Terrifyingly Demented Fairytales

Fairytales. They are stories of old that define who we are. They tell of a time that once was using elements of the fantastical. They form tradition, establish culture and, most importantly, give warning to any and all who are truly willing to listen and read between the lines that are written on weathered pages yellowed by time.

Magic and glamour lure in the listener, their eyes going wide as the tantalizing siren song of the fairytale gives them pause and makes them think twice about everything they do. Everything they hear. Everything they say. Paranoia and fear begin to loom as the story is told, the horrors buried deep within the pages taking on a life of their own. The mundane no longer exists and every shadow suddenly has eyes. Every stranger is now one to be wary of for fear of what atrocities they might commit, what dark thoughts lurk in their black minds.

With shaking hands and a pounding heart, force your eyes to read on and let the siren song carry you deeper into the true horror of fairytales. Let their warnings guide you and shape you. Let them lead the way. Follow the path. Forge on ahead. There's no turning back now.

No… turning… back…

And now our terrifyingly demented story of horror begins…

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Name: Maleficent
Location: Black Keep, Unknown
Tagging: None, heading for Pochahontas

---

Great stone pillars supported the weight of the vaulted ceiling, which soared above the circular room. The stone is clearly ancient, worn smooth by time itself and dark with age. There is only one door leading into the room, and no windows to provide light except for the wide balcony opposite the door. The doors themselves are imposing enough, ten feet high and arched at the top. The doors are made of dark ebony wood, so old they almost appear to be carved of stone. The images carved upon the doors seem innocent enough, until you begin to inspect them further.

The bottoms of the doors are decorated with rolling hills and forests, meadows of flowers and gently flowing brooks and streams. Until you begin to truly stare at the scenery. Mixed among the seemingly picturesque nature images, are bodies, twisted and screaming in agony. They are so expertly carved into the natural landscape that it takes a good deal of looking to immediately spot them. Anyone who approaches the door will inevitably raise their gaze higher, only to be greeted with more and more gruesome scenes.

Beyond the hills and forests rests a great maze of thorns and vines. The maze serves as a magically fueled shield to protect what lies at the top of the image. Any who wander into the maze, rarely venture out again. The blood thirsty flora, reach out to entangle any poor soul brave enough to try. Even in the carved image, the bodies of unwary souls could be seen, impaled upon the massive spiked plants.

Above the maze, nestled into the highest peak of the doors, sits an elaborate and sinister castle. It is of course, the very castle in which the circular room resides. The twisting spires and spiked parapets give the castle an air of foreboding, only heightened by the sinuous form snaked around the base of the building. A massive black dragon, curled protectively around the base of the castle. The beasts eyes were set with glittering chips of Citrine, the artist had shaped them in such away they almost seemed to follow any who approached.

The doors serve as a reminder to all who approach, that the mistress of this place is not to be trifled with. The doors can be an intimidating warning to guests, to really question why they have come to this place to face the woman on the other side. If the image upon the door is any indication, the castle that it depicts is a truly menacing sight to behold.

The Black Keep is rumoured to exist entirely on a plane of its own. The keep appears, seemingly at random, always in the distance of some small town or village. Throughout the decades it has been seen in various parts of Europe, most recently appearing in the mountains outside a small French town. It has shadowed the town for the better part of two decades, though the townsfolk swear it has always been here, which is exactly what the owner wants. The Keep and the surrounding lands are protected by potent magic that causes fear to become almost unbearable in any but the very brave, or the very stupid. It effectively prevents the average human from approaching the Keep.

Those that do make it past the first barrier of magic, rarely make it past the grasping thorns. On the very, very unlikely chance a determined warrior makes it past all the magical defenses, a very nasty surprise is waiting for them at the castle.

The one resident of the dark castle is almost as ancient as her home. Centuries old, and possibly more menacing than her foreboding home, Maleficent is clearly not human. Inside the circular room, at the centre of the Keep and near the top of the tallest tower, she sits upon a throne carved to look like twisted and mangled forms of those she has manipulated and destroyed. She is a tall, lean woman with pale green skin, inhuman in appearance and an unnatural perfection. Most of her form is hidden under swirling black and purple robes, including a rather intricate looking cowl that frames her narrow face. Two horns protrude from the cloth, looking at first as if they are part of the design, but are in fact a part of the woman. Her eyes are a deep golden color, similar to that of the dragon upon the door. The fingers, steepled beneath her chin seemed oddly elongated, each digit boasting an extra joint.

Her entire visage is made even more eerie and inhuman by the flickering green light shining up from the floor below her. Her cat like eyes, travel across the circular stone floor, her pensive frown slowly curling into a malevolent smile. The smoky image of an enormous chess board covers most of the floor. It is clearly a creation of magic, the lines seeming insubstantial and ghostly. The green light appears to be coming from the entire creation.

Instead of the usual chess pieces found on a board, these pieces seem oddly detailed and intricate. Every single one depicted a different person or creature. One of the pieces was a young woman, swathed in a robe and carrying a basket, beside her was the hulking form of an enormous wolf. A few places away from them, a woman was doubled over partly changed into some sort of beast. Near her two men, one with a bow and another with a wolf at his both seemed to be following her. In a far corner of the board were a man and a woman, exotic looking, wearing clothing more suitable to a desert. There were dozens of unique pieces, clearly symbolizing a player in whatever game Maleficent had planned. The piece that Maleficent had her frightening gaze pinned to, was a young Native American woman with a lost expression. This piece slid a few spots, indicating something that seemed to please the woman watching the game.

Maleficent rose fluidly to her feet, her robes swirling unnaturally around her narrow frame. The material clung to her body, slowly dissolving to a mist that completely encompassed her form. After a moment the mist swirled away from her, and in place of her once tall and lean human form stood a small black fox. The little creature had the same golden eyes and soft black fur with a silver tipped tail. It watched the board with a decidedly gleeful expression before flicking its tail slightly.

A gaping black opening twisted into existence beside the fox. Casting one final look over the board and the players that danced upon it, the fox trotted through opening without hesitation. The portal snapped shut behind the small form of the fox, the room immediately plunging into darkness. The game faded away without its mistress’ power to maintain it, leaving nothing but the ghostly after image of her unsuspecting victims.

