#grimmer.start

" I DON'T KNOW WHAT EVERYONE IS SO FUSSY ABOUT , " dorothy voiced , but the words were spoken between shallow and bitter breaths , having just teetered off the stage from a particularly grim performance ( the town's happenings had left little room for pallet - soothing whimsy , but perhaps her audience could have done without her celebratory merriment about the witch's fate ) . taking the scarlet fingertip of a stain glove between her teeth , dorothy tugged the costume piece off her tawny limb before discarding it behind her on the bar top .

" ─── anyone in their right state of mind would be relieved . feel , , , safer . " it were almost as if dorothy were self soothing ( as if she were one to talk about what defined a ' right state of mind ' ) , shifting her bite to show her opposing glove the same attentions she had gifted the first . then , swirling on the stool so she was facing bar side , dorothy collected her thick , loose hair and pulled it over her shoulder , beginning to anxiously thread it into a loose plait , only to run her fingers through it and start over .

over . and over . and over again .

her eyes find the occupant of the seat next to her , eyes like that of a sleepy pup's as painted lashes framed droopy lids . she was so tired , their features blurring , a yawn burning her throat that she didn't let surface .

" i think we should give whoever did it a proper thanking . "

in  a  few  hours,  fables  from  each  parcel  of  their  sequestered  town  will  march  their  inexorable  way  to  the  woodland  in  the  opaque  night,  beneath  the  cool  balm  of  stars.  the  sun  will  slope  beneath  the  horizon—the  world  aflame,  then  put  out  as  if  drowned—and  the  shoulders  of  the  sky  will  falter,  will  capitulate  to  the  black  sails  of  darkness.  the  day’s  light,  extinguished  in  but  a  short  breath,  a  short-lived  exhalation  of  time.

natural  occurrences  still  startle  lancelot,  but  he  supposes  it  is  to  be  expected,  even  excused:  after  all,  he  was  only  recently  roused  from  an  interminable  stupor.  hanging  from  a  tree  for  the  better  part  of  four  centuries  will  do  that  to  you,  king  cole  had  said.  the  symbol  of  death  marks  him  still;  no  signet  of  valiance  or  virtue  or  the  life  he  paraded  and  prided  himself  in  when  camelot  still  stood  tall  and  unfallen.  no  fate  could  be  so  final  and  so  essentially  pathetic.  nothing,  not  even  the  glory  of  a  name,  could  absolutely  survive  death.

this  world,  this  mundane  world,  had  prevailed  and  thrived  long  before  the  fables  arrived.  it  will  continue  to  do  so  long  after  they  are  gone.  one  way  or  another,  he  thinks.  how  long  before  their  magic  is  depleted?  before  the  cardinal  bond  between  birthplace  and  creation  is  severed  completely?  until  no  one  who  has  entered  the  heart  of  their  collective  tale  can  remember  it,  can  pass  it  on?

for  now,  he  waits,  a  sombre  sentry  hemmed  in  between  the  open  arms  and  the  lucky  pawn.  the  fleet  of  footsteps  draws  neither  his  eye  nor  his  ear,  but  he  inclines  his  head  nonetheless.  “for  how  long  do  you  think  we’ll  remain  hidden?  another  decade?  another  century?  tomorrow,  perhaps,  we’ll  wake  to  the  mundane  authority  storming  our  homes.”

open at the business office.

the  bookstore  smells  like  paper  and  pipe  tobacco,  the  latter  only  faintly  —  the  scent  lingering  in  the  spines  of  the  ancient  volumes  belin  works  to  restore.  outside,  fabletown  moves  like  a  body  in  mourning,  slow  and  careful  in  its  limbs,  as  though  too  loud  a  step  might  provoke  whatever  darkness  had  ascended  on  the  town  in  the  earlier  weeks.  belin  is  cataloguing  first  editions  next  to  a  candle,  although  the  power  works  just  fine.  it's  the  ambiance  she  prefers:  the  flickering  kind,  golden  and  secretive  and  casting  shadows  among  the  shelves. 

as  the  bell  above  the  door  sings  out,  her  hand  pauses  over  a  worn  anthology  —  fairy  tales,  naturally,  though  most  of  those  inscribed  in  the  tome  are  too  worn  or  foreign  to  be  marketable  anymore.  “be  mindful  where  you  step,”  her  voice  calls  out  softly,  her  attention  still  focused  on  the  manuscript  in  her  hands.  “i've  just  received  a  new  shipment  and  haven't  had  a  moment  to  unpack  them  yet.”  head  absentmindedly  nods  towards  the  packed  boxes  lingering  near  the  front  of  the  store,  cardboard  scuffed  and  stamped  with  the  sigil  of  the  local  courier.  she  tucks  a  lock  of  stray  hair  behind  her  ear  as  her  gaze  finally  rises,  sweeping  the  door  frame  with  a  patient  kind  of  weight.  her  blouse  is  unbuttoned  at  the  collar,  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  elbow;  she  does  not  mourn  in  black,  but  rather  muted  tones  of  bruised  violets  and  dried  wine.  “can  i  help  you  find  anything  ?” 

