The Lonely Ones

Chapter Sixteen: A Mother's Contempt

Mortals tell tales of the evergreen Grim Woods, of flowers that bloom in the midst of winter and warm ponds in the dead of snowy nights. But those tales are weaved by those looking at the surface. They peer into the woods or are set free from a bored fae's grasp and speak of the sliver of the forest their dull eyes see, minds too feeble to comprehend. Just as the kings of their world assume the Grim Woods are only what they see on their maps. Ignorant creatures, aren't they?

The Grim Woods are so much more.

Wren approaches a tree tickling the sky. Its roots are thicker than a house, distorted and ancient. The leaves shimmer silver beneath the sun, a stark contrast against black bark. A path leads through the center of the tree that's shaped to cover it. The closer one gets, the colder it becomes. Snowflakes flutter in the breeze, then melt on the path, creating small puddles that freeze beneath Wren's steps.

He follows the long path beneath the tree, grinning at the blinding white light at the end of the tunnel. When he breaches, summer is left far behind. Winter is here. Snow crunches beneath his feet. Mountain peaks sharper than the finest sword disappear in pearlescent skies. Glaciers shimmering blue breach the surface, pointed, crooked and towering above. Thin white trees stand tall, stretching across glittering hills. Ice and pale leaves from white to silver to blue decorate their branches.

Wren holds out his arms. The trees lean towards him, welcoming their prince. Their leaves brush his fingertips and the sky darkens as snow falls.

"I've returned," he calls to the wind, the snow, the ice, and everything cold. This power is not like what he felt in summer, for this is his domain. Everything is his to command, and he does so with a flourish of his hand, sending a wall of ice through the trees that arcs into the sky.

Wren giggles like a child with a new toy. He slides across the snow faster and faster, callous towards any fae unlucky enough to be in his path. One or two may have gotten a little maimed, but he certainly didn't care. Especially not when his castle comes into view, a fierce wonder of ice and stone perched between two mountains. From a distance, the sun reflects off it like a star. Up close, it's a weapon of sharp peaks threatening to impale any that grow near. In a burst of wind, Wren ascends, marveling at the tiered stone floors brandished with snow and ice. He drops on a veranda overlooking his lands.

"Your Highness, what a surprise to see you," an all too familiar voice remarks, sounding bored.

"Not going to welcome me back?" Wren asks, facing neither friend nor foe; Dust Everglow.

Dust looms over most, long-limbed and thin. Pale violet hair rests on his shoulder, braided and reaching his hip. He steps forward. Gray eyes crinkle from a polite smile. "Why would I do that? I've rather enjoyed your time away. There has been more fun than trouble."

"One cannot have fun without courting trouble."

"And yet here I am." Dust holds out his hands. "Never having reaped repercussions such as yours."

"Because you lack creativity."

"Or stupidity."

Wren clicks his tongue.

Walking inside, he admires the home he hadn't seen in so long he fears he has forgotten his way. The narrow halls arch to a peak. Stairs spiral to floors below, narrow and steep. Frost goblins and snow nymphs stutter and bow in his presence. One too slow or foolish doesn't and gets a frozen limb or two.

"Should I clear out the castle as you relieve your boredom? While I'm all for heinous fun, I'd rather not search for new rats to clean the halls," Dust declares, following Wren to his bedroom.