Chapter Text
If this fairy tale were to begin - as fairy tales often did - it would begin as this:
Once upon a time, a child was born amid a storm, in a small little cottage that sat at the edge of a forest.
His cries did very little to drown out the noise of the torrid storm and harsh winds that thrashed against the walls and windows of the cottage. Yet, to the child’s parents, his cries were the only sound they can hear. To them, it was a sound blessed from Heaven above.
“Yuuri,” the mother - Hiroko - told the midwife when she was asked for a name. There were tears at the corners of Hiroko’s eyes that her husband Toshiya gently wiped away with the edge of his thumb. “His name is Yuuri.”
The child was wiped clean with a warm cloth, then swaddled in a wool blanket and handed to his mother. Hiroko fell in love with the sleepy flutter of his eyes, the scrunch of his button nose, and the way his tiny fingers drew into clenched fists when he yawned. She was captivated by his size the most, just a small little thing in her arms shrouded in the blanket.
“He’s beautiful,” Toshiya choked out with a proud smile. “He looks just like you.”
Hiroko’s laugh sounded like she were floating. In that moment, she felt she partially was.
The midwife struck a match and lit the candle at the bedside. “I do not wish to interrupt,” the woman began, and smoothed out the wrinkles of her canary yellow dress, “but the Storyteller will be arriving shortly. We must make ready of his arrival.”
Toshiya did his best not to show the way his posture stiffened upon mention of ‘the Storyteller’. He directed his attention to the window and the scenery outside, where the trees violently swayed back and forth, and lighting ripped through the darkened skies every few moments.
“In this storm? The Storyteller couldn’t possibly come out to our little cottage,” Toshiya chided. He adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand.
The midwife gave a disproving shake of her head. “The Storyteller always comes at the birth of a newborn child, no matter the condition,” she said.
Toshiya wished that weren’t the truth.
For the next few hours, they waited. The midwife moved from tending to Hiroko and Yuuri at their bedside, to patiently waiting by the door of the bedroom, listening for the sound of a telling knock. Toshiya did his part and fluffed Hiroko’s pillows, keeping his wife and child awake for as long as possible.
“Maybe he will not come,” Toshiya said while he wrapped an arm around Hiroko’s shoulders. Yuuri’s eyes have long since fluttered closed in sleep, Hiroko close to doing the same if it were not for Toshiya’s touch that nudged her awake.
The midwife shook her head. “No. He will come. He always comes. Always.”
They wait longer, longer, longer, to the point where rainwater began to leak through the cottage’s soggy roof and created an incessant drip-drip-drip at the foot of the bed. Toshiya excused himself to hurry downstairs to their kitchenette to fetch a saucer to capture the water.
Before he was able to make his way towards the stairs, there were three knocks at the front door that sounded like thunderous booms.
Toshiya froze in his spot and stared at the door with wide eyes. It was quiet, then there were three more knocks that followed, even louder and more intense.
“Oh!” a shout from above sounded, and the midwife hurried down the stairs past Toshiya and to the front door. She pulled it open and bowed her head. “I apologize, My Lord! The storm outside did well to hide the sound of your knocks.”
In the doorway stood a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a heavy cloak draped over his frame that looked as though it were made from the cosmos. His skin was a blanched white, while his wiry hair was just as pale. His lips - thinly pulled into a disingenuous smile - were bright red, as if fresh blood were smeared over his mouth just before his arrival.
The Storyteller.
“Please, My Lord,” the midwife said, and invited the man inside. She gestured to the stairs. “The child and his mother await.”
The Storyteller’s black boots sounded like rumbling thunder as he walked, and he left no trace of water even though he was out in a storm moments prior. Toshiya bowed his head and averted his eyes as the Storyteller passed. The Storyteller acknowledged his presence with nothing more than a lazy glance with his red red eyes.
“Come, come!” the midwife cooed, and hurried Toshiya up the stairs as well. “Listening to your child’s Story is always such a treat!”
