The Game

Chapter 18

What little light could pass through the dust-covered windows, revealed that the house was much more upkept than you had originally thought. There wasn't a speck of dust or a cobweb to be found. Pushing back your unease, you first entered the room on your left. It was a small kitchen with pots and pans that shined like teeth in the moonlight lined up above the window. There was a cup of still-steaming tea resting on the table alongside a fresh loaf of bread.

You weren't alone.

Chewing the inside of your mouth, you cautiously approached the cabinet. You shivered at the touch of the cold metal before slowly opening it. The cabinet was empty, save for a few food tins and a discarded pan with a large dent in its side.

Closing your eyes in relief, you closed it and moved onto the next one. As you were about to open it, something small darted past the window. You spun around and held the poker in front of you. The beating of your heart pounded in your head as you looked for any movement. You cautiously backed away from the kitchen and quickly closed the door.

You stayed in place for several moments, straining your ears for any more sounds. Your beating heart felt like it was made of stone as adrenaline coursed through you. After a minute, you relaxed slightly and gingerly opened the door on your right.

You stepped inside a living room with faded furniture and a moth-eaten lace curtain over the windows. The only source of light came from a crackling fireplace, bathing bathed everything near it in an inviting orange light: from the grandfather clock to the little figurines that lined the shelves. You stared at the dancing and twisting flames before kneeling down in front of it to warm yourself a bit.

"Making yourself comfortable I see," a feminine voice giggled.

You whipped your head to see a tall girl around the age of fifteen sitting on the rocking chair. She looked as if she had been exposed to the elements for an untold number of years as there were branches and twigs in her unkempt hair. Her complexion was swarthy with black hair and eyes with dark freckles on her cheeks. The only things she wore was a ragged dress with a brown shawl around her thin shoulders and unlaced boots caked with mud. Resting on her lap was a strange-looking guitar with three strings and two pegs with a small handle on one side.

She hummed while she tuned up her guitar before looking up at you. As her bright black eyes met yours, she flashed you a smile filled with white teeth that shined like little knives, reminding you of a crocodile's. At your reaction, she giggled and went back to strumming a string on her instrument.

"W-who--"

"Who am I?" She interrupted. "I'm nothing but a mere fairy along with the actual resident of the cottage."

"What?"

"You heard me," she callously said without looking up at you. "One of us had been asked to involve ourselves with the game you are playing. He says its more fun when there's more challenges for the player to overcome."

"'One of us?'"

"Indeed," she nodded her head and plucked a stringer. "But I am not playing. Instead, I asked the count who owns the land to instead spectate because I enjoy a good show!"

"The count-- wait, you mean Corvin?"

"Who else?" She flashed another smile and her eyes twinkled with a sinister look.

"So let me get this straight: he's letting you watch without letting you play?"

"Indeed."

"Then who is the one that--"

"That would be the owner of this cottage." The strange girl answered; her dark curls swayed like serpents as a draft blew through the room. "Anyways, it'd be wise to get a move on before she finds you in here; she's pretty territorial of her home."