill it, Rose.”