Usually, it was. A Story was a wondrous spectacle of lights and colors, sounds and images and smells that were crafted from the Storyteller’s words. Toshiya had witnessed only two in his life, when his younger brother was born and when Mari was born. His younger brother’s Story was excitement, wrought with duels among knights and fighting dragons, a Story meant for a Hero.
Mari’s story, on the other hand...
Toshiya closed his eyes. No. No, he can’t think about that. This will be better. This must be better.
The midwife opened the door for the Storyteller and Toshiya to enter the bedroom, then closed it shut with a smile and a whispered, “Congratulations” to Toshiya.
Hiroko sat upright in her bed, her appearance as stiff in posture as Toshiya’s. Toshiya, meanwhile, awkwardly shuffled along the side of the room, still holding the saucer meant to catch the rainwater.
Yuuri was still fast asleep, though not for long.
“The child,” the Storyteller spoke in his gravely baritone, “present him.”
Hiroko solemnly nodded her head. She looked to Toshiya with a shine to her eyes, and carefully handed Yuuri out towards him.
Toshiya placed the saucer down to take the sleeping bundle in his arms with care. Yuuri’s nose scrunched upwards at the movement, but he did not waken. He’s beautiful, Toshiya thought, but all he felt within his chest was an ominous dread.
Toshiya approached the Storyteller, the tremble in his step hidden. The Storyteller revealed his tome, a large black book detailed in gold lettering of a language Toshiya had never seen before. Then, from within his cloak, the Storyteller also produced a thin silver needle that gleamed from the light of the candle at Hiroko’s bedside.
With red eyes that stared intensely at Yuuri, the Storyteller gestured with the needle.
“His hand,” he demanded. Toshiya nodded his head, before he gently pried one of Yuuri’s little hands free from the confines of the blanket. The Storyteller drew in close, and with the needle, pricked Yuuri’s index finger.
Yuuri’s lips immediately twisted into a cry of pain. The sound was enough to shatter Toshiya’s heart.
The Storyteller withdrew the needle that carried with it a single drop of Yuuri’s blood. Toshiya took Yuuri’s hand to kiss it, even though there was no puncture wound to kiss. The child continued to cry, till he was red skinned and blotchy in his round face.
“Now, the Story,” the Storyteller announced. Hiroko leaned forward and clutched at the bedsheets. Toshiya retreated to her side, and bounced Yuuri in his arms to calm him as best as he can.
The Storyteller placed the tip of the needle to the yellow page of his open tome. Toshiya braced himself for the sudden darkness to appear, for the sudden flash of golden light as all Stories normally began .
But there was nothing.
They waited, and they waited, but nothing happened. The Storyteller’s expression hinted very little that something was wrong. But, Toshiya did see that the man’s eyes seemed to widen in surprise, before his eyebrows furrowed.
“...My Lord,” Hiroko spoke up, “is...is there something wrong?”
The Storyteller closed the tome with a loud shut that jolted both Hiroko and Toshiya in their spots.
“There is no Story,” he responded.
Toshiya blinked. “W-What? That...that can’t be possible. Everyone has a Story.”
“And this child does not,” the Storyteller said. He approached the bed with small, foreboding steps, his eyes gaze on Yuuri.
Hiroko pulled Toshiya close, and Toshiya isn’t sure if the panicked heartbeat he heard was Hiroko’s or his own.
“Then, what does that mean?” she asks.
“It is simple,” the Storyteller began. He stood only mere inches from Toshiya, and gazed down at the child in his arms. “The child was not meant to exist, therefore he does not have a Story. Fate will rectify this in due time.”
For a brief moment, the only noise was the sound of the rain that beaten against the window.
“Y-You’re not saying that-” Toshiya bit his tongue, and found that he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Hiroko looked down at Yuuri, then turned to the Storyteller as she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth.
“No. No, t-there must be something else! Please! Please, don’t say that we’ll lose him when he is all we have left!” she cried.
The Storyteller’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, his expression livid.
“You dare to question my knowledge of my Book?” he asked, and loomed over the two of them with his staggering height. “If a child’s Story does not appear, then the child will not live long enough to have a Story be told. There is no way around fate, and my words will always come to fruition. Always.”