Name: Pocahontas
Location: On the outskirts of France and England, closer to the latter
Tagging: No one yet/anyone in the area

---

Lost was but a generous term to use to describe Pocahontas at this point in time. She was torn. It was only on an emotional level though a good portion of her felt as if spirits were trying to do so physically also. To many degrees, she wouldn't blame the dead for getting revenge on her. But she'd insisted time and time again that she had done the right thing. Wouldn't it be more wrong to forget of her own kin? To forbid them from being able to rest in the afterlife? Her head shook slowly from side to side, causing raven locks to brush against her face.

Once again, that annoying sensation of feeling out-of-place began to haunt her. The only two people who knew and didn't hate her for the act were .... likely still in England. But she couldn't just step foot back inside, not now that she was being sought out.

Her entire body shook as all the flashbacks on how everything had began started to tease her mind. Months ago, the Englishmen had returned after being given consent to visit her home of Jamestown, Virginia. They had asked for her to represent the Powhatan tribe and be their ambassador. It had seemed innocent enough, hell even an honor. So of course, she accepted John Rolfe's offer. Clearly, however, that had been exactly what he'd wanted. And the bastard used that very knowledge against her by sending numerous other Englishman back to Jamestown.

While Pocahontas had been away doing what she'd thought was the correct thing, her tribe had been mercilessly massacred. And even to this day, this moment, she didn't understand the logic that had possessed John Rolfe. He hadn't seemed that corrupt when she first met him. Had her gut instincts actually failed her? It seemed as much.

Regardless, everyone she'd known and loved was now gone. All with the exception of John Smith, anyway. But he was definitely better off not knowing where she was. He'd nearly died once because of her. If she caused his demise ... no! She didn't want to think of that.

Quick pants and breaths were leaving her lips as she forced everything, herself included, to stop. The Native American princess finally let her legs give in as she wound up sitting against a tree. Her head lifted up towards the sky as her fast gasps continued to pass her lips.

She'd been literally wandering around ever since she'd gotten revenge and murdered all associated with John Rolfe save John Smith and Thomas. They had been the only ones who cared enough for her. They proved that by informing her of what the Englishmen had done to her clan. Her body shook more as the same memory entered her mind once again.

She'd at least made a merciful decision. It had at least seemed that way in her mind and eyes. Pocahontas had avenged her friends and family by poisoning all of the guilty Englishmen. And since the resources had been natural, there were almost no hints of being able to detect it. Only when their lives started to fade did any of them begin to realize what had happened. By that time, it was definitely way too late. So compared to slitting their throats or sniping them with arrows, Pocahontas had been relatively sure she had chosen the less bloody option.

"Be that as it may, you still took lives. About as many as they did." she replied softly to herself, hiding her face in her hands. A muffled but still very frustrated scream echoed throughout the forest. Her life was all but meaningless. Maybe ... maybe she should join her clan? Part of her wanted to but another side knew that would definitely not be what anyone wished for. Especially her father and Nakoma.

"... So what do I do?" she added, her tone suggesting tears were threatening to fall soon. Her copper hands pressed against her face, keeping most of the steadily forming tears concealed. A few, however, slid between her fingers and began to trail down her face. If it was up to her, Pocahontas would have made it so blood mixed in with the tears and had it so both were falling down her face. It'd be a form of poetic justice, symbolizing how her heart and soul felt along with those she killed.

Everyone was distraught, in pain and agony of some form, restless, and - perhaps like Pocahontas herself - unsure of where to go or what to do.

Name: Scarlett
Location: The grove in the woods, just outside Chansons-Du-Crépuscule
Tagging: Anyone in the grove

---

That was it! She'd had enough for one day. With an angry sigh Scarlett stormed out of the tiny cottage she'd been calling home for the better part of her life since the loss of her parents. Yes, she loved her grandmother, but the woman just didn't understand that she needed her freedom—freedom to live and explore, to experience life! She fastened her red cloak about her shoulders—oh how her grandmother hated the fact that she loved the thing and loved wearing red in general.

"It's too bold!" the old woman would say. "People already whisper about us there's no need to bring about more unwanted attention," she'd mumble

But Scarlett hardly cared what the villagers of Chansons-Du-Crépuscule had to say about her or anything else for that matter. She hadn't lived in the village itself since her parents had met their untimely demise and she only went there on her grandmother's behalf to pick up odds and ends that the forest itself and their gardens couldn't provide. No, it didn't matter what anyone thought. In fact, she hoped they did whisper and stare given how she felt right then and there as she ran down the path and past the tree line into the shadow of the woods.

Scarlett pulled her red hood over her dark tresses, pushing a few stray strands that had fallen in the way of her blue eyes. Her eyes glittered as she focused on the large trees that began to surround her, engulfing her with gnarled arms that beckoned she go deeper, run further than most would ever dare. She smiled as she heard her grandmother's voice yet again in her head. Oh, the hilarity! If only the old woman knew how often she actually ventured deep into the woods despite all the old stories she'd spin each night by the fireside. She shook her head as she thought on the tales of the dire wolf... she'd yet to see one and she'd gone deeper than anyone into the woods as far as she knew—even deeper than the bravest woodsmen of Chansons-Du-Crépuscule!

Slowly the trees were getting thicker, the light of the sun dimming as the canopy of leaves above blotted out its light. Scarlett looked up and giggled. Most would've turned back by now, fear making them cower in terror. But not her. She knew better and disregarded the watchful eyes of the forest, eyes that were ever present. She'd grown accustomed to the sensation, deciding that it was the forest's way of letting her know it was 'alive' in a sense, that creatures did live there—creatures and plants and other such things.

Onward Scarlett pressed, her tiny hands tugging at her red cloak. A small chill ran down her spine just then and she suddenly stepped on a stray fallen branch. There was a snap and she jumped, letting out a nervous shriek and giggle. Her cheeks reddened a little at her own silliness, for letting fear creep into her when she was so close to finding the one place she was seeking.

Nearly there... nearly there.

