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Chapter Thirty

“ I ’ve been meaning to ask you something,” said Serena, taking a sip of her tea, as they sat in front of the roaring fire of Primrose Cottage.

Grim sat across from her, sharpening a small piece of wood with a small knife (Stars, his weapons just kept on growing).

His dark hair fell over his furrowed brow as his mouth twisted with concentration.

She smiled a little at the picture.

“Yes?” he asked, without looking up.

“Your curse…Is it tr uly gone?”

He looked up then, looking slightly surprised at the question. “I’m not quite sure. The tattoo seal is gone, and I haven’t experienced a shift since. So, I suppose if we’re being optimistic, I would say so.”

A curl of relief spread through her body at the words. She had been so dreadfully worried that she had not managed to help him after all, that the shift back had only been because of the tale that they were in.

Grim noticed her reaction and smiled. “Guess you broke my curse, Princess.”

“I guess I did.” Her lips turned up in the corner. “How do you think it was possible?”

He frowned. “I’m not totally sure—clearly the spirits lied about the wand being the answer.

I have no doubt they simply said that to motivate me into finding it sooner.

As for why you were able to bring me back and make it stick…

maybe we’ll find out the answer in future, but for now I am just grateful it’s gone. ”

Serena looked out at the dark sky through the window then and grimaced.

“It’s almost time,” she said, right before the lights blew out and the room went dark.

The air finally stopped shimmering that green shade Serena had come to loathe, and she found herself in a charming little room with a small fire blazing merrily in the hearth.

She stood up, dusting effervescent powder off her skirts, and surveyed her new surroundings.

The room was dimly lit but cozy. There was a threadbare sofa near the fire with an ottoman that looked like it had housed a child or pet countless times and a lamp that looked like it was on its last breath.

There were countless little trinkets on the shelf: tiny dancing figurines, wooden boxes engraved with cheeky illustrations, books with curious titles and a whole lot of other oddities she could not name.

A cat was perched on a cushion in the corner, and it peered at her through a baleful, sleepy gaze. Well, that explained who lounged on the ottoman. The room itself was small but clean, and there was no dust on the shelves, no cobwebs on the ceilings—a far cry from her messy cottage back home.

The window across from her looked out into a small glade somewhere into the woods, and she could hear crickets chirping out in the night.

The air vibrated with an unnamed kind of energy.

Not magic, at least not the one she had gotten used to.

No, this was the magic that came along with the kind of home that boasted of being lived in.

One that told tales of laughter and tears, of joy and sorrow and loss and excitement.

It was the magic one experienced when one was wholly human, as no immortal could ever experience the full spectrum of emotions that humans managed to cram into their fleeting lives.

She had just managed to gather her bearings when she heard the soft patter of footsteps behind her.

She turned around and came face to face with a pair of steady brown eyes.

The face she was looking at seemed familiar and yet not.

It was as if she was looking at someone who she knew, but their face had changed… or wait, had it just aged?

Because that looked like her Gran…no, not Gran.

That was—

Rina took an automatic step back, and the old woman’s brow furrowed as if confused by her behaviour.

“Aunt Maeve?” she rasped .

For it was her aunt, her very not dead aunt, looking at her as if she had lost her wits. Her! As if it was the most normal thing for one to be faced with a beloved, yet deceased relation.

“Aunt? Have you hit your head, Serena? Am I aunt now instead of grandmother? Surely I raised you to have better humor than that.”

At the word grandmother, Rina felt her blood drain. Grandmother…cottage…surely it couldn’t be—

“If you’re quite done with your little bout of humor, here’s your cloak; you should get going if you want to fetch the silkberries before midnight.” Her aunt pushed a heavy fabric the color of blood into her trembling hands.

She continued in a no-nonsense voice, so reminiscent of Aunt Maeve’s that she tasted tears at the back of her throat.

“Now remember, stick to the Midcopse path, touch nothing on the way, and give your name to no one. And remember, never ever look behind you.”

She couldn’t help it anymore, she threw her arms around the woman, squeezing her so tightly that she felt her arms go numb. The woman who was her aunt, and yet not her aunt, seemed to finally sense her fragile composure and patted her on the back rather confusedly.