Toshiya averted his gaze to Yuuri, but found that just looking at the child made his heart ache even more.
“W-We do not mean to offend you, My Lord," Toshiya stammered, "but...Yuuri...he is-“
“Why does this come as such a shock to you?” The Storyteller pondered aloud, and unfurled the pages of his tome. “Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki, your Stories are intertwined with nothing but misfortune from the moment of your births,” he said as he gazed upon the pages. “Your first born child - a little girl - was all that was promised to you in your Stories.”
“But Mari was-“ Toshiya’s words died in his throat as his vision darkened. He smelled smoke. He felt flames licking up the sides of his arms and his legs, and a heavy weight on his back while the taste of gravel and dirt began to fill his mouth.
“Ah yes,” the Storyteller murmured as his tome glowed a honey shade. “But she was taken from you. Her and several other young women and children. In that nasty uprising against the Royal Guard.”
Toshiya saw figures outlined in gold and crimson, large hulking men with their faces smudged away of any recognition. In their arms, they were towing away Mari and another little girl, both of them barely five.
He heard his voice even though his lips were curled into a tight grimace of pain. The begging, the screaming, the repeated shouts of Mari’s name as the bandits made off with their captives in the night, never to be seen again.
“Please, no more!” Hiroko begged, and the Storyteller closed his book.
Immediately, their surroundings brightened, and Toshiya felt his entire body trembling, a thin film of sweat on his skin. Yuuri was whimpering in his arms, surely sensitive to the effects of a Story. The Storyteller directed his attention back on Yuuri, his red eyes distant and not the least bit remorseful.
“Three days,” the Storyteller muttered, and brought his pale hand with spindle-like fingers down upon Yuuri’s forehead. The baby cried from his touch and Toshiya lurched away, eyes wide with horror and confusion.
The Storyteller gave him a sneer. "Three days is how long the child will live. That is certain," he says, and turned swiftly on his heels. He begins to walk out the bedroom, the door opening for him all on his own as he approached it.
Toshiya quickly handed Yuuri off to Hiroko, stumbling to his feet.
"My Lord!" he called out, but the Storyteller did not slow in his pace down the stairs.
Toshiya gave chase after him, and rushed past the midwife that still waits outside the bedroom and down the stairs, the front door opening for the Storyteller to exit. "My Lord! Please! There must be something, anything we can do!"
"You cannot change fate. My word is the truth and only outcome," the Storyteller announced, and turned to look over his shoulder at Toshiya. His eyes had a smolder to them, indifferent to Toshiya’s pain. "There is nothing you can do."
With a furl of his cloak and a loud slam of the door, the Storyteller left the cottage. Toshiya tried to chase after him regardless, but when he opened the door, the Storyteller was nowhere in sight.
For the following days, a somber mood fell over the inhabitants of the cottage. Even with their begging to the midwife for some sort of help, some sort of sign, the woman was unable to offer the couple any form of solace. For if the Storyteller said the child’s death would occur, there was nothing a mere mortal woman can do to stop it.
On the eve of Yuuri’s third and supposed final night, Hiroko and Toshiya sat at the child’s bedside. They watched as the beautiful rosy hue of their child’s skin slowly drained away to a ghostly white. Unshed tears rested at the corners of the parents’ eyes, while their lips twisted in helpless agony.
At the stroke of eleven, there was a delicate knocking that sounded from below. Toshiya found that he had very little desire to move from Yuuri’s bedside to answer it.
"Maybe they’ll go away," he murmured to his wife, his shoulders dropped in a depressing slump. Hiroko folded her hands over her lap, not able to say a word in response.
A few seconds later, there was another knock, louder and even more incessant.
"Who could be disturbing us at this hour?" Toshiya asked with a sigh, and rose to his feet. Hiroko stood as well, and turned to look down at their child. She was the one that moved to take Yuuri first, and she almost choked out a cry at how cold the child felt in her arms, how each flutter of his eyes grew fewer and farther in between.
They head down the stairs where the person knocked a third time, and Toshiya opened the door just a smidge as to not allow the night’s chill to enter their cottage.
