We all know how the tales go. But what if some stories slipped right by you?
Quasimodo and Snow White, individuals on opposite ends of the scale. Snows life dominated by her weak, crumbling father and scheming, devious stepmother. A life in a villa...
Away from the travesties of Paris, tucked away into the corner of the tiny village, Cyrus the village paint shop owner was locking his shop door with its heavy bronze key. Staying open a little later, the old man had been organising some of his stock.
"As the old saying goes...the customer is...NOT always right!" He said with a slight irritation in his voice.
"Haha arrogant kids! Thinking they know the difference between cobalt and ultramarine blue! Philistines!" Cyrus muttered almost inaudible to himself, turning the heavy key into the lock then placing it into his apron pocket. The old mans tone sounded like that of a man with asthma.
Pulling his trench coat and scarf around him, an imposing and biting breeze swept around his ankles. Darkness entered from all directions as turning his head from side to side, realised that he was the only one in the square.
Deadly but serene silence could be seen and heard from all around. It was cut short only momentarily by the bleating wind that pelted the top of Cyrus's nose. Pulling up his scarf, Cyrus walked diligently toward his home.
No candle light could be seen in any window only the odd light posted above someone's door to light the cobblestone paths. Passing the various houses was easy during the summer but the sudden darker, longer nights of autumn created an all together sense of weariness. Just as Cyrus was about to pass around the bend down the lane toward his cottage, as he did everyday passed the looming house of Snow White and her family. Nobody had seen or heard from either three of them for almost a month now; townsfolk gossiped and rumoured as per usual when something bizarre or even minute happened to someone in town. No light had been seen in any window since the days grew shorter and no sign of movement from anywhere. It was common knowledge now that something had happened and the theories varied from abduction, murder or that Henry had gone mad! But Cyrus was level headed and simply understood that they may have just wanted to indulge in a little privacy. But on this night, something felt off to Cyrus. As if a spanner had been thrown in the works...the atmosphere was not quite right.
Unable to pull his attention away from the house, he stared inquisitively at its looming presence. Slender and somber black gates ascended into the sky, usually closed the wind had jolted it open the faintest crack. Wind howled as if to beckon him toward to meet them.
Cyrus squinted his eyes and the breeze crept into his retinas. Even though he knew it intrusive, Cyrus proceeded forwards.
Squeezing his small and non threatening frame through the gap in the gate, Cyrus entered apprehensively into the courtyard. The sight that greeted him was one of neglect. Flowers now resembled weeds that had grown beyond their normal height would usually allow, trees branches littered the yard along with pieces of rubbish and unkempt grassy patches. The lawn itself begged to be trimmed and some rain to fall on it as it almost reached Cyrus's knees. But the most attention seeking aspect was the house itself. Obviously in need of some work anyway as people had noticed over the past few years but this looked even worse than it had done. Appearing as if it has sprouted this over night like magic beans growing. The crumbling walls looked wonky, out of balance and they had taken on a sinister appearance.
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