The Worst Fairytale

Chapter 2 - Welcome Humans

"Legends whisper that every word harbors existence, whether as an energy or entity, not necessarily within our world but perhaps in another, a realm parallel to ours."

Where were we? Ah, my grandmother had vanished into thin air, plunging the entire town into shock. Imagine a community of 400 people, each sharing in a collective trauma, as fear of the unknown took root. This wasn't the first time Westbury had witnessed such a disappearance.

The most recent case hit in my house—my grandfather's home, to be precise. He's not only the town's chief but also a descendant of one of Westbury's founding families. Our town, shrouded in secrets, has added yet another mystery to its collection.

And yes, you guessed it: our town is nestled amidst a thick forest. A seemingly idyllic, secluded place to live, if not for the myriad of mysteries lurking behind every tree.

Hailing from Westbury Town, I've been ensnared in such a legend since my grandmother's mysterious disappearance.

In the days that followed, an exhaustive search ensued. The efforts to find her extended beyond the confines of our home, with search parties combing through the forest and venturing into the neighboring town. My grandfather, driven by desperation, was even prepared to dismantle our house brick by brick, as though the very walls might have swallowed her whole.

However, the townspeople intervened, halting his drastic measures. Undeterred, my "crazy in love" grandfather, spurred by my father's tales of faes, embarked on a global quest for truth, exploring every religion and belief in search of her.

Today, on December 24th, 2016, half a century since she left us to fetch cake and cookies from our kitchen and never returned, we stand at the threshold of discovery.

Allow me to transport you back in time — not to the 1800s, as I initially thought, but upon further reflection...

*flipping pages*

Indeed, it was the late 1700s, amidst the tumult of the "Petra War," that our town emerged as a sanctuary for refugees. During this era, a Greek philosopher — or perhaps a researcher — found his way to our town, greeted warmly by my ancestors.

At first, my ancestors believed that he sought refuge like many others. Yet, his true fascination lay with the magical beings of Westbury, notably our legendary hound, which people of the time found peculiar. "Weird people, weirder stories".

His interest was piqued by this singular point of research, leading him to uncover the "real mystery" enshrouded within our town. Captivated by the rich tapestry of local folklore, he chose to remain, convincing my many times great-grandfather to offer him the out-house as his residence – a rent free residence.

One morning, a servant bringing his breakfast discovered the room in disarray — as though its occupant had fled in haste, leaving behind nothing but an ominously blood-stained bedsheet, a diary, and a bag.

And how did we come upon this tale? Through my "crazy in love" grandfather, who unearthed these revelations upon his return from the Royal Library of King Arkasen.

At the time, the prevailing belief was that he had fled, yet rumors wield a power of their own. Whispers began to circulate, suggesting he was ensnared by the town's enigmatic forces — that he, too, had vanished without a trace.

Returning to December 24, 2016, my grandfather concluded his extensive travels with evidence suggesting that his wife had been abducted by the s. Initially, I was skeptical about such claims, but my perspective shifted dramatically when he entrusted me with the relics he had discovered.