"Please, kind sir," a voice - high pitched and scratchy - responded from the dark, "would you allow me shelter from the cold?"
Toshiya saw as the figure drew closer that it is a haggardly woman, with a thin black shawl draped over her shoulders. Her thin silver hair that covered half of her face looked like a tangled bird’s nest. When the woman attempted to smile, it’s with a crooked mouth, smeared with rouge lipstick from corner to corner.
"O-Oh," Toshiya stammered. He turned to his wife that was gently rocking Yuuri in her arms. Hiroko nodded her head, a smile coming to her face.
Toshiya turned back to the elderly woman. "Y-Yes. Please, come in."
He stepped off to the side and the woman hurried in, pulling her shawl her in close to her body. She turned to Hiroko and gave her thanks. Then, her eyes moved down to the bundle in Hiroko’s arms.
Toshiya barely had the time to blink before suddenly, the woman was directly at Hiroko’s side, with her wrinkly hands reaching out to touch Yuuri.
"What a beautiful baby boy," she cooed aloud. Hiroko jumped in surprise and held Yuuri to her chest, out of the woman’s reach.
The woman cocked her head to the side, an inquisitive look in her golden eyes.
"Is he your first born?" she asked them while she twiddled her fingers.
"No, he’s our...he’s our second child," Toshiya said. An uncomfortable silence moved through the three, a silence that was only interrupted when Yuuri made a tired little coo. The noise Hiroko made was full of fright and heartache.
The elderly woman looked at them with a raise of her eyebrows, before she shuffled towards Toshiya.
“My, my, my. You two look like you haven’t slept a wink!” she enthused. “Has the darling little baby been keeping you awake?”
“N-No,” Toshiya tried to explain, but the woman prevented him from speaking as she rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Come, come. I have something perfect for you two to have. As a way of showing my gratitude for your kindness,” she said with a smile.
“Oh really, it isn’t any trouble, m’am,” Hiroko tried to reassure, but the woman clucked her tongue at her.
The woman reached inside the folds of her black shawl and procured two apples, shiny and a luscious shade of red. Toshiya can almost see his reflection in the skin; his eyes were sunken in with exhaustion while his skin was deathly pale.
“Apples are good for you. You two look like you haven’t eaten a thing in days,” the woman scolded with a motherly tone, and offered the apples forward. Hiroko awkwardly took an apple while she held onto Yuuri. The other apple was thrusted into Toshiya’s hands, firm against his touch.
Toshiya looked at the apple, and he found that his mouth began to water just from looking at the appealing shade of red it was. He resisted the urge to bring it to his lips, and shook his head.
“It is no trouble at all, m’am,” he said, and tried to hand the apple back. “We wouldn’t want to take from you-“
“I insist that you have it,” the woman responded, quick and sharp. She rubbed her hands together in an attempt to warm them before she continued, “Those apples are the most tastiest apples you can find in the entire village. With just one bite, it will make you feel as though you are floating into a paradise. The crisp texture, the sweet juicy taste! It is such a delectable treat and something I want you to have, if not for allowing me shelter, then for the celebration of your newborn child.”
Toshiya stiffened in his spot, and looked down at the apple in his hands.
They aren’t celebrating anything. It would be only one more hour till the stroke of midnight and they lose their child. He could not even think of indulging in something pleasant when that horrible thought sat at the back of his mind.
Hiroko appeared to feel the same way. Her eyes shifted from the red of the apple in her right hand, to the paleness of Yuuri’s face.
Noticing the downcast of their eyes, the elderly woman gave a gentle hum.
“I see, I see. There is something else that ails you more than sleep,” she surmised, and took a step closer towards Hiroko.
Her eyes look over Yuuri’s face, before she nodded her head in understanding. “Then I must tell you something else about these apples,” she whispered. “They aren’t any ordinary one you will find in the market. These, my dears, are Wishing Apples.”
Toshiya made a noise of disbelief. “Wishing Apples?” he questioned. “Why, that’s impossible. That kind of thing can only be the work of-"
“A witch?” The woman responded with a lilt in her voice. She cackled and held her arms out wide. “But of course!”
