Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. It is an adaptation inspired by the fairy tales owned by the Grimm Brothers, Jacob and Wilhelm. This story is not associated with Disney’s adaptations, their added characters, or story elements.

The only place I can think of going is Kendra’s. Her family lives in the commoner section of Valenlorë, far from the suffocating rules I’m constantly subjected to as a noble’s daughter. Here, I’m just Ren. I can breathe freely. So much so, I can remember sparring in their yard with wooden swords despite my father’s disapproval.

Kendra’s home is a quaint, elevated stone-and-timber cottage with steep shingled roofs, carved beams, and patterned panels. Flower pots line the stair railing, their fragrance drifting in the cool breeze and mingling with the steady trickle of water from a weathered millstone fountain below. Safe. Familiar.

Mr. Halwynd spots me first, stepping onto the porch with his usual warmth. “Ren, dear,” he greets, though his smile fades as his eyes search my face. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” My heart still races from my father’s revelations. Power presses beneath my skin like a storm looking for a way out. “I found out why I don’t have my memories. Because of my birth mother’s powers… and a vampire’s curse. My father let a vampire friend take them.”

His gaze darkens—not with anger, but with something older, heavier. “So he told you,” he murmurs. “I always wondered if he would.” His focus drifts, as if he’s sifting through dust-covered recollections. He squeezes my shoulders. “I remember that boy. If you want to come in…”

“Is Kendra home?”

“She and Lyanna went to the market. They’ll be back soon.” He steps aside, and I pass beneath an iron circle carved with a howling wolf hanging above the door. The living room glows in rust-orange, gold, and deep brown—a hearth of comfort.

“That boy, Sylus, was unlike anyone I’d met. Polite, but guarded. You, Kendra, and he spent nearly every waking hour together while he was in Valenlorë. But you two, Ren—you and Sylus—were inseparable. You had a bond that went deeper than friendship.”

He leans against the frame. “He’d shadow you without being asked, protect you before you even knew you were in danger. Kendra adored him too, though she often joked she was the third wheel. He laughed more when you were near. I think you brought out something human in him.”

A pang tightens my chest. “And then?”

“One day, he was gone. No goodbye. Just vanished. Your father said it was for the best, but I never believed him.”

Footsteps crunch outside. The door swings open, a rush of cold air spilling in before Kendra steps inside, cheeks flushed.

“Ren!” she grins, then her smile falters. “You okay?”

“I need to talk to you. Where’s Lyanna?”

“She stopped at the dress shop. Wanted to try something on for the rehearsal dinner—said she’d catch up.”

Mr. Halwynd frowns. “You shouldn’t leave your sister alone. Go get her.”

We’re back outside in moments.

The marketplace swallows us—noise, scent, and motion colliding in a dizzying blur. Stalls draped in jewel-toned silks ripple in the breeze, tables sag beneath baskets of winter pears and blood-orange citrus, and vendors shout over one another in a dozen dialects. The smell of roasting bread and spiced wine clings to the air, making the cold feel less biting. Elves bargain sharply, while human traders hover on the edges for a glimpse of rare Starborn goods.

We push through the crowd, scanning every face, dodging carts and stray animals. My pulse thuds in my ears. A laughing child darts past, nearly knocking me aside. A cart stacked with melons creaks slowly across our path, holding us up just long enough to fray my patience.

The dress shop’s painted sign sways gently ahead. The street outside is empty.

No Lyanna.

Then—I spot her. Standing further down the road beside a man in a dark robe.

Wrong. Every instinct screams it.

“Lyanna!” Kendra calls, relief and warning tangle in her voice.

Her head turns slowly, unnaturally, like a puppet on strings. Her gaze is glassy, her breathing shallow, fingers twitching as though she’s resisting an unseen force.

That’s when I see it—a black, jagged rune burning at her neck.

“Kendra, wait—” Too late.

Lyanna convulses. The sound that rips from her throat isn’t human—it’s a raw, jagged thing. Bones snap in rapid succession, her frame twisting under the pressure. Skin stretches and splits as coarse fur pushes through along her jaw. Ears lengthen into sharp points, silver irises igniting with feral light. Claws unfurl, catching the sun before curling into lethal hooks.

She strikes without hesitation. A vendor’s cart topples, fruit bursting across the cobblestones. Screams rise, bells toll, guards shout commands. Panic spills through the market like floodwater breaking its banks.

“Kendra! We can’t let them see her—we have to get her out.”

“She’s still in there,” Kendra insists, breath quick but steady. “I saw it in her eyes.”

We rip cloaks from a stall, ignoring the merchant’s protests, one for her and one for us. My fingers dive into my pouch—Elyra’s illusion salve. I smear it across my cheek and press the vial into Kendra’s palm. The faint shimmer spreads across our features, bending them into something unrecognizable.

Guards rush past, chasing the noise in the square. We hook our arms under Lyanna and haul her into a side alley. Her claws rake the walls, leaving pale gouges in the stone.

Every step is a struggle. Her half-shifted form radiates heat like an open forge. She jerks against our grip, snarling at shadows, claws snagging my sleeve and slicing through fabric. My magic surges, prickling beneath my skin, eager to lash out—but I clamp it down. One flare here could draw every guard in Valenlorë.

A patrol rounds the corner ahead. My stomach knots. We duck behind stacked crates, breaths shallow. Lyanna’s growl rumbles low, her chest heaving. I press a steadying hand to her shoulder.

A crash echoes from the square—wood splintering, shouts carrying on the wind. The guards pivot toward the sound and sprint off.

We move, half-dragging her through winding alleys until the stone paths give way to dirt. The outer gate rises ahead, guarded by two sentries in dulled silver armor. My pulse spikes. I send the smallest ripple of power into the ground, just enough to make the stones beneath their boots tremble. Their attention drops, distracted.

Another distant clatter pulls them fully away. We bolt, crossing the wooden planks and spilling onto open ground.

The city’s roar fades behind us, replaced by the hush of wind sliding through branches. Long shadows stripe the mossy forest floor. The air is damp and earthy, threaded with pine and wet leaves.

We only slow when Lyanna collapses at the roots of an old tree, her breath ragged, muscles twitching with the last remnants of the change.

“She’s stable—for now,” I murmur, resting a hand on her trembling shoulder. This time, my magic hums low, steady—as if it knows she isn’t the enemy. “We need help.”

Kendra’s jaw clenches, and eyes lock with mine. “Elyra.”

Editor: Michelle Naragon & Shannon Hensley