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.

Lyanna and I push deeper into the forest, the world closing in around us. The path tightens to narrow ribbons of mud and root, each step a battle to stay upright. Moss-draped branches reach down like skeletal arms, snagging at our cloaks, while brambles claw across our legs. Damp earth sucks at our boots with every stride, and patches of mist cling to the ground in ghostly curls. The air is heavy with the musk of wet bark and decaying leaves, threaded with the faint cry of a night bird far overhead. My arms throb from Lyanna’s weight, her half-shifted body fever-hot and unnaturally heavy, as though the curse itself anchors her down. Kendra’s breathing grows harsher at my side, but her grip on Lyanna never falters. Fear pushes us forward, and the deeper we go, the more the forest feels alive—watching, listening, holding its breath.

By the time we reach the dirt track leading to Elyra’s cottage, my legs are trembling and my palms raw from gripping Lyanna’s arm. The breeze carries a bitter tang of herbs and faint wood smoke, promising sanctuary. Relief flickers in my chest, though it feels fragile—like if I let myself believe in safety too soon, it will vanish. Before I can raise a hand to knock, the door creaks open.

Elyra stands framed in the golden glow, her sharp green eyes already on us, as though she has been waiting.
“Bring her in,” she says briskly, stepping aside. “Lay her by the hearth.”

Warmth enfolds me the moment we enter. The room permeates with the scent of dried sage and lavender, undercut with clove and resin. The fire snaps and pops, its light glinting off glass vials and polished jars lining the shelves. Shadows sway across bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters, strange shapes in the flicker of the flames. For a moment, I feel small again—like a child caught trespassing in a place meant for adults.

We lower Lyanna onto a pile of thick furs. My arms tremble from the strain, and Kendra rolls her shoulders with a hiss. Elyra is already in motion, gathering salves, powders, and tools with a precision that betrays long practice. I envy how steady she seems, while inside I feel like every part of me is fraying.

“Was there a rune?” she asks without looking up.

I nod. “I… I don’t know what it was called. But I remember the shape.” My throat tightens as I speak, a weight pressing in. Why me? Why does the memory cling to me so vividly when everything else about my past feels stolen?

Without hesitation, she slides parchment and a stick of dark charcoal across the low table. “Draw it.”

My hand moves almost against my will. The lines spill too easily, as if my fingers remember more than my mind. A jagged star takes shape, enclosed within a circle like a cage. Its spears stretch outward and overlap, forming a shape both angular and violent. A vertical cross cuts through the center, splitting it as though pinning something down. Smaller marks—dots and curved hooks—curl at the edges, giving the whole pattern a ritualistic weight. When I finish, the black strokes glare back at me, pulsing on the page, like a living thing hungry for blood. The air in the room feels heavier, charged, as if the rune recognizes when it’s summoned again. My skin prickles, and I fight the urge to shove the parchment away, to erase what I just brought back into existence.

Kendra inhales sharply. “That’s it.”

Elyra stills, her gaze fixed on the page, unblinking. Slowly, she steps closer, tracing the edges without truly touching it. Fear flickers in her eyes—an instinctive wariness, as though this sketch might spring to life. If Elyra, who has seen more magic than I can fathom, fears it… what chance do I have?

“What is it?” Kendra demands.

Her voice lowers as though naming it will bind them to its power. “The Bloodlock Rune.”

Kendra frowns. “What does it do?”

“It’s a curse,” Elyra answers, the firelight carving hollows into her face. “A spell meant to bind—or steal—power. Forged by a sorcerer long ago. Most who bear it are chosen deliberately… but your sister wasn’t.”

“Then why her?”

“She was collateral.”

Elyra settles back on her heels, her tone becoming the cadence of an old story. “Your family carries an ancient curse, Kendra. A seal woven to bury your wolf heritage, likely after the great pack wars when your ancestors swore loyalty to a kingdom that feared them. The Bloodlock tore through that seal. Two curses colliding, shattering each other.”

Kendra pales, her lips trembling. “That means anyone in my family—”

“Could turn,” Elyra confirms. “Especially under a full moon.”

The words hang heavy in the air. I glance at Kendra; her face drains of color, and guilt twists my gut. This isn’t just my burden anymore. It’s hers too, and somehow that makes it worse.