Toshiya paled.
The elderly woman - no, the witch - waggled her bony finger at him. “Now, now. Do not be afraid. I did not come here to harm you, only for shelter,” she explained, and turned back to Hiroko. “But it seems that you two are in need of help that you cannot achieve on your own.”
Hiroko’s eyes went down to look at Yuuri. His eyes fluttered with sleepiness, few and far in between. She then looked to the apple in her grasp and bit her lower lip.
“...This apple...it can grant any wish?” Hiroko asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Toshiya hurried to Hiroko’s side. “Hiroko-“ he started, but the witch eagerly nodded her head.
“It can grant you any sort of wish, my dear. Anything your heart truly desires, I assure you this apple is capable of bringing,” she responded. Her eyes watched Yuuri closely, and the wrinkles at the corners of her lips pulled as she smiled.
“Hiroko,” Toshiya began again, with hesitance. “Witches are...” He didn’t know what the polite way to say ‘con-artists and false prophets’ while there was a witch in their presence. The people of the village have long been warned to stay away from those that practiced magic. Only the Storyteller’s magic was the true way, and all others were tricks intended to do more harm than good.
The witch tilted her head, slightly bemused.
“You do not believe me?” she asked, not sounding the least bit offended, and cackled again. “It is quite alright! I’m just an elderly beggar woman. What do I know?”
Hiroko clutched at the apple in her hand. “B-But, can these apples grant any wish?” she stammers.
“Yes, my dear,” the witch responded. “Anything your heart desires.”
Hiroko turned to Toshiya, her eyes shining and lip trembling. “Toshiya, maybe-“
“The Storyteller said there was nothing we can do-“
“But these are magic apples!”
“Magic apples from a witch.”
Hiroko’s expression was wrought with conflict. “We have spent three days waiting for our child to die, thinking that there is nothing we can do to save him,” she said, voice croaking on the last syllable. “This feeling...it’s awful. I never thought I could experience something as hurtful as Mari being taken away. But this...this just feels like absolute torture.”
Toshiya understood. They’ve always knew Mari was destined to be taken from them. It was written in her Story, it was just a matter of accepting that there was nothing they could do to change fate.
But with Yuuri, there was hope. Hope that maybe this child could be theirs to keep, an unexpected blessing to make up for all the misfortune they had. Toshiya wanted to reject that fate the Storyteller cursed upon them. He wanted to be happy for once in his miserable life without feeling that it will be all short-lived.
But...was it possible?
Yuuri made another a sickly noise where his voice dissolved into a breathless whimper at the end. The sound made gooseflesh of Toshiya’s skin, and his lips twisted into a grimace.
The apple felt heavy in his hand as he raised it up to look at it’s gleam and rosy red hue.
“...How does it work?” he asked without looking at the witch.
“Just one bite is all that it takes,” she said, and brought her hands to clasp gently around Toshiya’s. Her hands were surprisingly soft and warm, reassuringly sweet. “One bite, and I promise you that your wish will come true.”
Toshiya knew that if this did not work, he would only have himself to blame. He knew that if the Storyteller should ever find that they sought out a witch to reverse the Story in any shape or form, they would surely be punished.
He knew that he loved his son, his precious little boy. He knew that he wanted to protect his child now as much as he wanted to protect Mari back then, and would give just about anything to have the power to reverse fate for them both.
He knew what he wanted to wish for.
Cautiously, he brought the apple to his lips. Hiroko did the same.
As he closed his eyes when the apple lightly pressed against his mouth, Toshiya thought aloud in his head: I wish for a way to reverse our children’s fates. I wish for them to remain with us.
Hiroko’s wish was nearly identical: I wish to see Mari again. I wish for Yuuri to live.
They bit into the fruit at the same time, only thirty minutes left till midnight.
The witch watched them chew their pieces of apple and swallow, while she rubbed her hands for warmth.
Toshiya looked to Hiroko, then to Yuuri, then to the witch.
“How do we know it worked?” he asked. The witch gestured for them to move towards the fireplace where it was warm.
“In due time, my dear. Please, come sit,” she said with a weary sigh.