This was one event that Vasilisa would never understand. Today had never felt like a day of celebration to her, how could it when in the end the adversary had decisively won. Why revel in their hasty retreat to land where they had to conceal all that they were. Still she would make an appearance, more out of obligation than anything else. 

It wasn’t long before she slinked away to an empty balcony for a bit of fresh air and a quick smoke. Vasilisa didn’t partake of the vice often, it was dependent on her mood and the melancholiness she felt now called for it. Smoke curled into the night air as she took a drag. The smell reminded her of her father, long gone by now. He had a pipe he would smoke and would let her take hits when no one was watching. Old memories absorbed her as she leaned against the railing staring out into the night. The sound of footsteps behind her startled her out of it. “Shit.” She muttered under her breath as she snubbed out the cigarette. Vasilisa typically didn’t like for people to see her smoke, a stupid insecurity about maintaining an image of herself. “Didn’t expect anyone else to come out here. Probably should have since it’s not a bad place to escape the party.”

" you've heard of frau trude's passing ?? " though the real question was — who hadn't ?? news of the witch's passing ringing like church bells throughout fabletown , whispers of it occupying every corner ( no matter how dark ) of the town , probing the sound barrier with a most stubborn persistence . a refusal to go UNACKNOWLEDGED . those bells struck a familiar chord within the princess , who sat on the opposing side of the park bench occupied by her fellow fable . a gold-spun lock of hair is twisted around the tip of a manicured finger , petal lips pressed into an empathetic frown .

" i'm sure the town will see to it that the rest of us are spared such a fate , " briar had already bested death once — it wasn't something she were wishing to have to face again . lifting one of the wildflowers she had procured from the edge of the woods during one of daily her walks through the park , she offers the fresh flora to them .

" here . i do hope it will lift your spirits . "

DOROTHY SAW THE WORLD IN FRACTALS , crafted of imagery based in her imagination as well as the semblance of reality the rest of the world seemed to claim . the impending summer wind was thick with condensation , a blooming fog awaiting a downpour to wash it away , and the evening breeze feathered across her cheeks as she stood on the side of the road with her palms gripping the handlebars of her baby blue bike . worn and aged tassels protruded from their grips , flittering strands of ribbon flicking against her wrists . dorothy was staring at something , beady eyes narrowed into thin , concentrated slits . something was across the road . something .

someone ??

her breaths quickened , sternum blooming with each shallow intake of air , jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ground together . the muscles beneath tawny skin twitched , not even a wisp of brown hair ( fallen free from a loose braided plait ) striking her eye enough to deter her leveled glare . a shadow shifted at her feet , however , managed to catch her attention . she looked around , desperate to find its owner ; " you shouldn't creep up on people like that !! " she reprimanded the unknown . her bike was drawn closer to her , grip turning knuckle white as she held on for dear life , straightening her spine and lifting her chin . " you'll frighten them . and there's a curfew , you know !! " her voice shook , looking around , and despite being aware of the rules herself , she didn't move . she spoke smaller then , with timid crack to her words ;

" you ought to get home . "

─── REMEMBERING . oh , how dorothy l o a t h e d to remember !!

dreadful fantasy and grisly delusions plagued the girl's mind , often splintering the world into fractals of strange peculiarity she could never make sense of . the sidewalk she traipsed down to get to tonight's festivities might as well have been the ebbing waves of an ocean as it seemed to roll beneath her feet ( not that the midwestern girl had ever seen one ) , the wind carrying the echo of a most harrowing laugh who's timbre was all but unfamiliar . that dreadful glinda's , she thought .

dorothy hoped that wicked WITCH wouldn't show her face this eve .

the girl lingered by a concessions table , brandishing an empty cup , brows coming to a furrow as she investigates the surplus of options . which had been poisoned ?? had any ?? she leaned over , pressing onto the balls of her glittering red shoes , though as her face just barely crossed over the threshold of the bowl , a reflection of the most horrifying nature looked back at her . dorothy jumped , launched back in fright , right into the chest of someone else . with a yip that'd put toto's to shame , dorothy spun , horror painted across her features as she clutched her empty cup to her quick beating pulse .

" oh !! " she gasped , looking up at them . an anxious , bashful laugh sounded like wind chimes in a slow-brewing storm as she shrunk into herself . " sorry — i thought i , , , saw something in that bowl . here , " she steps aside , lifting a hand from her empty glass to gesture vaguely towards the assortment of bowled beverages . " you go ahead , i'm not thirsty . "

an 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for 𝘋𝘖𝘙𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘠 𝘎𝘈𝘓𝘌 set at the remembrance day festivities . 3 / 3 replies !!