The Hunchback's Reluctant Bride ✔

27 | Red Dust

For two nights straight, Wyrn stared at the table for ages. The shock of waking up alone, abandoned, didn't bother him because it wasn't understandable. It'd shocked him because he'd honestly thought he stood a chance against a prince.

Muffled voices came and went over the past two days. Everyone carried on as if they couldn't hear the banging from below the dining table.

Only Wyrn acknowledged it, because that was where the prince rested and without the knowledge that at least the bastard was suffering, he had nothing to get him to rise in the mornings.

Two days now his chores went undone. His mind settled on Bluebell now and then, but nothing came of it—he couldn't find the strength to stand once he'd sat.

He needed the sounds, the kicking, the suffering. It didn't make him feel better necessarily, but a part of him reveled in it to a point.

She was gone.

She'd gone.

She left.

And he couldn't blame her. What sort of person was he? He should have been big enough to let her find happiness with her lover. He should have waited till nightfall and found a way to release the prince so that he could at least meet up with her wherever she was and take care of her. She must have escaped through the forest as the village was in the other direction and everyone was looking for humans. There'd be no traveling through a valley of giants—giants who, even shrunk down, could hardly notice things they couldn't smell or hear.

That was the reason for the spell. Small, a treacherous giant could see the object to tempt him from his family, but not perceive it. And big, it'd become invisible entirely.

A giant's eyes were not the best fully sized. There were countless reasons for seeking out the gift of mortality, at a human size, from The Living Goddess—and only she could grant it. Things expanded upon were simply taxed too quickly.

In short bursts, a giant was a terror, but they could not sustain that momentum indefinitely.

Small or big, they had limitations. Wyrn hadn't slept in two days. Hell, he'd barely moved. Tonight, he felt compelled to sleep here, the gentle thuds lulling him into slumber.

He hated her. He hated them both. So to watch her lover die was the least he could do.

Despite that hate, he picked his head up and looked down to the other end of the table to the only person who kept a close watch of him most of the day. His mother.

The worry in her eyes shamed him. He wanted to assure her. And on some occasions, he wanted to know she did not think him a monster for this bloodlust.

For the third night in a row, she stood and came back with a large jar turned upside down.

When she rested it before him, she touched his head then forehead, silently asking him to stop.

She had every right to worry. It was a dangerous thing toying with a fairy.

The first thing he did was pour water into the top of the jar then reaffix the lid. He swirled it around to make certain the creature inside, that he could not see well, was adequately doused. Once he was satisfied, he reached within for the tiny body and gripped it tight.

Mother brought red powder, it was a concoction of animal bones and herbs. Today, too, as he dropped the fairy into it, it twitched and shivered. But it came into view.

Wyrn could see it. He was sure to affix a string around its neck, one he pinned to the table.

Finally, his mother brought an apple and a knife, stood before him for some time, then walked away.