Toshiya felt his feet compelled to move as she asked of him. Hiroko followed close at his heels.
They sat together on a small bench draped and covered with pillows and blankets for comfort. Toshiya wanted to ask another question, but his tongue suddenly felt very heavy in his mouth, and his eyes started to grow tired from looking at the fire.
“Will-“ Hiroko began, but her sentence was interrupted with her yawn. Her head found Toshiya’s shoulder, leaning against him as her eyes began to flutter. “Will...will our baby be okay?”
“Of course, my dear,” the witch whispered ever-so-gently.
“We just...we just want our children back,” Hiroko told her.
When Toshiya tried to look at his wife, he saw that Hiroko’s eyes were beginning to glaze over with sleep. He also saw that his vision began to grow blurry, and everything sounded a bit fainter and farther away than it really was. The crackling hearth of the fire, Hiroko’s voice, even his own heartbeat seemed to beat off-pace and sounded like a distant echo in his ears.
“What’s happening?” he questioned. He tried to stand, but couldn’t find the energy to even move.
“It’s alright, my dear. Everything will be alright. I promise you,” the witch told him, and rested a gentle hand upon his knee.
Toshiya tried to fight the urge to close his eyes, blinking furiously and breathing hard. The world around him grew hazier and blurrier, and the posture of his body went slack against the bench.
Hiroko slumped against his side, fast asleep. Toshiya felt his mind slipping away and out of his control, the taste of apple sweet on his tongue.
Before his vision fully darkened into sleep, he heard a voice ask, “My dear, tell me. What is your precious child’s name?”
The voice didn’t sound like the witch’s, high pitched and scratchy. It sounded ethereal, a honeyed echo of a voice that lightly whispered against the shell of his ear.
“Yuuri,” Toshiya slurred in response, all resistance gone. “Our precious Yuuri.”
And with that, Toshiya and Hiroko Katsuki succumbed to a deep sleep.
The witch drew close to Hiroko, taking the child from her arms with care into her shawl. She looked over his face and smiled, taking her finger to drag along the curve of his cheek.
“Skin as pure as snow,” she murmured, then tapped the child’s lips. “Lips that will shame the red rose.” Her finger tapped at the corners of his closed eyes. “And eyes that will hold the stars and hearts of all who pass. Oh, my precious child, you will be such a thing of beauty.”
Curving her finger alongside Yuuri’s face, she felt the chill of his skin and the slowness of his pulse at his neck. “How lucky I am to have been with you before his curse took its hold,” she whispered, and brought her pointer and middle finger to her red smeared lips.
She touched the pad of her bottom lip against her fingers, then brought them to Yuuri’s forehead and pressed lightly. She hummed a gentle lullaby, barely allowing her voice to be heard while an invisible wind moved through her silvery hair and her black shawl.
Yuuri’s face scrunched up tight in displeasure and pain. His hands drew into tight fists and he wailed, while the witch slowly pulled her fingers away from his forehead.
As her wrist pulled back, something black and thin drew itself free from Yuuri’s head.
A blackened needle.
She took the object that floated dangerously above the child and threw it into the fire, where it burned with an angry and vengeful shriek, and disappeared in a cloud of putrid black smoke.
At once, Yuuri’s eyes fluttered open and his skin returned to that gentle rosy shade. His hands clenched and unclenched around air, and he squirmed in the witch’s arms, cooing that precious little sound.
The witch smiled at him.
“Oh, my precious little child,” she whispered, then glanced at Hiroko and Toshiya fast asleep.
Cradling Yuuri to her chest, she murmured, “How I wish that I can give you what you wanted, especially after you’ve shown your kindness and your deepest love for your children. But I know if I leave him here, alive and well, it will only bring you further heartache if he finds him.”
She moved toward and lightly tapped at the apples that rested at Hiroko and Toshiya’s sides. They glowed from her touch, brighter and brighter and brighter than the yellow Sun, until with a loud crack!, the apples vanished in a burst of golden light.
In their place were two golden rings, both embedded with a ruby red gem. The witch took the rings and placed them on Hiroko and Toshiya’s hands, just above the couple’s wedding rings.
