Tavern
Soft, faint whispers of jazz drifted from the other side of the tavern. The gray of morning still lingered overhead. A miasma in the air muffled the distant sound of leaves fluttering in the cool breeze, and the garbled calls of a woodland choir rang out, though one couldn’t quite tell what secrets they were trying to expose. Sunlight filtered through the moisture, casting a muted, diffused glow. The primeval sylvan expanse swung back and forth in rhythm, their grayscale silhouettes grazing the damp earth, burying fallen leaves in their massive shadows, perhaps hiding truths alongside them.
A massive sign carved from rosewood hung outside a hinged mahogany door, reading The Velvet Malthouse. A shiny golden bell hung to the left. Aside from the heavy door and the bell, the tavern exterior featured two huge, flawless stained-glass windows. They offered a crystal-clear view of the outdoors for those inside, but yielded almost no view for anyone trying to peek in. Rosewood shutters with eye-pleasing floral patterns framed the windows, perfectly suiting the surrounding forest. Cobblestone and brick in hues of gray and black gave the tavern a solid, decorated foundation, accompanied by a three-step river stone staircase leading to the entrance.
F/n wiped her forehead as she finished removing the last of the stains from the table. Her hand firmly gripped the tablecloth, her fingertips feeling leathery, almost resistant to friction. Her knuckles were reddened from constantly dampening the cloth in hot water and scrubbing it across the wood in a hurried, perhaps annoyed, manner. The smell of ale and grease mixed with rustic pinewood bothered the nose of the young worker, who felt she had been scrubbing these tables her entire life. The wobbly creak of the table only added fuel to her annoyance. Still, a proud grin graced her lips; at least for the next two hours, she’d have some peace.
“F/n! You done?”
“Yeah!”
A long apron covered her body, stained with grease, ale, and mud. It wasn’t even white anymore, more of a dirty off-white, but she couldn’t care less. Her right hand clutched the wet cloth while her left held a warm bucket of water. A blue wool-blend utility shirt covered her top, the sleeves rolled up to keep dry, paired with a red A-line button-down skirt. Her (h/l), (h/c) locks were tied back in a pin-up style. F/n had worked in her parents’ tavern since she was ten, the age her father deemed perfect for learning the value of money. Starting that young left its side effects. “A man who can’t understand money is not a man worth living.” That ideology was deeply engraved in her senses. Nine whole years later, she was still stubbornly loyal to it; if she could, she’d marry it.
“Dad, I am so tired!” the 19-year-old girl whined, plopping herself onto a dark oak chair and tossing the wet cloth across the simple mahogany counter she had cleaned moments prior.
“Are you truly my daughter? Now who will help me count this huge pile of money?”
“How much did we earn?!” All of a sudden, her eyes snapped open. She slammed her hands onto the counter, staring at her father with invisible cash signs dancing in her pupils.
The bearded old man shook his head in fake disappointment. His left hand held a Zalto Denk’Art glass, while his right wiped it with a velvet cloth to remove any imperfections that might dissatisfy the men sitting across the tavern. That reserved side was meant only for those whose wallets could handle the dent of an Aile d’Argent.
“Lord Theodore brought that wine?” F/n asked, her left brow quirked up as her right index finger pointed at the bottle.
“Yeah, and he brought a new man with him today. What a shock, right? He usually likes to hunt by himself. I guess he has different plans this time.” D/n let out a chuckle as he put the glass down, pouring the wine into the crystal-clear glass featuring a razor-thin rim.
F/n eyed the wine; it poured like silk flowing over a smooth surface, its rich, romantic aroma intoxicating her senses. Pulling away from the counter, she glanced at the door leading to the other side of the tavern, the side furnished in luxury, expensive fabrics, and designs only eyes blessed by fate were allowed to see. A smirk formed on her lips. It was the perfect day to farm some tips from Mr. Theodore and the unknown elite he had brought alongside him.
“F/n, make an account for the money we earned yesterday while I go serve my old friend and this new guy.” Wrinkled yet muscular hands gripped a tray bearing the wine, glasses, and a warm meal presented in vermeil, garnished with fresh, forest-plucked herbs and flowers that gave it an artfully plated appeal.
F/n nodded. If anything, she would rather count money until she died than clean up the mess left in the common area by butchers, goldsmiths, woodcrafters, and other laborers. Just thinking about them returning at night made her sigh.
