Paper Made Man

The smell of popcorn and fried foods found him first, followed quickly by the sound of laughter and shrieks. Avery hadn’t been intending to head to the local fair today, he’d forgotten all about it but there was something so alluring about the greasy food and attractions that he found his day’s plan changing drastically. He loved fairs and carnivals, though they were few and far between in his city. It was difficult for them to travel here but they offered a welcome distraction whenever they could make it.


Avery bought a small bag of popcorn for himself almost as soon as he walked in, the oil on his fingers and taste of butter on his tongue waking a memory he’d never forget. He’d been six when the first fair had come to the city and he’d almost not been able to go. It was on the very last day when his cold had let up enough that his father agreed to take him for just a few hours. They’d shared a bag of popcorn and walked through almost every tent together. After a lunch of something fried that was mostly delicious in theory rather than execution they’d been separated by Avery’s wandering feet.


He’d hopped off the picnic bench his father had left him at and made his way into a small tent that they’d somehow missed beforehand. It was lit mostly by little strings of fairy lights and a couple of candles, the fabric so dark it looked a little like the night sky. Sitting in the middle of it all was a table and a veiled figure. Their face was too obscured for Avery to really see it and for a moment he was afraid of the stranger, glancing back to see if he could find his father through the tent flap.


“Come closer little one, and I’ll tell you your future.”

Hunter, My Hunter

“Follow him. Don’t come back until you bring me his heart.”


The queen had never looked so out of sorts. Wisps of hair were plastered to her face, sweat still beading at her forehead. Her bony knuckles were white as she thrust a wooden box at the hunter who stood before her. The filagree left an impression against her palm as it was pried from her hands, small key left within the lock. It was a good sturdy wood, stained a rich brown, the velvet red lining vibrant within. The hunter could feel the smooth finish of the varnish beneath his fingers, feel the weight of the box against his hip as he tucked it away in his pouch.


“Your majesty-”


“Bring me his heart. You cannot return here without it. Go just before dawn, he’ll never suspect.” Her death grip turned itself to his arm, nails biting flesh as she pulled him closer with a strength no one would suspect. Fear was etched into every line upon her face, stealing her beauty away, replaced by a nearly unrecognizable mask. Though the hunter’s face remained smooth he felt her fear at his core, pulse racing as she pressed upon him the impossible task.


“Your majesty, I cannot kill the prince.”