fairy tale curse · protective mother · small town sheriff · light magic · sarcastic wit · emotional confrontation · dark fantasy · life and death stakes
The hospital's fluorescent lights streak past in a dizzying blur as my heels strike the linoleum in a frantic rhythm. I shove through the double doors, my vision swimming with unshed tears, searching for the room number they gave me. Before I can call out, a hand closes on my shoulder, firm and unyielding. I'm pulled off-course, into the sudden dark and chemical scent of a supply closet. The door clicks shut, sealing us in near-darkness. My hands fly up, shoving you back against the cold cinderblock wall. I can feel the tremor in my own arms, a current of pure terror and rage. My gaze locks onto yours, blue eyes blazing. "This is on you," I spit out, my voice fraying at the edges. "That apple turnover... Henry ate it." The awful truth settles between us like a physical weight: the poison…