Scarlett shrugged off the small bit of fright that had tried to overtake her in the brief moment and forged on. And there it was. In the distance she could see it. The trees opened up a little and beyond it, she saw her place of refuge, her place of solace. Laughing, she ran the rest of the way, jumping over tree roots and skipping down the trail until she finally entered her secret grove.

"Found you," Scarlett whispered, her lips curved upward into a smile. She pushed back her red hood and let her dark hair fall loosely about her slim shoulders. Oh, what would he grandmother think now? "I knew I would," she said. "I always do."

Name: The Judge
Location: La Notre Dame, Paris, France
Tagging: Anyone in earshot

---

"Gods and spirits have their place, Adgar. Some are benign creatures, watching from the skies, interfering only when necessary to promote their narrow-minded moralities and cookie-cutter justice. Others seethe in the darkness, preying on the weak or the virtuous to feed their masters or themselves. But one never judges the wolf as evil for hunting the hare. It is his purpose, his function. They are natural consequences of a natural design. They may freeze you so thoroughly in panic that sleep becomes a distant memory, yet nothing about their actions shock or surprise. But to see a man do the same, to know that we are capable of the greatest evils as much as the noblest of virtues, to look in the mirror and be reminded that you, and every mortal man or woman you know, are always one bad step, one frustrated scream, one cruel snap away from a tyrant - to understand that everything you think you are is a thinly wrapped veil, so easy to pull, so easy to tear... that, my son, is a fear like none other. Man has always been his own greatest nemesis."​

- Ulfwyn of Adendale​

Paris. Snow was a rarity in the French jewel, but the wind always carried a sharp, penetrating stab that clawed into your skin like fangs, biting at your nerves, numbing your fingers and toes and hungrily slithering upwards along your palms and feet. The chilling gusts had a predatory nature that infected everything they touched, from the streetside filth to the towering spires of the Notre Dame, slithering into those labyrinthine spaces between the fingers and toes of reality.

A dimly lit candle flickered within those hallowed halls, whispered ember trembling as if in fear, shallow and on the verge of being snuffed out yet everburning, not past yet not completely here. A man, crumpled and broken, lay fixed to a large, plain, blockish chair, black hair drawn messily over mocha skin, palms and ankles nailed down with pools of blood, already dried, wrapped around them in a sanguine outline. Another figure stood no more than a few paces from him. An ugly, thick-nosed dwarf draped in a short cloak of faded, old feathers, blotched in blacks and deep greens. And before the both of them; him. The Judge. Tall, gaunt, and draped in fabrics more valuable than their weight in gold, eyes dancing over the umbral skyline of his city. He had a dispassioned, hypnotic voice, possessing a kind of deep, eerie omnipresence, like the words themselves resonated inside the mind until it became impossible to distinguish the echo from the original, the voice from the mental whispers that followed.

"Have you ever been tortured, Jafar?"
The indignant response came between hacked coughs, wheezing and out of breath. "That isn't my fault. I didn't do any-."
"I do not take kindly to those who deviate from their intended."
"I'm telling you, Frollo, I didn't-"
"Answer the question."
Indignance faded into contempt."No."
"And do you think it would be a satisfactory punishment?"
"No."
"And why is that?"
"I have done nothing wrong."
"From what I hear, you've done nothing at all. I had to do quite the steep favor for Maleficent to get you that staff of yours."
"And it was invaluable-"
"Yet you not only failed in securing Agrabah, but allowed its princess out of your sight repeatedly enough to throw herself on some gypsy scum, legs wide open."
"She fell in love-"
"With an idea. With the thought of being outside of her gilded cage of gossip and scandal and etiquette. With the ability to do as she pleased without worrying about being judged by every subject and every ambassador. Your purpose was to catch hold of that trait and have her experience it with you."
"Her father would never-"
"Perhaps you should have courted him."
"This is a process with traditions to be followed, not some barside mindgame you use to sweep up tavern wenches. I wouldn't expect you to understand all the required nuances-"
"Everything is a mindgame, Jafar. If everyone played by traditions and rules, the game would be over and the winner known before it even began."
"I would be that winner."
"And we do not live in that world. We live in the world where you let a street rat sneak his cock into the princess under your nose."
"I am not to blame for the recklessness of my men!"
"Au contrare. You are their superior. You bear the consequences of their incompetence, just as I now bear the consequences of yours, along with ensuring, considering you clearly haven't learned anything, that it does not happen again."
"And yet you let Iago laze around like the little shit he is!"
"And you wallow in your delusional self-importance. Don't think I would send one of my most powerful acolytes to be your ass-licking lackey. He did his job. Keeping an eye on you was more of a convenience - icing on the cake. In fact, considering how wonderfully you treated him, I have decided that he will be responsible for your procedure."
"Fuck you and your procedure. If you're going to kill me, at least have the balls to say it like it is."
"Once again you prove your naïvete knows no bounds. Death is such a wasteful thing." Frollo cooed, turning from the window, moving in a slow, predatory circle, glassy, cold eyes scanning the broken man like a cadaver. "The human body is a resource, teeming with potential, and as easy to exploit as any other. And the mind... a fascinating machine that men have prodded at and played with long before they even understood its intricacies."
"I've resisted the staff before and I can resist it again."
"Oh, I have no intentions to entertain you with a faerie-dust cantrip. Every con-artist, magician, demagogue and sensationalist has tinkered with what we perceive as real. I am simply following in their humble footsteps. No miracles. No sorcery. Just simple, human ingenuity. It's almost exciting, really - long after we are dead and magic fades into a distant memory, long after the world will condone open slavery, you will be part of a legacy that will endure; bound in chains by belief made solid."

Iago's lips contorted into a toothy, gleeful smile, curled fingers running against one another with the impatient excitement of a child on Christmas Eve, eyes shimmering with a psychotic delight. "It's a little late for a birthday present, master, but I am touched nonetheless."
The reply was a silent, bemused smile. "Think of it as your bonus."
"I don't even have a salary."
"Not in money, no." was the sharp, immediate response as Frollo began to move. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have arrangements. I want him wiped clean - that attitude is giving me a migraine. And try to put everything back where you find it, Iago. I don't want to find teeth in his kidneys this time."
"I'll keep an eye for it, master. You know how excitable I get with knives."
"I'm not kidding, Iago. Get it done."
The echo of a slammed door reverberated through the room with a loud, low tremor.
"Neither was I."