“These will be helpful for you in due time. I promise,” the witch said, even though the two cannot hear her.
She swaddled Yuuri in a blanket, and then further wrapped him up in her black shawl. Giving one last peek at the warm glow of Yuuri’s eyes, she brought her lips down to his forehead.
“Sleep,” she whispered against his skin, and Yuuri’s eyes obediently fluttered shut.
The witch disappeared under the cover of darkness, with the child safely in her arms, just as the clock struck midnight.
At the crack of dawn, Toshiya and Hiroko awaken from their slumber and rub at their eyes.
Toshiya brought a hand to his face, and found his skin to feel soft and warm. His body felt alive with virility, and his stomach felt as though he dined on the heartiest of meals the night before. When he looked to Hiroko, it seemed like she was glowing.
“Good morning,” she murmured to her husband, feeling at her face, eyelashes blinking away the sleep.
They sat in silence for only a second, before their bodies registered with alarm.
“Yuuri!” they both cried out, and staggered to their feet to run to the child’s bed upstairs.
To their horror, the bed was empty, cold as if the child was never even there.
They ran back down the stairs and began to turn over the blankets, the pillows, the chairs, and checked every little inch of their cottage, repeatedly calling the child’s name as their voices reached hysterics.
Toshiya brought his hands to his face and gritted his teeth. How stupid! He told himself the only person he would blame for being tricked was himself! He can’t stop the sting of curses through his teeth, nor can he hold back the burn of tears at the corners of his eyes.
“Why?” Toshiya heard Hiroko’s voice croak from behind him. He turned to see her hands tightly clutched at the front of her dress, tears threatening to fall. “She could have taken our silverware. She could have taken my jewelry. W-Why him?” she asks.
Toshiya pulled Hiroko into his arms and squeezed her tight. “We’ll find that witch. We’ll find her and take Yuuri back-“
“But w-what if-“ Hiroko stammered, and she pulled away from Toshiya to look him in the eye. “But what if the apples didn’t work? What then?”
Toshiya blanched. Then, he licked at his lips. He could still taste the sweetness of the apple, long past the time he bit into the fruit.
“Then...then we’ll take him back...and give him the proper burial he deserves,” Toshiya said, and he hated the way the words sounded in his voice. He hated it even more to picture Yuuri with all the color drained from his face, never to make that gentle cooing noise or blink those big brown eyes up at them again.
Hiroko swallowed her sob, then nodded her head.
Toshiya moved to grab his cloak and boots. “Come. If we can hurry, we can make it to the village and see if anyone has spotted her”.
Before Hiroko can nod and grab her own pair of shoes and her cloak, there was a knock at the door. Three loud, foreboding knocks.
Both of them froze in their spots, staring at the door with alarm.
“Hello?” A voice from outside called. “Is anyone home?”
“Get your things,” Toshiya told Hiroko, and fastened the clasp of his cloak. Hiroko gave a wary glance at the door, before she hurried upstairs.
Toshiya moved to the door and opened it, finding a stout, portly man dressed all in black. Behind the man stood the Storyteller, his expression passive and red eyes gleaming in the morning sunlight.
The portly man removed his black hat, revealing a bald spot as he gave a respectful bow.
“I would first like to say that I am sorry for your loss,” he told Toshiya’s feet, before he stood upright and placed his hat back on. “I am the village’s undertaker. We heard - er - “ the man gave a wary glance over his shoulder at the Storyteller before he continued, “I was under the impression that...that your newborn infant has recently passed.”
Toshiya felt his heart race at the thought, first with the pain of thinking about Yuuri being dead, then of anger at the insensitivity of this visit.
“He isn’t here,” Toshiya spat before he can think on his words.
The Storyteller’s eyes sharpened. “Where is he then?” he asked in a low tone.
Toshiya felt it on the tip of his tongue. He felt his nostrils flare and his hands draw into tight fists. He felt it in his gut the urge to yell and scream at the top of his lungs: He’s gone! He’s gone! He was stolen from us because we so desperately wanted to believe that somehow we can keep him alive! He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone!
