From the moment I finished Caged Tales and Hidden Effects, I turned my attention to the final exclusive story for my patrons, a fantasy tale. When I first pulled the result, I knew I wanted to blur this tale with a fairy tale so I could explore my Puck inspired character, Gaius. Yet I didn’t know what kind of story I would create, so I reached for my story cubes and gave them a toss. The three pictures that spoke to me for this tale were the mug of ale (my assumption of what filled it), a hooded individual (I assumed a woman), and a toad. Unfortunately, the combination still refused to help my imagination, so I tossed everything into ChatGPT and received a seed that helped create a wonderful idea I could develop.
There are places in the world where the veil between realms grows thin, a place where the rules of nature change. Where words can carry more strength than steel. In the heart of such a place, we find a forest, basking in the glow of moonlight. We discover a solitary figure stepping into a glade where choices carve destiny, letting the consequences echo. In this story, I’ve woven a typical fairy tale into the architecture of a fantasy, threading the needle between a cautionary tale and a whispered legend. At its core, this tale is about the choices you make, and the prices we’re willing to accept.
What unfolds is a subdued invocation, a meeting not born of fate, but summoned by need. It’s a story that leaves you listening to the wind a little more closely. Settle in and start the journey through the eyes of its trespasser.
Burdened by a fear of loss, Taryn enters a mystical forest, hoping to strike a deal to help her brother, but will she accept the cost…
The moon hung low over the forest’s canopy, its light bleeding through the cracks, gilding the moss-covered undergrowth with a silver hue. When Taryn reached the final stone marker, her hood fell back as she flinched. Her journey began with confidence. She’d left with purpose, with conviction. Yet now, as the trip neared its end, the once brave woman faltered. Clutching a sprig of rowan to her chest, she wondered if she could pay the price for her request.
When she reached the small glade, she pulled her cloak tight as she crept toward the neighboring creek. She leaned over the water, ignoring her reflection, and closed her eyes. “Three times turned, seven words said.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. She straightened her back, lifted the sprig overhead, and raised her voice as she twirled about. “Let the wild one lift his head.”
She repeated the process twice more.
A high, lilting, and slightly wrong laugh bubbled through the trees. Then, a flicker of movement distracted her as a figure crouched atop a fallen tree, legs bent like a cricket’s, its hair astray, reminding Taryn more of wild grass rather than hair or fur. The creature grinned wide enough to show teeth like pine needles.
He rose from the trunk and began rotating, while hanging in midair. “You’ve called me out, oh clever miss. I wonder, do you seek a kiss? Or coin, or charm, or secret dire? Speak now, before I lose my fire.”
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