Deep in the heart of the Dwarf Forests stood a dilapidated old hut. The roof was broken and missing tiles in places and the walls were crumbling. Cobwebs stretched lazily across glassless windows. Surely nothing could survive here. Surely. Yet something did. For a while they had tried to live a normal life, believing their tragic backstory justified their crimes. They were wrong. So very wrong. And now they lived here, hiding. A shell of the person they had once been.
Needless to say, they had not been expecting visitors. But in the dead of night, three sharp raps came at their door. The wood crumbled under a strong fist, and someone walked in. They wore a hooded cloak which trailed down to the ground, covering their clothes; and a sleek black mask that resembled something between what a bandit might wear, and one fit for a carnival. The figure was terrifying. A cruel smile was just visible under the hood as whoever it was gazed on the inhabitant of the ruined cottage. Slowly, they lifted their hands and lowered their hood. The other figure, huddled in a corner, gasped.
"You."
YOU ARE READING
The Land of Stories: Rewriting the narrative
FantasySet about two decades after the original series. Some new characters and some old ones have to work together against a new evil. But what evil, you ask? Time to find out... disclaimer: I do not own the land of stories or any of the characters