The scream that followed rang through the halls with an unearthly horror. Not one of panic or a plea for help, but one of exhaustion, thrown between lurching gasps for breath. A scream of a desecrated pride, of an agony too intense to keep silent, eerie and unnatural in every way. It was pain made music. It was beautiful.

Name: Esmerelda
Location: Notre Dame, France
Tagging: No one yet/anyone in the area

---

The snow had most definitely been like a rare jewel. However, it was also much akin to a double-edged blade, one that few people had expected. Unfortunately, this did include one gypsy, Esmerelda. For the past ... months? Years? Some time now, she had been - almost literally - dancing between the outskirts of Notre Dame, France; lingering in and out of the city while surviving in her own form or fashion. It was never by any illegal means, gods no! Heavens forbid she dare let herself sink so low! But with how Notre Dame had become, precautions had to be taken. And one did include how she showed off her talents, particularly any form of palm or tarot card reading.

True, her clothing alone could all but spell out to the simplest child she was a gypsy. But there was where another set of precautions kicked in. If she wasn't in plain sight, she was hiding somehow. When needed, the young woman could be rather quick to react and agile on her feet.

But alas, now her head was having to do the contemplating right now. And it pained her to even consider what she was about to do. In fact, her mind was arguing with itself.

"Are you mad?! Most of the people probably haven't changed their view on us, on our kind!"

"So what do I do?! Just stay out here and freeze to death?! It'll be an easy way for them to get rid of yet another gypsy ...

The grim but honest to gods truth was more than enough for Esmerelda to realize ... this was one of those 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' type of scenarios. She needed to live. And for that, she would need a place with far more warmth. The outskirts, ergo, would not be a sufficient place to do this in. Thankfully, she had remembered everything - good and bad things - from while she had been raised by the family of gypsies. A few recollections did include some abandoned alleyways, a select few having concealed passages within them even.

It'd be a hell of a long-shot to reach even just one. But she had to try. Why? Simple. Esmerelda was not at all ready for to open her arms for Death, certainly not!

After taking a soft, deep breath and swallowing nervously, Esmerelda finally did it. Her feet moved. One, two, three steps ... and finally, she was back in the city, in her home. But she wasn't done. Far from it. She had to move, and quickly. Thankfully, most of the civilians had been astounded with the snow as the gypsy herself and, given the lack of people in sight, were in their own homes. Or at least not out and about in the streets, that much was for sure. Her mind raced faster, her heart seeming to try to catch up with it. A mental map of Notre Dame appeared in her head along with memories of where passages, shortcuts to them, or both could be.

While she finally decided on a location, Esmerelda had to remind herself of one thing. There weren't any quick ways to the place. However, it would be one of her best places to be in. It was, had always been, a sanctuary for everyone, even gypsies. Especially gypsies, actually Hopefully that hadn't changed.

Now that she'd figured a sound plan out, Esmerelda's feet began guiding her, moving the young gypsy through the streets and heading right for the cathedral. It was more than big enough, it'd be easy to spot. All she'd have to do was get inside. Until then, she kept to using as many alleyways as possible, decreasing how easy it was to realize she was even inside the city to begin with.

Name: Elsa
Location: East of Paris
Tagging: Anyone in the vicinity

---

The cold never bothered her. Not ever. That was Elsa's mantra, words she lived by since she was able to walk, to understand, since the day she realized she was cursed. Her feet kept moving as she ran along an unbeaten path, a trail of snow and ice left in her wake. To say she was upset was an understatement as she forged on ahead to where? She didn't know, so long as it wasn't Arandelle. She'd left her sister and her husband far behind to rule a kingdom she knew she could never be a part of. Not anymore. Not ever.

Salty tears streamed down Elsa's pale cheeks as her mind drifted angrily over those hateful words exchanged between herself and her sister. Anna just didn't understand what it was like to wield such a dark curse, something so unpredictable. Forever, the younger had been free to come and go as she'd pleased, to talk to whomever she'd liked without fear. But not her. She'd been called many things.

Witch. Demon. Monster.

More tears flowed as the memories bubbled up to the surface, the air swirling about her slight body getting colder, the wind blowing harder, the snow falling in furious flurries. She half wondered if she'd set any parts of France into a freeze much like she had Arandelle almost a year back. But she didn't have the wherewithal to care. Let it freeze! She was angry, infuriated. Sad.

Elsa knew she could no longer stay in Arandelle with so many bad memories haunting her, nightmares plaguing her sleep. Her sister thought it should be all too easy to get over everything, but in truth it wasn't. And it never would be. Not when the younger would remind of the accidental freezing of an entire nation, of accidentally freezing her heart. It was all too much and why she'd left the first time. Truly, it had been silly to think she could live among the people of Arandelle and be accepted for what she was. They'd always fear her and she'd always be alone. No one would ever care for her, be there for her.

No one.

The only person who'd ever shown any kind of understanding in the past was dead, his life taken by the sea when he had to travel as kings do. Elsa mourned her father's death, taking it hard as she'd been living in isolation at the time—conceal don't feel, don't let it show.... conceal don't feel, don't let them know... New words to keep her going, to keep her numb, yet in the end it did nothing to quell the pain she'd felt. The agony.

The bitterness grew as Elsa remained in isolation, craving companionship, love. A kind word or touch. But she received nothing. And when she thought she finally could salvage what was left of her family... more nothing. It was hard to accept that her family just didn't understand and couldn't be there and when all seemed hopelessly lost, that was when she met her. That fateful she was shown the kindness and compassion she longed for, the sort that no one in her family had seemed to be able to show her. It was addicting and she longed to experience more, but the woman wasn't from Arandelle. And it was then that she knew she could never stay, that she had to leave. What was more, she found herself wanting to leave and hoping to never see it again.

