Fables of the Gods: The Knight of Misrule

Chapter •6• ~ Pinocchio

It was the night before, and the moon hung low over the kingdom of Dracontine, casting long, eerie shadows across the cobbled streets. The air was thick with an unsettling silence, the kind that made even the bravest of souls uneasy. Somewhere, in the distance, a faint wind rustled the dying leaves, and the faint creak of an old sign echoed down the deserted alleyways.

A hooded figure slipped through the darkness like a shadow, their footsteps silent, barely a whisper against the cold stone. The figure moved with purpose, eyes glinting from beneath the heavy cloak, scanning the empty streets with a predator’s patience. Their breath fogged in the air, slow and steady, as they searched. They were hunting.

At last, the figure’s gaze settled on a small house at the edge of the street. It was an unassuming place, the kind that blended into the background, but in the dim light, something caught their eye—a single, weathered toy sitting on the windowsill. A child’s toy. A twisted smile curled beneath the hood.

This was the place.

Without a sound, the figure moved toward the house, the darkness almost bending around them as if it sought to shield their presence. They approached the door but did not knock. Instead, they placed a gloved hand against the lock, and with a barely audible click, the door swung open as if it had welcomed the intruder inside.

The figure stepped in, careful to close the door behind them. The warmth of the house did nothing to chase away the cold that seemed to follow in their wake. The shadows inside the home flickered unnaturally, stretching and contorting along the walls as the figure crept through the narrow hallway. The silence was palpable, heavy with the kind of dread that clings to the air before something terrible happens.

They moved toward the back of the house, to a small bedroom where the faintest sound of breathing could be heard—a child, fast asleep, oblivious to the danger now looming over them. The figure paused at the doorway, their dark eyes scanning the room. Moonlight slanted through the thin curtains, casting a pale glow over the innocent scene. A small bed, a few scattered toys, and a tiny figure curled under a blanket, their chest rising and falling peacefully.

The figure entered the room, their presence oppressive, like the weight of a nightmare pressing down on everything. They moved closer to the bed, footsteps so light they made no sound against the wooden floor. Standing over the child, the hooded figure’s lips twisted into a smile—a grotesque, malicious grin that barely concealed the dark intent behind it.

"Come, child," the figure whispered, their voice like the hiss of wind through dead branches. The words were soft but venomous, dripping with something unnatural. "Would you like some toys?"

The child stirred, their small body shifting beneath the blanket as if sensing the wrongness in the room. Eyes fluttered open, groggy at first, then widening in pure terror as they focused on the shadowy figure looming above. The child’s breath caught in their throat, a scream bubbling up, but before they could make a sound, the figure moved.

Fast. Too fast.

With inhuman swiftness, the figure’s hand shot out, clamping over the child’s mouth, silencing them instantly. The child’s wide, terrified eyes stared up into the hood, where the faintest glimpse of glowing eyes could be seen—cold, unfeeling, and hungry.

The figure leaned in closer, their breath cold against the child’s face. "No need to be afraid, little one." The voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a weight of unspeakable darkness. "I’ve come for you. There’s no escape."

The child thrashed, tiny hands beating against the figure’s cloak, but it was useless. The figure tightened their grip, effortlessly lifting the child from the bed, blanket and all. The room remained unnaturally still, the only sound the ragged breathing of the terrified child muffled by the figure’s hand.