The morning hours were strictly for the elite; no one outside of those adorned in silks, velvet, and brocade could enter. For high society, her parents offered special treatment: a specific door on the left side of the tavern that opened into another world of riches. This ensured a wealthy businessman never had to sit next to a butcher drowning in dried blood. The tavern flourished because of this system. Her father knew exactly how to satisfy two entirely different worlds. Mr. Theodore was the exception, a man of both worlds. He had grown up a commoner but used his cunning mind to rise to the top as a known businessman and philanthropist. Her father was on great terms with the wealthy woodsman, as hunting was one of his most beloved passions.
The heavy hinged door glided open, the floral-decorated wooden slab producing almost no sound, perfectly matching the exquisite style of the private room. Deep black and purple streaks of dalbergia graced the walls. The mahogany floor panels were varnished and polished with such precision that whoever was responsible for cleaning left no room for complaint. Dark walnut chairs, featuring soft emerald cushions embellished in silk, rested beside the armchairs. A warm fireplace sat in the left corner of the room, burning pine and oak to soothe the men engrossed in their tactical game. A monumental chandelier was suspended from the ceiling, polished in ormolu, its carbon bulbs blazing to cast a warm glow reserved only for the wealthy.
Vincenzo let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes in utter annoyance. This was the third game he had lost against the older man sitting opposite him, who was currently grinning ear to ear. Removing his fedora and setting it aside on a wooden table that featured similar blossomy patterns, Vincenzo ran a hand through his silky blond locks, ruffling his hair in the process.
“You don’t look happy, Vinnie.” A series of giggles left the 56-year-old man as he teased the 26-year-old.
“You sound awfully delighted,” Vincenzo replied dryly, which only made Theodore chuckle harder.
Both men were dressed in the latest designer fashion. Charcoal black trench coats hung over their shoulders, worn over crisp white dress suits and black vests. Leather gloves covered their hands, and refined western black boots completed the look. One might confuse them for father and son based on their style, but their distinct features said otherwise. Velvety soft, blond curtain-style hair framed cold gray eyes and pale young skin. Windsor glasses hung from his collar, the prominent features of Vincenzo Lagusa, the youngest landlord of the era.
“I sure am!” A massive grin graced the wrinkled lips of the older man. Theodore had a thick white beard and a head of thinning white hair that screamed he was going bald. His brown eyes glinted with joy, eye wrinkles accompanying every smile. He had a hunched back from old age and kept a black wooden cane always at hand for support. “Come sit, D/n,” Theodore called out to his friend.
The entire time, D/n had been quietly examining the battle between Theodore and Vincenzo. Smiling, D/n put down his serving tray before handing a glass of wine to each gentleman.
Meanwhile, a massive grin was plastered on F/n’s face as she counted the revenue. Her family was certainly profiting heavily from the hunting season.
“Are you going insane?” a gentle feminine voice asked.
Turning around, F/n started to fan herself with the stack of cash, giving her mother a cheeky grin. Letting out a loud laugh, M/n shook her head in mock disappointment. “Enough of this behavior, F/n.” She smiled softly, grabbing a bucket from the cabinets by the counter. “I am leaving for the market. Don’t let Fiona slack off.” With that, her mother pulled on her mud boots, wrapped a cream-colored cotton scarf around her neck, and left the tavern.
F/n didn’t reply, simply nodding in approval as she placed the cash in a lockbox, ready to stash it in the backroom of the kitchen. “Fiona, get out here and take care of the counter!”
Quickly, a redhead appeared. She was as tall as F/n, with sun-kissed skin and soft freckles that made her blue eyes pop. “Sure!”
F/n smiled at her response and disappeared into the kitchen to hide the love of her life: money.
Fiona was a common worker at the tavern. Though she was a good cook, she was also a massive slacker. The moment no one was looking, she could be caught doing something completely unrelated to work, which was exactly why M/n always had to keep a close eye on her. Propping her legs up on the counter and twirling a curly red lock around her finger, Fiona smiled. None of the owners were out here to watch her. Her blue eyes gazed at the closed kitchen door; it would take quite a while for F/n to return and start barking orders. Smirking, Fiona slowly got off the wobbly oak chair, walked to the cabinet near the counter, and pulled out a red cloak, hugging it to her chest. Her fiancé, Leon, was in town, and she could sneak out to meet him. Just thinking about him made her blush. She quickly pulled on the cloak and boots.
It won’t take long. What’s the worst that could happen? she whispered to herself. Stepping out, she ran toward the town as fast as she could.
While the young woman ran off blissfully unaware, four wannabe delinquent teenagers stood outside, eyeing the tavern like it was a feast.
“Come on, you guys! If anything happens, I, Bobby, will protect you! Especially you, Lexi~,” the 13-year-old boy said with unwarranted confidence. His chubby, apple-red cheeks and brown bowl cut made him look like anything…but a delinquent.