The wind blew harder, howling loudly as the snow fell fast about Elsa's slim form. Platinum locks blew about as she suddenly stood still, her icy blue gaze settling upon an expanse that seemed to be to her liking. "This'll do," she said softly, a hand moving up to wipe at her eyes. She raised up her hands and dropped them down in a hard rush of movement, snow billowing about her. Stamping her foot, a sheet of ice formed causing her to smile. With a nod, she brought her arms up high and a castle of ice formed. "Home sweet home," she stated before walking inside.

Upon entering her castle of ice, Elsa walked up a staircase and then out onto a balcony. From there she was able to see a vast countryside. In the distance, she was able to see other large structures, more than likely belonging to nobility. Further out she saw what seemed to be a tiny village nearby a forest. Smiling, she went back into her castle of ice and slammed the door behind herself.

Name: Fenrir
Location:
Tagging: Scarlett, the forest grove

---

The forest did indeed have eyes. Most were smart enough to not venture in too deep to the wild, and those that did rarely found the grove that acted as the center of the forest. Most actually never wondered out of the forest again, rather the town would find the bodies some two or three days later, eaten and sacrificed to the wolves. However that was not the fate he had chosen for young the young girl in red, the further she ventured into the woods the more his eyes lingered on her and the more he padded along side, invisible for the most part.

Fenrir, was the lord of this forest. Everything from the birds to the many wolves that actually fed upon this land were his, and in a way even the wind and trees spoke to his natural senses. Fenrir was a giant wolf in his current form. six hands larger then any others. It's brown fur helped to shade into the forest's dull wood and dirt, but in the grove everything was green. This was Fenrir's home the place in the forest he came to rest, and a place only a few chosen could even reach. Sniffing the air Fenrir felt the prescience of a unique chill to the air. It was a cold wind that was not what this season called for.

Fenrir on the other hand did not shiver, it's fur was far too thick for such a thing. Walking into the grove it found the young girl who he had so often watched, but never actually revealed himself too. His yellow eyes watched her heavily for a moment it's long sharp teeth open showing her that he was a creature that at the least demanded all of her respect if not fear. It walked around sniffing the air of it's grove. It had let her venture this far many times, and even given her protection from the elements of the forest, but until now he had stayed away, in the shadows of the forest, as a pair of luminescent eyes that watched her from a distance. Today was different.

Scarlett was often troubled, nature had taken much from her, and as a creature of all nature Fenrir found something akin to mercy on the girl, though most could have confused it for something like petty greed. He had taken her into his protection, and as he circled around the grove he sat down his eyes still watching her until finally he spoke, not in some howl but rather with the human tongue.

"You find this place because I guide you to it. The trees this deep in the forest are not ones you can trust." His voice was like low growls, clearly it wasn't used often. He watched her reactions, waiting for her to make some sort of move, his eyes never leaving the smaller girl. Sitting as he did he dwarfed the girl, his body was a mass of teeth, claws, fur and powerful muscles, all of which looked like he was in a constant state of hunger. However this girl had many uses... food was not one of them. "You should feel honored, I do not come out to meet just anyone."

Name: Scarlett
Location: The grove in the woods, just outside Chansons-Du-Crépuscule
Tagging: Fenrir; anyone in the grove

---

Scarlett closed her blue eyes and took a deep breath as she stood there in her grove, her little sanctuary nestled deep in the dark woods where the bravest men of Chansons-Du-Crépuscule were too afraid to go. She had to smile that someone such as her had the nerve and ability to manage such feat. If only her grandmother knew! Then again, the old woman would never approve of where she was nor would she approve of the fact that this was not the first time she ventured so far or so deeply into the woods surrounding the tiny village. However, she'd needed a place to call her own ever since losing her parents and even more so after what she'd later begun to call the Day of the Dark.

She still hadn't forgiven her grandmother for doing what she'd done, even if the old woman's intentions had been to protect her. Never again could Scarlett be in any small room for very long without a feeling of dread, a pang of fear trying to swallow her whole. She remembered how dark that tiny wardrobe was all those years ago, the sound of the howling wolf pack so close to their little cottage so isolated from the village that calling for any sort of help was useless. She hated her grandmother for locking her up, for keeping her in the 'dark'. It had seemed an eternity before she was let out, before she was allowed to breathe fresh air again and see natural light once more. From that day forward, it was hard to be around the woman that had condemned her to such a fate in the wardrobe. Subconsciously, her every action to defy and disobey while seeking the freedom she yearned for. The freedom she knew she needed.

Letting out a soft laugh, Scarlett opened her eyes. Indeed her grandmother would not be happy that she was in her grove, but oh the peace and happiness she found while there. Suddenly, her blue eyes went wide and her breath caught in her throat. Across the grove she saw a silhouette and a pair of luminescent eyes that seemed to bore into her soul. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry as her heart hammered hard against her chest. Were her eyes deceiving her? Blinking rapidly, she shook her head slightly, dark tresses cascading over slim shoulders—a stark contrast to the red she donned. Looking again, she realized it was no mistake... there, across the way, was the dire wolf, the one from the tales she'd heard by the fireside at night.

Scarlett bit down on her lip, her tiny hands tugging on her red cape she wore. The great wolf spoke to her in growling tones, though she understood him perfectly. Hesitantly, she dared to take a step forward. He'd said he'd guided her there, had been watching. For how long, she wondered? She looked away, staring at the ground beneath her feet, her cheeks going red. "You guided me?" she stated more than asked, her expression thoughtful, her hands fidgeting a little. "Are... are you a dire wolf?" she then asked, her face inquisitive as she took another step forward, her cheeks burning a bit brighter. "I've heard tales, just I... I've never seen one," she admitted. "And I am honored," she said with a genuine, but nervous smile, curtsying as an afterthought.

Name: Robin Hood
Location: The hills of France
Tagging: No one

Robin Sighed as he picked up another empty trap. That would have normally have been okay, but these traps were sprung. Without animals in him. His stomach growled to remind him he hadn't eaten in 3 days. He had a plentiful supply of water from a brook he had been following along with hope. From his survival skills, Robin knew that a brook ran into a stream, a stream into a small river, a small river into a pond or bigger river. Once they got to that size he knew a town or a small village was near. It didn't matter anyway. Having foolishly given away all his money in Nottingham before running off, Robin was relying solely on his skills with a bow to survive.

