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...
A sleepy village...lost by weeks of death and bloodshed. Houses had now given host to new families of wild animals and rodents and streets that once bustled with a steady population now had zero people. Population, zero. Only that like could now describe the newly claimed ghost town
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In the dark night sky, torrents of black smoke and fire lifted higher into the atmosphere as the fire now started to loose its power and had been reduced to smoking off the remaining structure of the once thriving home. All servants had been killed, childhood toys engulfed by the blaze. The line where the house once stood with bricks and burning objects were all that remained in a heap in the centre.
But out of the wreckage, an approaching Rosaline hobbled and limped our toward the now bent and burnt gates. Her skin was greying but had several prominent burns across her cheeks. Deep set wrinkles around her eyes and forehead which creased downwards as her brows furrowed together. Her raven coloured dress was half burnt at the edges and hung of her now petite spinster frame. As she emerged from the fire, she walked out into the cobbled streets and down into the village square.
The octagonal, stone water fountain that resided in the centre of the market place had rusted and all water drained away to be replaced by overgrown leaves and cobwebs. Shops had been ransacked, clothes and personal items tossed out of brown windows into the street. While the locals had been in search for their family, whispers in other towns of the people going mad even made them turn on each other until they had all been consumed by Rosaline.
Eyes raced around the decaying village as the pitch black made it harder to see, until with a small click of her finger a nearby street light flickered to life which illuminated the amount of destruction there had been. On the ground there was an old black cape partly damp but good enough. Rosaline and her tired, withered old body found it hard to bend down to reach it. With heavy, wheezy breathing she picked it up and dusted it down before fastening it around her neck then adjusted the shadowing hood over her thinning, balding head of hair. Suddenly her spindly legs gave way under and she fell to the stoney, cobbled ground with a thump. Trying to get back up again made the bumps and bruises all over her body burn deeply inside of her.
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