Lexi’s reaction to Bobby’s comment was to sigh and cringe.
“Shhh! My wisdom says we go in now and steal the wine!” said the boy who was currently missing his wisdom teeth.
“Ugh, Armin, shut up,” the black-haired girl, Kyle, shot back.
“You guys, stop fighting!” Lexi’s blonde hair bounced as she stepped in front of the group. “We are a team! The power of friendship is all we need to fool anyone. Look at yourselves!.”
All four of them, Kyle, Bobby, Armin, and Lexi looked at themselves. They were adorned in frayed, fake fedoras, chipped leather gloves that were way too big for their 13-year-old hands, and trousers stitched so poorly it was laughable. It was embarrassing, but to these adventurers and self-proclaimed freedom fighters, this was the height of fashion.
Slowly, the door of the tavern creaked open, and four chipmunk-like heads peeked inside.
“You said this tavern is where the wealthy spend time before hunting! This looks nothing like luxury. It’s... IT’S A FRAUD!” Armin whined as he stepped inside, followed by the others.
“That door over there? Behind that door is a private area where the rich men sit~!” Kyle said, putting a hand over her heart and blushing at the thought of a young, wealthy older guy falling in love with her.
“No one is around? I suppose the heavens are on our side!” Lexi whispered as she looked around.
This side of the tavern was clearly for the common folk. It was empty because this hour was reserved for VIP customers. Rustic poplar and pine cabinets sat in the right corner, alongside a simple mahogany serving counter, wobbly tables made from rough oak, and worn-down pine chairs.
“I suppose that’s the cabinet? I swear I saw it with my dad once, the bottles were in there!” Armin whispered. His fellow delinquents collectively nodded.
Bobby decided to climb the wooden counter. Placing his hand over the cabinet’s wooden handle, he slowly opened it with the precision of a bomb squad technician. Their chipmunk faces lit up. A shiny beer bottle was safely in the small hands of their friend; if sparkles could physically appear in their eyes, they would have.
Just as the young teen was about to climb down, he froze. They all heard it. The sound of the kitchen door banging open rang in their ears. All the power of friendship vanished in an instant.
“Fiona, can you—” The young lady stopped mid-sentence, still holding the doorknob. Her (e/c) eyes locked onto the short intruders. Four pairs of eyes stared back at her in sheer terror, as if she were a man-eating monster. F/n’s gaze slowly traveled toward the chubby rascal trembling on the counter, clutching her hard-earned inventory.
“RUN!” Armin and Kyle grabbed Bobby, dragging him off the counter, while Lexi held the front door open, signaling them to flee.
F/n stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide in disbelief. For a moment, her brain short-circuited. Did she really just get robbed by a bunch of kids? That realization sent her into a blind rage. Blood rushed to her face as she pointed a furious index finger at the thieves.
Before she could even finish, one of the kids cursed back at her. “YOU WENCH!”
Throwing her napkin onto the floor, F/n snapped. Not only did these potato-sized kids rob her of something her family worked hard to earn, but they also insulted her. The young woman couldn’t care less about putting on proper boots or grabbing a coat; all she wanted was to get her hands on those brats. Hearing the commotion, D/n stepped out from the reserved room, only to find the cabinets open, the front door wide open, and his daughter completely missing.
Multiple sets of footsteps pounded against the dirt. The kids were panting and sweating, hair flying in their faces, but none of them cared. All they wanted was to escape the furious woman chasing them. She had a massive advantage: she was taller, older, and much stronger. Just the thought of a slap from her made them blur into the horizon, hurtling deeper into the woods.
Tall, slender gray tree trunks whipped past F/n. Low branches tore her apron and scratched her face. Her tied-up hair became a tangled mess of leaves and twigs. As her adrenaline began to dip, a part of her wanted to just forget the beer bottle and go back. But no, if kids could rob them today, who would rob them tomorrow?
The longer she ran, the more exhausting it became. The fog was growing denser, the silhouetted canopy confusing her sense of direction. The Elderleaf forest was famous for its rich hunting grounds, but also for its confusing layout. For hunters, this was paradise. For her? Absolute pain. She couldn’t give up now, not when the chubby, bowl-cut boy was only a few steps away, panting heavily and slowing down.
“Got you!” F/n screamed, lunging forward and grabbing the young teen by his left ear in a tight, painful grip. He was already starving for oxygen, but now he began to tremble and cry.
He whimpered, begging and shaking his head in absolute denial that he had been caught. “I won’t do it again! On my parents, I swear I won’t do it!” Bobby screamed. Tears flowed from his red eyes, and mucus ran from his nose.