He couldn't do that much longer though and he realized that. After picking up his empty traps, Robin hurried along the brook and smiled when he heard the sounds of faster currents. "Finally a bigger stream." He smiled as he came out of the woods and gasped. In front of him was a large river. Excited by this new find he ran up to look to the left and right of it to see if he could see any towns or villages. His smile grew even wider as he saw one off in the distance.

Running happily towards it as twilight approached. He entered the village. Finding an older gentleman, he went up and smiled before speaking to him. "Excusez-moi monsieur, mais quel est le nom de ce village?" He asked as the villager replied. "C'est Chansons-Du-Crépuscule" Robin smiled and thanked the man as he went and found an inn. Making a down payment with some of his last money. He would have to find work somewhere out in the village the next day. He was very resourceful. He had proven that many times over. Perhaps the townspeople needed saving from a monster, perhaps they needed food. Maybe he could open an archery school of some sorts. All that was for later though, at the moment Robin was extremely tired. Sighing and yawning, he washed and shaved his face before lying down on the bed. He fell asleep with a smile on his face as he thought of exciting new prospects that this new village would bring him.

Name: The Judge
Location: La Notre Dame, Central Paris, France
Tagging: Esmerelda

---

-Claude Frollo​

The halls of the Dame were chilly yet serene, soothing and safe in the most unnatural, terrifying way, as if the walls themselves were alive. The Dame stood vigilant, watching, whispering, waiting, as if her untold secrets held her stones in place just as much as the pewter, like earthen veins, running through her sculpted body; designed, like many a silent woman, in the image of a man's idea of perfection.

Candles flickered before the altar in rows like war-graves, granting the sacred halls the dim light of a smiling moon. By the center of the altar was the tall stone figure of a hooded man with a crown of iron, jagged spikes lashing out in every direction like a weapon, or a curse. Sprouting from his back, spread wide, were the wings of a crow and a dove, as if each pointed in a direction. Underneath, the arm by the crow-wing cradled a baby while the dove-wing raised a sword.

Those familiar with the faith, and the Judge, understood the altar's meaning. Whosoever came to pray at the altar was granted audience with either the crow or the dove. While the eye of the Judge was in many places, the faithful could serve as his eyes as well, and request his favor. All matters related to suffering and death were to be spoken of with the dove, an anonymous figure behind a metal grill - ethical and moral in every sense, a gentle soul. All matters related to the inverse would require an audience with the crow, a figure of bitterness and apathy, nihilism incarnate. Those who convince the dove or the crow are granted the Judge's attention, and might see their prayer come to fruition.

To Esmerelda, though, the altar would provide little comfort beyond the warmth of the altar-candles. The people of France may have laughed and gasped and bitten their lips in desire, but no Frenchman was willing to put his neck out for a gypsy, for the faith had deemed them impure. Who needed reason when you could instead trust in the bigotry of your idol?

"Beautiful, isn't it?" came a voice like the most unnatural of fine silks, soothing yet terrifying, deep, soft, yet with the serpentine round-about of a cobra poised to strike. "The crow and the dove. Convince one to consider the path of the other, and your intentions are shown. After all, move your enemy, your diametric opposite, to your cause, and who can doubt its worthiness?" he finished, stepping closer across the cold stone floor. "But, of course, you are not here for an audience. Just a cold, lost, beautiful soul seeking solace."

A pause, a devilish smirk barely visible in the flickering darkness.
The Dame's massive doors slammed shut with a loud, reverberating thud as guttural snarls echoed from every open passage, stone catacombs leading only deeper into the Cathedral.

"You have not come to the right place."

Name: Esmerelda
Location: Notre Dame, France
Tagging: Frollo/The Judge

---

As Esmerelda finished darting through the alleyways and finally entered into the Dame, her feet slowed down in speed. Bright blue eyes gazed around in a mix of awe and wonder. How long had it been since she'd seen this glorious building with her own orbs? When she couldn't immediately recall the answer, the gypsy knew it was something along the lines of too long ago to remember. It was a shame in that aspect. This had always been one of Paris's most famous buildings and yet so few people ever took the time to fully admire it. True, the more recent events had forbidden many to even try to do so. But before then? Ah well. Better late than never as the old saying went.

Her eyes had been glancing upon the two birds before the foreign voice spoke. A small but audible and very startled gasp echoed throughout the mostly empty room as she turned to see ... a man. Was he a priest? It almost seemed like he might be able to fit that role. And yet, there was a very uneasy feeling coming from him. Wasn't there? Or was it just her anxieties about having re-entered Paris in the first place trying to take over? Her head shook as a small smile managed to cross her face.

"It .. it is, yes. Very exquisite to be certain." Even as this man talked, he did seem to speak as if he were a priest. An unorthodox one, mind you, but still a holy man all the same. His words though ... where was he going with them? Surely, there was a point to them all. He seemed to be, if nothing else, a man with a purpose. So what was his?

As the man began to close the gap and advance towards her, that nerve-wracking sensation teased her once again. Why? Why did she not want him to get closer? She'd hardly known him and yet it felt as if they had met, be it recently or in a past lifetime. But there was definitely something about him that made one simple but powerful word echo loudly in her head.

Run!

And she wanted to, gods help Esmerelda, she truly wished to! But her ankles refused to tense, her feet denied her body the ability to move. Had he cast some sort of a spell on her? Given what she did - but more than that - didn't know about the man, it could be possible. At this rate, anything was.

Her head managed to move yet again from side to side as he continued to ... what was he trying to do? Comfort her? Predict her? Or was there another option she'd not yet considered? The word 'beautiful' dominated the other adjectives on her soul as the slightest tinges of crimson painted her cheeks. She had almost been ready to thank the man, for both the compliment and the ability to avoid freezing to death.

Finally, however, true colors were being displayed. Before she could find her voice, the doors slammed. All the doubts on the man had been sealed, possibly along with herself.