“Is everything quite all right? You haven’t even rolled your eyes and reminded me that you have taken this path since you were twelve.”

“I’m...I’m just grateful you care.” she whispered.

Her aunt’s brows were now almost in her hairline. “Serena…maybe you should lie down, we can get the silkberries tomorrow—”

She quickly cut in, remembering Lore’s reaction to someone messing with the storyline, “No! No, it’s quite all right. I will go get them right now, sorry, I just took a small nap and had a bad dream, that’s all. ”

Her aunt nodded, although she looked as if she didn’t quite believe her fib.

But there was nothing for her to do, as Serena hurriedly fastened her red cloak and ran out the door, hardly pausing to hear the click as it shut behind her.

She ran until she was out of the clearing and collapsed in heaving sobs at the base of a willow tree whose branches leaned down, covering her with its leaves, almost as if the tree wept with her.

For the loss that had passed, for the grief that was yet to come.

For she knew this was not a tale with any happy ending. If she failed to leave, she would die in this world where her beloved aunt lived. If she completed it successfully, she would have to leave and say goodbye once more.

She sat there until she regained her composure and got up to continue on her path. She wondered where Grim was and what his role would be in this tale.

If this story was in line with the other ones, he would be her counterpart, either the other lead or a key player.

She recalled the story of the Red Maiden and came to the realisation he would be the huntsman who helped her strike down the wolf.

She tried to recall the original tale; Red goes to her grandmother’s with a basket of baked goods and meets the wolf along the way.

He distracts her, asking her where her grandmother lives, making her veer off the path and fall asleep.

The rest of the story was a bit muddled in her head but it had something to do with the huntsman passing by and rescuing her and her grandmother.

It sounded simple enough. Red was a young girl who was not aware of the story, and was thus vulnerable to the wolf’s trickery.

Serena would not have that problem, so she just needed to complete her task of gathering the silkberries, and if she encountered the wolf, she would give him the wrong address and return home.

By morning, Grim—the huntsman—would come along, and the tale would end.

She nodded to herself and set on, looking for the sign that signalled the start of the Midcopse path.

She fought through a particularly meddlesome hedge of nettles and found herself in yet another clearing.

There, she found a myriad of signs pointing in different directions, each naming a path.

The curious part of the signs was not the odd names such as Teapot Avenue, Ivy Junction, The Path Down Under, and Skytree Sails, but the fact that the arrows did not simply face left, right, forward, back, but also one that faced the sky (Skytree Sails) and a sign that pointed to the ground (The Path Down Under).

Serena took a tentative step toward Skytree Sails, dreadfully curious, and then she placed a hand on the sign.

“Ouch!” She yelped, snatching her finger back as a bead of blood dropped onto the ground, and then disappeared.

Silence, and then—

There was a loud groaning sound, and the air shimmered, a door appearing.

The door was silver with an engraving of a ship with three sails, and a flag with a magnificent tree.

The surface was inlaid with pearls, and diamonds that sparkled, and within them she glimpsed the roiling waves of the sea.

Her hand ached for the doorknob, to step in and see where the door went.

But Aunt Maeve’s warning of sticking to the Midcopse path still rang in her head, and she took a regretful step back.

The door waited for thirty more seconds, and then shimmered out of view again.

She took another look at the signs and spotted the one that said,

MIDCOPSE – STRAIGHT AHEAD

**Travelers beware, stepping off the path can have dire and unforeseen consequences. Please stick to the marked trail.

She stepped on to the path and stopped dead with the realization that she had no idea what silkberries looked like. Cursing at her own foolishness, she considered what exactly to do next. The path seemed to lead up a small hill of sorts.

The goal was always present at the top of a hill in stories. Might as well go that way.

It was a shoddy plan, but the best she had, so she set off again, her pace a harried one as the back of her neck prickled with an uneasy feeling.

Her idea that the walk would be an easy one if she just kept her wits around turned out to be completely wrong. For it soon became apparent why exactly the Midcopse sign warned against veering off the path.