In his silent fury, Toshiya did not realize that Hiroko had came down the stairs and appeared at his side, bundled up in her cloak and hat. She made a startled yelp upon seeing the Storyteller, and the Storyteller approached the couple standing in the doorway.
“Where is the child?” he asked again. Hiroko immediately averted her eyes.
“He...w-we don’t know, My Lord.”
“You don’t know?”
“T-There was...we allowed a beggar woman to stay with us the night before. To have shelter from the cold,” Hiroko explained.
The Storyteller’s eyes widened in surprise, before they narrowed in anger. “A beggar woman? What kind of beggar woman?” he asked. He bent down so his narrow face was at eye-level to Hiroko, appearing like an adult scolding their child. “Have you been consulting with a witch?”
“No!” Both Toshiya and Hiroko denied.
“Then what does this beggar woman have to do with the child?”
“She...she took him, My Lord,” Toshiya finally mustered up to say. His body trembled as he spoke through gritted teeth. “We...we fell asleep, and she snuck off with our child during the night. W-We don’t know why-“
“Your negligence does not surprise me in the slightest,” the Storyteller said, and stood at full height. “Further proof that the child never should have been born to you in the first place.”
Toshiya took a step forward, hands drawn in tight fists. Hiroko quickly placed a hand on his shoulders to hold him back.
The Storyteller turned on his heel. “Well, the beggar woman made off with a dead child. I suppose then, there is no need for a burial, Undertaker.”
The Undertaker looked around awkwardly, fidgeting uncomfortably in his spot in front of the doorway. “B-But Sir,” he stammered, “shouldn’t we...shouldn’t we confirm that the child is...um...”
“Did I not say that the child is dead?” the Storyteller hissed
“Y-Yes, you did, Sir.”
“And the parents are well aware that my word is correct, are they not?” the Storyteller asked, and turned to look at Toshiya and Hiroko.
Toshiya averted his eyes to the ground. He could still taste the apple in his mouth. He could still hear the sound of the voice echoing gently in his ear.
My dear, tell me. What is your precious child’s name?
“Well?” the Storyteller’s asked in an aggravated tone. Toshiya bit his tongue.
“...Yes,” he answered.
“The child is dead and there is no point to go search for his remains,” the Storyteller declared. Hiroko hung her head, her shoulders shaking.
“...Yes, My Lord,” she said.
The Storyteller looked at them, silent for a moment. Then, he turned to fully face them and bent down low so his face was at Toshiya’s level.
“If you believe so, then say it,” the man growls. “Unless, you have reason to believe otherwise.”
My dear, tell me. What is your precious child’s name?
“...Yuuri...Yuuri is dead, and t-there’s no p-point to look for his-“ Toshiya can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He choked on the Winter air, and Hiroko’s hands flew to her mouth to hold back the cry.
The Storyteller stood upright again, and turned to walk away. “I am sorry for inconveniencing you, Undertaker. Your job is done,” he spoke aloud.
“W-Wait, m-my Lord!” The Undertaker called after. But when he turned to look, the Storyteller had already vanished in thin air.
The Undertaker turned to the couple and removed his hat, his face looking solemn.
“I...I am truly sorry. This...this would have been the fourth child this year I would have buried...b-but!” His voice placed on a faux happiness. “Maybe this is for the best! No parent wants to see their child...”
“Please, just leave us,” Hiroko begged, exhaustion renewed in her voice.
The Undertaker’s face fell, and he placed his hat back on.
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry,” he said, and the couple returned back inside the cottage, closing the door shut behind them.
If this fairy tale were to end here, it would not be deserving of the phrase: ‘and they all lived happily ever after’. Then again, for Toshiya and Hiroko Katsuki, happily ever after was never promised in the first place.
Unbeknownst to the heartbroken couple in the cottage at the edge of the forest, there was a tower that rest upon the cliff that overlooked the village, hidden among the tall tall trees and surrounded by a thicket of thorns.
It was there that a witch sung a gentle little lullaby as she prepared a bottle of milk for a newborn baby boy.
It was there that this fairy tale continued on.