Winter made his way out of the main building of mazes… eventually. And in the nick of time since he was about to have a heat stroke in this heavy coat. Once he found the grand doors leading to freedom, he sighed in relief.

I searched for almost an hour!

When he left his room, it had just turned 3:00 P.M.

Then he passed a cobweb-covered grandfather clock in a hallway not long ago. It was nearing 4:00.

The prince still couldn’t grasp why it was empty except for that nude creature. Given the time, it should be bustling to prepare for the evening. 

Are there any servants, though? This place is creepy.

It was like he had stepped into a haunted mansion straight out of the scary books he would “borrow” from the library. 

Winter felt watched. His backside itched from the gaze of something. A marble-sculptured man with a sword plunging into his chest made him grimace. The tragic paintings of war and death made him uneasy. The scenes of decapitated heads and blood in them became more gruesome. 

One was out of place—a skeleton holding a red apple. 

He thought he heard whispers yet nothing was there. At one point, he had to carry a candlelit torch because some corridors lacked windows. Without a light, it was pitch black. 

When the eerie howl rang through the air again, it was louder and closer. Feeling confident that this was the way, he kept going and eyeing the dark surroundings warily.

And those doors—those beautiful domed doors with a rustic brown finish and iron bars—appeared. Winter almost dropped the torch as he hurried to pull them open by the thick, metal hoop, also made of iron. Interesting actually, since this metal was a fae’s weakness. Perhaps the saying was false?

When Winter opened the heavy doors, the light reflecting off the snow blinded him. His eyes ached as they tried to adjust. It took a bit before being able to open them, albeit squinting. He raised his arm above his head to see better.

It was a courtyard with a water well and… a garden? Or what used to be a garden. Like the plants inside, they were all dead and neglected. The limp flowers were brown and colorless. Tall trees that must’ve taken hundreds of years to grow were bare, gray, and brittle-looking. Dead. How the castle was “taken care of” was the complete opposite of the Queen who was obsessed with upkeep and maintaining its beauty.

Beauty, beauty, beauty. It was all she ever talked about.

“Damn it,” Winter cursed. 

The path was cleared before since the white pile on the sides was higher, but the recent snowfall in the morning had already covered it. He treaded carefully not to get snow in his shoes. Each step made a loud CRUNCH sound.

Winter observed the downcast sky. It wasn’t snowing anymore. In fact, the temperature was much warmer than when he was on the balcony. If it became any warmer, he wouldn’t need the elven coat anymore. The dead of winter had become early spring.

By the time he reached the end of the courtyard, the CRUNCH had become SLOSH under his feet. Walking was more challenging, trying not to splash cold water up his ankles. The gatehouse was in sight where there should be a guard to oversee the portcullis, or grilled gate that is opened vertically. The snow had melted here, but the tan grassy area was flooded.

There was no guard there, either! The portcullis was wide open, allowing anyone to enter or leave. 

“Where is everyone?” Winter asked himself in disbelief, thinking he had actually hallucinated the white-haired elf, the servant, and that thing with the bucket. 

Is this just all a dream? Did I trip and hit my head while picking apples from the dwarves’ orchard?

Tiptoeing through, he peeked on the other side. As expected, the area was another courtyard, but narrower and enclosed by a bricked structure—the curtain wall which protected the castle’s interior. But it was so rickety, just one touch would topple the entire thing.

Winter didn’t see the outer gatehouse with the main door that led to the outer grounds and into the city. In fact, there were no towers either. Just this wall that never ended, extending forever. 

He faced the left. Then he faced the right. Which way?

Well, let’s try the right an—

“Why is he going that way?” a tiny voice said.

Winter paused, wondering where it came from. 

“Poor things gonna die if he goes right.”

“Hello?” Winter called out to the mystery voice. “Why will I die?”

There was a brief silence. “You… you can hear me?”

“Uh, yes? Where are you?”

“Turn around so you can see me better. I’m very tiny, you know.”

‘Tiny?’

He scanned the portcullis and swore there was no one earlier. How could he have missed them?

“Down here.”

Slowly, he looked down, not sure what he was trying to see. But when he moved closer, he saw a little movement. There was a crack between the bricks. In between the crack was a… door? It was smaller than his pinky finger.

On the ledge in front of the minuscule door was a fuzzy black-and-white-stripped spider. Not the horrid-looking barn spiders with lanky legs longer than his hand. It was just the right size not to be scared even if one had a fear of arachnids. If anything, it was kinda cute.

Its four front eyes were wide and round, giving it an innocent appearance. 

“Can you really understand me?” it said and tilted its head.

“I can.” Winter squatted to get its level. 

A lot of things changed after the incident of glass cutting his eye—improving health, sensing the “evil” in a soul, and…

Communicating with animals. Though, it was a fickle ability. Sometimes it worked well such as now and they can exchange a short conversation verbally. Sometimes it was merely him talking, but the creature could understand his words. And sometimes, they couldn’t comprehend each other at all like how it should be.

It took a while for him to conclude that it likely depended on the beast’s intelligence or will to correspond.

This bug seems smart.

“Why can’t I go right?” Winter repeated.

“You’ll die a horrible death,” the spider said in a cheery tone.

“And if I go left?” 

“You’ll die a less horrible death.”

“What’s the less horrible way?”

The spider scratched its head with a teeny paw. “The soldiers and servants will be returning from the Witching Hour anytime soon. They’ll come from the left.”

“What? But it’s during the day.”

The Witching Hour, or Dead Hour as some referred it to, was between 3:00 to 4:00 A.M., when demons, supernatural creatures, fae, and spirits were their strongest. Humans avoided walking around at night for fear of coming across one.

“Don’t you know, human?” It laughed. “Your realm’s time is the opposite of here. It’s morning there but afternoon for us. Everyone has been going to the lake to attempt to cross into Midgard to escape. With My Lord temporarily gone, the fae abandon their duties during this hour. But they’ll have to stop trying once he returns.”

Midgard. That’s Norse for Earth, my realm. 

“Why the lake?”

“Like a mirror, it has a reflection. And with mirrors banned in Myrkrheim, it is the closest thing to it. If you have a mirror or something similar, you can cross realms.”

Winter recalled the elf losing his temper when seeing the mirror in his room. “I thought souls could get lost in a mirror.”

“Of course! Of course! Mirrors are doors to Myrkrheim and vice versa. When you enter that door, it is quite easy to lose your way forever.” The spider snickered like it told a funny joke. “Forever and ever, forever and ever, forever and ever…”

As it sang and did a dance, Winter felt a pull in his heart. He had to go or at least that was what he sensed. The pull wanted him to go outside, beyond the castle.

“So do you recommend I go left?” Winter inquired, disrupting the spider’s performance.

It stopped. “I do! I do! It will be much easier to deal with those fae. All you need to do is remember—be wary of their tricks, do not give them your true name, and that they’re weak to iron.”

“Even though the bars on the doors and other things I’ve seen in the castle are made of iron?”

The spider didn’t answer. It was dancing, waving its arms in the air in some sort of mating ritual. Perhaps their communication had faded. It happened often if one side became distracted. 

Winter stood and walked left in the snow, hoping anything he came across wouldn’t attempt to kill him. 

When the mortal was out of sight, the small bug who lived in the inner wall of the cursed castle realized his friend was gone.

“Did it not like my dance?” The spider shrugged. “At least he didn’t go right. That would’ve led him straight to King Taerynn’s residence. Don’t wanna bother him, do we? A certain, horrible death, indeed.”