Words ran from the mouth of decay: "Let us start." I stood beside the bed, afraid to do my part. Trepidation overtook me as I gave into the art. As you may have well guessed, Rumpelstiltskin took my heart.
Rotted fingers worked their way between the spaces of my ribs. Infection spread, from ***** digits, seeking new places to live. The gnarled knuckles rubbed and scraped, like a bony dungeon shiv. I felt his hand puncture my lung, and I had no more breath to give.
I think maybe I died, or maybe fell asleep. I had visions, dark and deep, and dreams of evil things:
Excerpt from "The Thorn of Roses." A tale about snow white. Check my page to find part one!