The Cavalier Sisters

The Netherwood man had escaped, but Dolores knew where to find him. In the Gateway that surrounded the land of Imagica, all ways out only led to the way in.

Dolores gripped her bow and arrow, stalking the pink, wainscoted hallways lined with paintings and mirrors that reflected her as she passed, an anthropomorphic white-and-chestnut cavalier spaniel like her two sisters. She was the oldest and tallest, wearing a burgundy blouse and an off-white skirt that hung above her ankles. While searching for the intruder, she sang:

"Little pig, little pig,

So lost and sweet.

When I catch you,

On my plate will be your meat."

A shadow crossed a mirror in her peripheral vision. Dolores spun, aiming her bow and arrow at nothing. Not yet. He was close. She could smell him. The stale scent of peasantry masked in cheap cologne. A man desperate to find a fortune and live like a king. The Gateway was disguised as a dense and uninteresting forest, but sometimes a trespasser managed to slip through the cracks with the help of a clever psychic. Trespassers were supposed to be brought to the Collective for memory erasure before being released back into the Woods, but Dolores preferred to squash them like the cockroaches they were.

The man's scent was growing stronger. The Gateway was circling him back to her. It knew what she wanted, as it always did. It was interconnected with the sisters, answering their needs and wishes.

Dolores stopped, listening. Then she moved swiftly. The Gateway whispered to her, guiding her around the bend and down another hallway, bringing her to the long and gilded mirror at the end, which didn't reflect her.

She aimed her bow and arrow, and she waited.

One.

She pulled the arrow back.

Two.

About ten feet away in the reflection, the man skidded to a stop, pausing to look around in haste, panting.

Three.

The arrow flew through the mirror and struck the man in the chest. He choked out a cry and staggered to the floor like a wounded animal.

Dolores stepped through the mirror. The man gaped as she approached, eyes wide with pain and panic. He reached out to her with a trembling hand, either to attempt another futile spell or to beg for mercy.

"P-please," he croaked. "I-I don't want to d-die!"

Dolores bent down and grasped the arrow, and she ripped it out of his chest. The man choked on a scream.

"You say that," Dolores said. "And yet you people die, anyway."

Words tangled in the man's throat, losing them to the blood that was flowing from his body, staining the intricate, floral-patterned runner. His hand fell as he failed to cling to life.

Sniffs and low growls emerged from both sides of the hallway. The Gateway's protectors and messengers, all four-legged cavalier spaniels of various coat colors, were poking their heads out of their mirrors, lured by the smell of fresh blood. They bared their fangs that dripped with hunger.

"Couldn't help yourself again, Dolores?"

The dogs retreated at the sound of an infuriatingly familiar young man's voice. Dolores turned around to see the purple-haired, lilac-suited delinquent who grated on her nerves like no other.

"Percy," she spat, the name burning her tongue. "What do you think you're doing here?"

Percy strode forth. Dolores refused to move out of his way, forcing him to step around her, but he didn't mind at all, fueling her irritation. He took a moment to assess the damage.