Once upon a time, a pack of wolves in human skin hunted a mortal maiden through an underground labyrinth of metal and stone. They hunted her, caught her...only for her to be rescued by a beast out of a fairytale.
Dylan Myers is more than a lost litt...
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A Short Tale of a Lost Maiden, a Pack of Wolves, Some Instructions, and a Beast in the Subway
Every word is a part of a picture. Every sentence is (or can be) a picture.
The reader uses their imagination to put those pictures together, and the pictures weave together to form the intricate tapestry that is a story.
There are many kinds of stories in the world: comedies, love stories, adventures, tragedies. Stories of laughter and love, warriors and sorrow. Each story has a beginning, a middle, and an ending (though what story can ever be said to ever truly end? Tellers of tales throughout the long centuries would dare anyone to find such a story). The magic of the story begins with those oft spoken words, "Once upon a time..."
And then there are the best kinds of stories to be had, the ones that have a little bit of everything.
Faerie tales.
In faerie tales, there is a man. He may be a proud prince or he may be a humble soldier. He may possess magic from a genie's lamp or the condescension of a good faerie creature met in the dark woods and treated with kindness. Perhaps he slays the dragon. Perhaps he saves the beautiful princess in her tower. Perhaps the prince loses his kingdom to an evil wizard. Perhaps the humble soldier inherits a kingdom from a dying king.
Then there is the woman. She may be a beautiful princess or she may be a simple peasant maid. She may have a voice like angels singing or be trapped beneath an ancient and terrible curse from a wicked faerie. Maybe she heals a beast in the forest. Maybe she breaks the enchantment on a sleeping prince. Maybe the princess runs into the labyrinth to escape the monsters that so mercilessly hunt her. Maybe the simple peasant maid marries the prince and lives happily ever after.
And in faerie tales there is evil. Pure, dark, and vicious. An insidious poison that hounds the maiden's footsteps or haunts the prince on his quest. There is evil in the world, as well—always has been, always will be. Evil needs no excuses. It needs no promptings. It only needs to catch the scent of prey, to feel the adrenaline pumping and taste the fear on the air...
.
Once upon a time, under the burning fluorescent lights of the nearly empty New York City subway, a pack of human wolves loped after their chosen prey. Bared teeth gleamed like moonlight on knife blades. And they could smell with their beasts' noses the delicious musk of a woman's fear.
She didn't want to run. Her legs burned and her lungs screamed. A stitch ripped through her side. But she didn't know how long it would take for them to overtake her if she didn't run. And if she were overtaken, they would most likely kill her for what she'd done to (and for) one of their own. If they didn't kill her, she would wish that they had.
So she ran. Her long, brown hair streamed out behind her in ridiculous ringlets. She'd been on her way home from the salon. She'd gone there simply to make herself look nice for no reason. No reason at all. Just because she could. Because her twenty-ninth birthday was approaching, would come in a little more than two weeks. Because she was happy and had the time and her sisters said she ought to (and for once, she'd agreed with them). She'd spent the day pampering herself because she wanted to.