F/n wanted to slap the life out of him, but first, she snatched the beer bottle back and inspected it. It was in perfect condition. Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked down at the crying boy. Raising her hand, she slapped him right across his left cheek.
“Where are your comrades, huh?” she demanded, twisting his ear even harder.
“Tunnels! They ran toward the tunnels! So you wouldn’t follow them!” Bobby cried, sobbing so hard he was practically tasting his own snot.
“The abandoned war tunnels?” she asked.
The boy nodded frantically, treating the exchange like a military-level interrogation. F/n took a long, hard look at the boy before letting go of him. She pointed toward the path that led back to town. Without a single word, Bobby scrambled up and bolted away, terrified she might actually start biting him if he lingered a second longer.
A heavy sigh escaped F/n as she watched the kid flee, stumbling, crying, crawling; he was doing everything but running properly. Her tired gaze shifted to the tunnels. Even through the fog, the moss-covered, rectangular opening was visible, its limestone stained by moisture and constant rainfall. Tree roots twisted into the dark void. Part of F/n refused to go inside, but leaving a bunch of kids out here didn’t sit right either. Especially since they had run all the way out here to hide from her. Stepping closer to the entrance, she peered into the pitch-black void. Originally, F/n had planned to slap every single one of them, but now she was having second thoughts. Something just felt… wrong. Shaking her head, she stepped inside. The metallic stench of rusted iron made her scrunch her nose as she tried to make sense of her surroundings in the near-total darkness.
“I think she’s gone.” “You sure?”
Kyle and Lexi exchanged whispers, debating whether the older girl had given up the chase.
“God...” Kyle let out a loud sigh, resting her back against the damp wall. “Lost the beer, sadly,” Lexi groaned. She paced back and forth, eyeing the entrance. Her expression made it clear she was brewing some kind of revenge plan in that pea-sized brain of hers. “Hey, Lexi...” Kyle muttered, stopping her friend in her tracks.
Both teenagers froze, staring at the figure emerging from the shadows. It was F/n. Thankfully, she didn’t seem focused in their direction yet. Lexi grabbed Kyle, shushing her, and slowly guided her toward the tunnel’s exit, desperate to stay out of their pursuer’s line of sight.
Crunch.
Both teenagers squeezed their eyes shut in dread. One of them had stepped on a dried tree root. The heavens were clearly not on their side. Before F/n could even turn her head, the two bolted, their loud footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls. At this point, F/n just gave up. She was in no mood for a chase. It was better that they ran back toward town; she could always deal with them later.
Massaging her forehead, F/n turned to walk out of the tunnel. She was never fond of exploring abandoned landmarks anyway, so retreating was the best option. As the daylight reappeared, she had to squint, but it wasn’t the sudden brightness that stopped F/n in her tracks. A motionless body lay at the tunnel’s entrance, its back turned to her. Clad in the same cheap trench coat and trousers, it was unmistakably one of the kids.
All desire to discipline the little thieves evaporated, instantly replaced by crushing guilt and a creeping horror. Did this happen because of me? Before she could even process the thought, she dropped to her knees, grabbing the kid by the shoulders, gently, terrified of hurting him further. But the moment she rolled the body over, a horrified scream ripped from her throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide enough to fall from their sockets. As he was turned, the boy’s warm body spasmed into the Lazarus sign, his arms flexing and crossing rigidly over his chest. His skin was warm yet tinged with a sickly, bruised blue, but his face... something was terribly wrong with his face.
His complexion was distorted, resembling dirty, aged porcelain marred by dark smudges and deep cracks along the jawline. His cheekbones were aggressively prominent, plunging into stark, sculpted hollows that gave his white face a skeletal contour. A sharp, pointed, doll-like nose sat above cheekbones painted with an unnatural, violent red blush. His mouth was frozen in a wide, malicious smile, an exaggerated grin stretching unnaturally across the lower half of his face. His lips were deep blood-red, pursed as if waiting for a kiss. Above them, his brows arched in thick, inhumanly high lines. And his eyes... they were massive, glassy, and unblinking. The eyes of a malicious doll.
Whatever F/n was looking at, it was not the boy who had run from the tavern. It simply wasn’t him. She scrambled backward, crab-walking away from the doll-like corpse as tears streamed down her face. Her head darted nervously in all directions, as if checking her surroundings would somehow stop the thing from staring at her. Her hands balled into tight fists, desperately trying to cope, to deny reality, to convince herself this was just a hallucination. Legs numb, she forced herself to stand. But the harder she tried to look away, the more her eyes were drawn back to the doll’s red lips. It was as if they were twitching, pouting, silently demanding that kiss
