Fairly Wicked Tales by Armand Rosamilia, Hal Bodner, Laura Snapp, Vekah McKeown, Gary W. Olsen, Eric Bakutis, Wilson Geiger, Eugenia Rose Page B
Authors: Armand Rosamilia, Hal Bodner, Laura Snapp, Vekah McKeown, Gary W. Olsen, Eric Bakutis, Wilson Geiger, Eugenia Rose
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be tried and executed with haste.
“I wish I could compel you,” she told him, “as I did last night. However, to become what my father and I are … you must choose of your own volition. That is how it works.”
She spoke truth, Armin realized. Otherwise, she would not have worked such an elaborate trick to bring him to this point. He could not guess if she had set up his fateful night with Heidi, or if she had been at his house with another plan in mind, and had simply taken advantage of circumstances. Not that it mattered. She had laid the choice before him, after weighting consequences in her favor.
“Sweetheart, the dream is almost over,” she whispered. “Choose.”
Staring into her eyes, Armin thought about his death. He thought of his neck snapping on the gallows. He tried to picture heaven, though it was hard with Viveka filling his sight. He tried to think of hell, and had the same problem.
He thought of how easy tearing Heidi apart had been. He thought of her flavor, raw and later cooked. He thought of the taste of his bride, still in his mouth that morning.
Considered so, he had no choice at all.
The dream ended.
***
He knew he was back in his house the moment he opened his eyes. He recognized the pattern of the thatch above him. At his left was his front door, now repaired and bolted, along with new wood shutters over the windows. At his right …
“There you are,” said Grete, as she stirred the kettle. “Thought you’d sleep all night.”
Armin tried to move, and realized two things. One, he was tied to a table, his wrists, ankles, neck, and waist firmly held still. Two, he was naked.
“Grete …” he said, and found his voice weak and thin. “What … what has been done … ”
The crone ignored him, and continued tending the kettle. Armin realized she was still entranced, as he had been. Close by, in the repaired cage, Judda the parrot watched them both.
“So good, so good, thou handsome groom,” Judda softly called, “your will is done, now sealed your doom.”
The bird met his horrified stare, as if in challenge, and then looked up. Armin realized there was someone else in the room.
“Well, then,” said a rough voice, “maybe parrots are capable of prophecy—at least, as Grete defines it. Viveka only had to say that once.”
Brandt leaned into Armin’s field of vision. His grin betrayed hunger.
“You and your crew were tried and hanged,” he said. “At least, Resau will remember it as such, should they ever wonder about you at all.”
The miller appeared briefly sad.
“How were we so wrong about you, Armin?” he asked.
Armin didn’t know how to answer him. All he knew was, on the cusp of the choice, he could not say yes to Viveka. No matter his gain, or what it would cost him to turn it down.
“She … left her taste in my mouth,” he finally rasped. “I liked it… and hated that I liked it.” It was all the explanation he had.
Brandt said nothing to this. He glanced up as the door opened.
“Here we are,” said Viveka. “Softly, now. I know you’re hungry …”
Young Otto was with her. He was shirtless, his black hair disheveled, and his brown eyes wide. An axe was in his hand, blade raised.
“Hello, my love,” said Viveka. “I assume father has already told you about how you, Eberhard, and Otto died.”
“What have you done with Otto?” Armin asked, his eyes never leaving the axe blade. Otto hefted it and grinned.
“After we finished last night,” said Viveka, “while you and Eberhard slept and Grete removed most of what remained of Heidi, I drew young Otto down to your cellar, bound him, and left Grete with orders to keep him concealed.”
She joined Brandt and Otto at the table. Though her features didn’t change, she somehow seemed older to Armin, as if the mask of a girl was only something she wore for the sake of keeping the outside world unaware.
“He was to be my father’s last meal,” she went on. “The following
“I wish I could compel you,” she told him, “as I did last night. However, to become what my father and I are … you must choose of your own volition. That is how it works.”
She spoke truth, Armin realized. Otherwise, she would not have worked such an elaborate trick to bring him to this point. He could not guess if she had set up his fateful night with Heidi, or if she had been at his house with another plan in mind, and had simply taken advantage of circumstances. Not that it mattered. She had laid the choice before him, after weighting consequences in her favor.
“Sweetheart, the dream is almost over,” she whispered. “Choose.”
Staring into her eyes, Armin thought about his death. He thought of his neck snapping on the gallows. He tried to picture heaven, though it was hard with Viveka filling his sight. He tried to think of hell, and had the same problem.
He thought of how easy tearing Heidi apart had been. He thought of her flavor, raw and later cooked. He thought of the taste of his bride, still in his mouth that morning.
Considered so, he had no choice at all.
The dream ended.
***
He knew he was back in his house the moment he opened his eyes. He recognized the pattern of the thatch above him. At his left was his front door, now repaired and bolted, along with new wood shutters over the windows. At his right …
“There you are,” said Grete, as she stirred the kettle. “Thought you’d sleep all night.”
Armin tried to move, and realized two things. One, he was tied to a table, his wrists, ankles, neck, and waist firmly held still. Two, he was naked.
“Grete …” he said, and found his voice weak and thin. “What … what has been done … ”
The crone ignored him, and continued tending the kettle. Armin realized she was still entranced, as he had been. Close by, in the repaired cage, Judda the parrot watched them both.
“So good, so good, thou handsome groom,” Judda softly called, “your will is done, now sealed your doom.”
The bird met his horrified stare, as if in challenge, and then looked up. Armin realized there was someone else in the room.
“Well, then,” said a rough voice, “maybe parrots are capable of prophecy—at least, as Grete defines it. Viveka only had to say that once.”
Brandt leaned into Armin’s field of vision. His grin betrayed hunger.
“You and your crew were tried and hanged,” he said. “At least, Resau will remember it as such, should they ever wonder about you at all.”
The miller appeared briefly sad.
“How were we so wrong about you, Armin?” he asked.
Armin didn’t know how to answer him. All he knew was, on the cusp of the choice, he could not say yes to Viveka. No matter his gain, or what it would cost him to turn it down.
“She … left her taste in my mouth,” he finally rasped. “I liked it… and hated that I liked it.” It was all the explanation he had.
Brandt said nothing to this. He glanced up as the door opened.
“Here we are,” said Viveka. “Softly, now. I know you’re hungry …”
Young Otto was with her. He was shirtless, his black hair disheveled, and his brown eyes wide. An axe was in his hand, blade raised.
“Hello, my love,” said Viveka. “I assume father has already told you about how you, Eberhard, and Otto died.”
“What have you done with Otto?” Armin asked, his eyes never leaving the axe blade. Otto hefted it and grinned.
“After we finished last night,” said Viveka, “while you and Eberhard slept and Grete removed most of what remained of Heidi, I drew young Otto down to your cellar, bound him, and left Grete with orders to keep him concealed.”
She joined Brandt and Otto at the table. Though her features didn’t change, she somehow seemed older to Armin, as if the mask of a girl was only something she wore for the sake of keeping the outside world unaware.
“He was to be my father’s last meal,” she went on. “The following
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