"I ... I'm sorry," she finally managed to reply, her feet shaking ever-so-slightly as she mustered the courage to move back away. "I had no intentions of causing trouble, truly. It's as you said though. I'm here to stay away from the cold and avoid freezing to death. I just ... "

That was all she could seem to find in herself to say aloud. That same desperate command echoed once again in her head, louder even this time.

Damnit, girl! Run!

But honestly ... where could she go? With her eyes finding only the direction of up, Esmerelda decided there was no other choice. Her legs and feet ached but she wouldn't dare stop. Not just yet anyways.

Turning on her heels, she ran and headed for the closest passage of stairs. The Dame had always been famous for the bell tower it possessed at the very top. Even if it was but another brief break from the man, it'd be enough, wouldn't it?

Yet, her mind inquired and mentioned a damn good point.

Even if you do arrive, what then?

It wouldn't be .. pleasant to think of falling to her demise. And it thus led to a change of direction as her feet shifted from going towards the stairs to aiming to look for the closest room to hide within. It wasn't much, but it was definitely a start. And she'd need as much of one as Esmerelda could get; that much was crystal clear.

Name: Belle
Location: Chansons-Du-Crépuscule
Tagging: No one at this time, but Robin is in the same village

---

“Did you hear…” A woman muttered softly to her companion. “Another murder, the fifth one in just a week…”

“Gruesome too, I heard.” Her gentleman friend responded in a dramatic whisper. There was a quiet murmur of ascent from the small gathering of people around one of the market stalls.

Belle pulled the faded, gray hood further over her face as her overly bright turquoise eyes darted about. Each whisper was another thorn worming its way under her skin, causing her to jump at shadows as she scurried through the small village. She had prayed that coming to the place filled with people would keep the beast at bay but it had, as she feared failed miserably. The monster still stalked her endlessly, massacring any who reached out to assist her.

The violent image of the farmer and his wife flashed through her memories; their broken, torn bodies on the scrubbed wooden floor of their tiny little farmhouse. They had been the first near Chansons-Du-Crepuscule to offer the wayward young woman help. A bitter cold had rolled over the hills and forests of France and Belle had stumbled into their farmyard with nothing but the clothes on her back stammering about a monster.

The kindly husband and wife took her in, gave her clean clothing, fed her and gave her a warm place to sleep through the night. The farmer’s compassionate wife even helped Belle cut her mangled chestnut hair. It had been ruined by running through the forests, tangled with twigs, mud and what looked suspiciously like blood. Belle had been sad to see her long locks chopped off but the woman did an excellent job, giving Belle a whole new look. Her brown hair now stood in soft spikes about her face. Belle had found herself relaxing in their gentle company, even smiling shyly at their incredible kindness.

The very next morning Belle awoke to find them, dead like so many before them. Like so many of the people in her own village. The wife was mercifully untouched, nothing more than a broken neck but the Beast had clearly taken its time with the farmer. His body meticulously quartered and torn, each limb (not so cleanly) separated from the body, the look of horror on his kind face evidence of how long he lived into the torturous event. After that the Beast had cracked his ribcage open as if he were a well done chicken and plucked the heart from the cavity just like all the victims before. There was blood splattered across the walls and kitchen, still a deep, wet red the sheer amount keeping it from drying before morning.

Belle had stared in a daze at the horrific scene, she no longer got sick upon seeing the gruesome kills Beast left but she could feel the sobs already clawing their way to the surface. Feeling a stab of guilt, she quickly gathered up what valuables she could. The couple had a meager savings they had hidden under the mattress which she stuffed into her dress before fleeing the property. She grew increasingly hysterical, finally sinking to her knees just inside one of the shaded alleyways of the village and letting the tears flow free. It was just too much to bear any longer, she occasionally wondered if she should stop running, simply let the Beast catch her but something always kept her moving and the Beast always followed.

It was several days later, and several murders later when Belle decided to flee the village before they too sought her head as her own people had. With so many murders it was likely Gaston would not be far behind her. He was almost as dogged as the Beast in hunting her and sometimes she wondered which was worse. Pulling the gray cloak tighter against the chilly wind, Belle slunk into the thick forest that met the edge of the village never realizing she was walking into the domain of another dangerous beast.

Name: Maleficent
Location: The Forest
Tagging: Pochahontas

---

The sleek form of a black furred fox, with a silver tipped tail, darted in and out of the underbrush of the forest with unnatural grace. Its golden eyes held far too much intelligence for the little creature to be a simple fox. It paused, one paw raised as its delicate pointed ears swivelled, catching the sound of a crying woman. If foxes could smile deviously, this one most certainly did as it continued trotting along. Maleficent of course could take on several different appearances as she so desired, and this one perfectly suited the task she had at hand. Her dark fur kept her completely hidden among the deep shadows of the brush as she approached the dark haired woman leaning against one of the mighty trees of the ancient forest.

She had been watching Pocahontas for quite some time, just as she watched so many others. Gently (or not so gently) prodding her pawns in the direction she required of them. Pocahontas was very nearly in the right place, but needed just a little bit of guidance. The young Native American woman was particularly attuned to nature so Maleficent had chosen the form of a fox, similar in personality and look to one of the girl’s dearest animal friends. She quietly slipped out from under the ferns and sat a few feet away from the girl, watching her silently as her large bushy tail flicked back and forth behind her slender form.
Maleficent made no move to get her attention, simply sat and observed her quietly. She had made an excellent choice with the Native American beauty. She would certainly stir things up quite nicely when thrown into the rapidly boiling pot that was France. Maleficent tilted her furry head, one ear flicking idly. The sorceress had sat back and watched as Pocahontas had avenged her people, repaying their suffering to those who caused with a sort of dedicated ruthlessness that Maleficent had admired. Still, she had a compassionate streak. The young princess could have caused much more drawn out suffering but had not and she could have taken out her vengeance out many more people. Either way the act had brought her out of the city and closer to Maleficent’s domain and now the witch was going to lead her straight into the fray that was about to break loose in the Forest.