“I can craft a talisman,” Elyra adds, hands already working twine around sprigs of dried rowan. “It will temper the rage when the change comes, tether her to herself. But it won’t last forever. It cannot cure her.”

Kendra swallows hard. “Will she remember when she wakes?”

Elyra says nothing. The silence is enough. My chest aches watching Kendra’s hope shrink in that silence.

I step closer, voice low. “You said a sorcerer made this rune.”

“Yes,” she replies. “A powerful one. Some call him the Scarlet Archon.”

I shiver. “Why is he cursing people?”

“To harvest strength.” Her voice sharpens. “He seeks enough power to rewrite fate itself. Old tales say he traded blood for knowledge, built citadels on bones. The rune feeds on fragments—souls, memories, magic. Once it latches, it takes.”

Her words hit me like a stone. My chest tightens. “Then it’s after me, too.” I hate how small my voice sounds, how raw that admission feels.

Elyra’s gaze narrows. “It isn’t random anymore. He hunts for particular gifts. And you…” Her eyes linger on me, heavy with meaning. “You carry more than you realize.”

She knots the talisman and sets it on Lyanna’s chest. The faint silver glow leeches from her skin, and her ragged breaths smooth into a steady rhythm. For now, at least, she looks like my friend again—not a monster caught between shapes.

Before we leave, Elyra draws me aside. Her whisper carries a heaviness. “If things worsen, seek the house with legs. Baba Yaga will find you.”

The name alone makes my skin crawl. I don’t ask why. If I ask, the answer might be worse than not knowing.

We’re halfway to the door when Lyanna stirs. At first, it’s only a twitch of her fingers against the furs. Then her body locks, muscles seizing like steel. Her eyes blaze open, molten silver spilling across the whites.

“Lyanna?” Kendra whispers.

What answers is not her sister’s voice. It’s a guttural snarl that shakes the cottage walls. The sound claws down my spine, leaving me cold.

She erupts upward. The furs scatter, claws shredding fabric and carving deep furrows into the floor. She barrels into me, knocking the breath from my chest, then hurls Kendra aside. The doorway shudders as she smashes through, a rush of frosty night air flooding in her wake. My heart lurches—how are we supposed to stop her without breaking her?

“Lyanna!” Kendra shouts, but her sister is already gone—bare feet hammering over roots, half-shifted body vanishing in a blur of shadow and silver.

We sprint after her. Branches whip at my arms, twigs snap beneath our boots. The forest closes in, darker now, every sound amplified—the crash of her passage, the guttural growls fading deeper into the wild. My magic claws at me, desperate to surge outward and catch her, but I choke it down. One misstep could tear her apart. The helplessness is suffocating.

Kendra stumbles to a halt, chest heaving, her expression set like stone. “If she’s gone after him—after Sylus—we can’t just stay here. I won’t. We find Sylus, we find her.”

I meet her gaze, and the fire in her eyes reflects the one twisting inside me. Part of me wants her to stay, to spare her from this darkness, but I know better. She wouldn’t listen. And truthfully? I don’t want to be alone in this either. “Then we leave at first light.”

Elyra, still at the doorway, sets a weathered leather satchel on the table. “If you’re going, you’ll need this.” Inside are dried rations, potion vials sealed with wax, a flintstone charm, and a pouch of gold coins. “It isn’t much, but it may keep you alive.”

Kendra slings it across her shoulder, testing the load. “Thank you.”

“And our families—” I start, but Elyra cuts me off with a glance to the window.

A black crow perches on the sill, feathers gleaming like oil. Its eyes glint with eerie awareness. Elyra scrawls a note, seals it with wax, and ties it to the bird’s leg. “They’ll know where you’ve gone.”

The crow caws once, a harsh cry, before launching into the pale dawn. I watch until it dwindles to a speck against the horizon. Lyanna vanishes into shadow, and now so has the last tie to home. My chest aches with the burden of both losses.

Kendra and I exchange a last glance, the weight of choice anchoring us. Then we step out into the morning, the forest air sharp with pine and dew. The ground yields softly under our boots as we cross the last line of trees marking Elyra’s land and enter the unbroken wild. The path ahead is uncertain, but we don’t look back.

Editor: Michelle Naragon