Her tail gave an irritated twitch. ‘That aggravating place.’ She mused with a hint of annoyance. Fenrir was far too old for her to tangle with and win, instead she had played on his own inherent nature to secure another of her pawns. Scarlet was well in hand with the old wolf watching over her and she had seen Belle closing in on the same space. Seeing the Wolf spirit may be enough to finally drive the girl completely over the edge of sanity. It irked that she had promised to stay out his domain when she so dearly wanted to be involved in the fun but the results would still be the same and she did have her agents that were able to freely travel in and out. So long as she did not set foot into his territory herself, their agreement was maintained, lucky for her wolves were not one to think on the intricacies of the spoken word. As an almost equally old Fae, Maleficent had learned how powerful a spoken contract could be and had used that to ensure that Fenrir’s agreement would allow her agents passage through the Forest.

Finally tired of waiting for the sobbing girl to see her, the fox gave a small yip to announce her presence. She fixed her eerie golden stare on Pocahontas, waiting to see what she would do.

Name: Pocahontas
Location: The Forest
Tagging: Maleficent (Her fox technically but still), heading towards Scarlet & Fenrir

---

The lone Native American princess had been desperately doing in and everything in her power to think. She couldn't just stay put here, that much was obvious. But really, where could she go to? Was there even a location she could try to travel to and not risk being sought after? Few places were coming to her mind. She'd heard rumors that many places in France had gone from their more typical routines to a more chaotic form of life. So that was one she had been on the fence about for a while. In it's own ways, that could be a possibility for her. She might be able to somehow mingle in and keep herself hidden away. At the same time, the thought made her inwardly scoff. She stuck out so easily with her darker colored skin and everything. There was almost no way for her to stay concealed. Maybe a day or a few if she was lucky. But after that?

The sounds of something moving made her hands move away in time to see a fox. Her head tilted as she noticed the unique look the creature had to it, especially the fur. Was ... that normal? Not that she'd seen or known about. A copper hand raised to wipe away what tears remained as she slowly stood up. Even if it was only to study the fox more, Pocahontas definitely felt obliged to follow it. It was likely a reckless and foolish idea, she realized. But somewhere deep down inside, she just felt like she had to follow it. Hell, maybe this was the answer on what she should do? She had been looking for a sign of sorts and if this fox was it .. well ... it'd be more stupid to ignore the animal.

"Lead on .. " she finally spoke, barely in a whisper. As unique as the fur was, those eyes had ... a mesmerizing sort of look to them. It only seemed to strengthen the abrupt urge to follow the fox. But it finally began to dawn on Pocahontas of what may have been an even more honest reason for wanting to follow it. Usually, she could empathize with any beings of nature. Yet, she couldn't detect anything from it. That was bothering her and even slightly disturbing Pocahontas. She hadn't lost her touch, not to her knowledge. And even if she did, she would have definitely known about it. Divine punishment, regardless of who performed it, was always known about to the unfortunate receiver.

Thus in the princess's case, Pocahontas would have been told by ... whomever wound up trying to remove her abilities. In fact, the more she contemplated on that ever happening, the more it made a shiver trail down her spine. It was honestly a scary thought as the empathy had actually helped guide and even save her a few times.

Her head quickly shook from side to side, making a few raven bangs do so in the process, as her eyes remained on the fox, allowing it to lead her.

Where to and why ... well ... hopefully she would know or be able to find out soon.

---

Alice stood there staring at the endless expanse of water. The light glittered off the surface and made everything glitter like a gem. They had, had a steady wind and had made good time towards their destination and things had been relatively calm and easy going. "Calm..." she murmured as she continued to stare at something only she could see. The beauty that was spread before her meant nothing to her, her eyes were filled with cold indifference. "Much too calm..." she murmured again. A strong breeze blew across the deck lifting strands of her hair and tugging them along it's current. She didn't like the peace that had settled over the ship. To her, there was no such thing as peace. It was always a calm before a storm and it was the storm that she awaited. The storm that she anticipated and loved. The calm was just an annoyance. Alice gripped the railings on the side of the ship as it bobbed up and down on the waves taking her farther and farther from the bloody trail she'd left behind.

She heard a sound behind her an almost whispering sigh and she glanced over her shoulder to look at Cheshire who'd just appeared. "So, you finally showed up huh?" she said before turning to look back at the scenery.

"You look like you're about to murder everyone on this boat." she said with a mocking laugh. "It sounds like fun but I don't fancy being stranded out here on this ship. Please restrain yourself." she said leaning her back against the railing the trademark "cheshire" smile on her lips.

"I know." was all she said in response.

"Ooooh?" Cheshire queried.

Cheshire was a fairly tall and well proportioned woman with a full inviting mouth. Her eyes though, were hidden from view behind a veil she wore. It was impossible to get inside her head, tell what she was thinking, feeling or planning. Her voice was always a mocking laugh as if eternally teasing and making fun of everything and everyone around her. Sometimes though, Alice could feel the suffocatingly heavy gaze of the Cheshire cat on her. Even for Alice it was unnerving.

"It's too calm here. I don't like it."

"Ah, I know right? It's so boring. If you'd have restrained yourself we wouldn't have had to flee on this boat." she said turning her head in Alice's direction. "It was fun...." she said licking her lips and grinning wider. She could still see the blood running down her blades and the fire that roared around them as she sliced into person after person. The bodies had piled up so nicely and blood had been running in streams along the floor and sliding down the walls. She could still taste the slightly metallic taste of it as it had splattered across her lips. The carnage. The chaos. The madness.

"Fun...." Alice repeated as she recalled the memory herself. Her family cowering and crying. Pleading and begging. Apologizing profusely, groveling before her. The look of pure terror in their eyes brought a little smile to her lips. She'd killed them slowly. Painfully. Made them feel all the suffering she'd felt in that accursed Asylum. "Yes." she said smiling a little more.

Cheshire had destroyed the Asylum Alice had been trapped inside and Alice had destroyed the family who had dared lock her away in the first place. They'd made them all suffer. Every last one of them. They had fled and boarded this ship heading towards France. Their first destination. Neither one of them had a thing left in this world that tied them to life. No one holding them back. Nothing left to do, nothing but enjoy themselves.

They would be arriving at their destination soon.