Her feet slapped against the cobblestones, sliding out from beneath her when they found something wet. For the first time, she cursed Obsidia’s riches. ‘Gimme a dirt road anyday,’ she thought, as she tried to ignore the sense of impending doom that was crawling around in her stomach. 

Soft laughter echoed around her. 

The fairies were close.

Too close.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she ran, every step seemed to imprint a new terror in her mind. Fairies peeling off her skin. Fairies using their little claws to tear through her stomach. Fairies ripping out her tongue. 

Goblin skin was surprisingly hardy, but it was no match for those little nightmares. Very few things were. 

Her pulse pounded in her ears, so loud it almost blocked out the other sounds of the night. Almost. A torturous giggle still found its way through. It was almost as if the fairies had planned it that way. 

Ahead of her, four fairies appeared. They were tiny, no bigger than Oozewart’s hand, but she knew better than to underestimate them. In fact, it was impossible to overestimate them. Those little fuckers were as formidable as any creature on Venari… and infinitely more sadistic. 

Their black eyes watched her with a hunger so deep it could never be sated. Their wings - delicate but sharp as a blade - fluttered elegantly. The clothes they wore were caked in dried blood, acting as a symbol of the violence and destruction of which they were capable, and their blood red lips were a stark contrast against their corpse-like pallor. Their golden toes sparkled in the light from the candlestick.

Toes that were eerily familiar. Oozewart cursed her reflection. She really should have known better than to trust it… she should have followed her own rules. She growled, part at her own stupidity and part at the fairies. They hovered in a line, but Oozewart felt like she was surrounded. 

One of them said a single word. 

“Sacrifice.”

It was so quiet, that Oozewart barely heard it, but as soon as she did, realised she’d been betrayed, and not just by the thing that wasn’t really her reflection. She should have known this town was too good to be true; this whole thing had been a trap. 

Oozewart stopped dead in her tracks, wondering if it was better to run back the way she’d just come or take a random turn. One of the fairies had the gall to wave at her while she made her decision. The little shit. 

Oozewart growled. That sound alone was usually enough to strike fear into whoever heard it, but the fairies just laughed. 

Weaponless aside from the candlestick, Oozewart ran again, picking a random turn and running down it at full pelt. 

Taking their time, the fairies followed. Oozewart knew what they were doing. They were toying with her, just like she would have done if she was in their shoes (not that they wore shoes, mind you). 

As she ran, she banged on doors to shops and homes, but no-one answered. The inhabitants hid inside, pretending to be asleep. Maybe they were scared. Or maybe they were used to commotion like this. Maybe they revelled in it. Either way, no-one was coming to her rescue; Oozewart was on her own.

She had to keep running. 

After a few strides, Oozewart found some steps… the hard way. As she stumbled down the stone steps, the candlestick remained in her grip, as if held there by glue… or magic. ‘Witchcraft,’ she thought, then following up the thought with a few less-than-polite words about whatever witch was forcing the candlestick into her hand and turning her into the bloody pied piper of fairies. A groan escaped her as she landed in an undignified heap, her arse now soaking wet from a puddle of what she hoped was rain water. 

The fairies laughed again. Much to Oozewart’s horror, they were getting closer now. Far too close.

“Bloody fairies. Bloody witch,” she muttered as she got to her feet. There was no doubt about it, that witch had a lot to answer for. Having the townsfolk pretend to hate her when they were all in it together was a nice trick, and Oozewart would have been impressed if she wasn’t running for her life. That thought reminded her that she needed to put one foot in front of the other very quickly. She could worry about her new collection of bruises later… if there was a later. 

Damn, she hated fairies.

And witches.

Out of nowhere, a fairy flew into her face, blocking her view and digging its viciously sharp claws into her cheeks. With her free hand, Oozewart grabbed at the creature, tearing it free, along with a few chunks of her own flesh. A hot sticky wetness covered her face. Luckily (although she wasn’t sure if it could really be considered luck), the stinging pain didn’t register… largely because there wasn’t time. It was like the other fairies had smelt her blood in the air. There had to be about fifty of them. They came upon her from all directions, gripping onto her ears and clothing, hanging from her limp hair, and dancing around the candle flame. 

The candle flame.

That gave her an idea. 

She could burn the little fuckers.

One fairy chose that moment to take a swipe at her eyes. Ducking just in time, Oozewart used the momentum to bring the candle up to the tiny attacker, but the flame did nothing. The fairy didn’t catch alight. It wasn’t even slightly singed. The only one to feel any pain was Oozewart, as her hand blistered and charred as if from a burn. The blister popped, its oozing fluid dripping from her hand onto the cobblestones below. 

“Why would we give you something to hurt us with, goblin?” the creature all but sang. “You must be an idiot. But nice try, we love it when dinner fights back!”

A chorus of laughter echoed around her as her attackers took delight in her misfortune. As one the fairies stopped laughing and each took a bite out of Oozewart. One or two fairy bites would have been painful, but fifty of them at once was indescribable. Oozewart staggered backwards, waving her arms around, just trying to dislodge some of the creatures that were intent on devouring her. 

But it was no use. 

Every time she removed a couple and threw them away, more arrived and latched onto her. Within moments, she was covered in them. 

‘At least I can’t see that candlestick anymore,’ she thought, even though she could still feel it burning against the palm of her hand. 

Then, she was being toppled over. The weight of one fairy alone was nothing, but a small army was more than enough to fell a goblin. They bit into her again, some crawling into her clothing to dig into the flesh hidden beneath. Oozewart wasn’t sure if she screamed, but she would have been surprised if she didn’t. 

Suddenly something clamped onto her shoulders and pulled at her. At first, she thought it was more fairies, but this was different. No teeth lined the edges of those clamps. Something rattled. Something jingled.

‘Hands,’ she thought in her delirium. ‘Must be hands.’

Those hands pulled her from the throng of ravenous fairies, and forced Oozewart to her feet. Angry at being disturbed, the fairies screech their warcry, a sound capable of chilling the blood of even the bravest of warriors. 

Bleeding from a multitude of wounds, Oozewart wanted nothing more than to lay back down and give in. Anything to stop that noise. 

Then there was darkness. True darkness. And silence. 

Oozewart gathered her senses and activated her night-vision. The fairies were gone. 

It was just her… and the witch. 

“Where’s the-”

“Candle? Still in your hand, but I covered it with my hat,” the witch said, nodding towards the pointed black hat that now appeared to be balanced on Oozewart’s arm. Her voice was rough and tired, as if she’d had conversations like this before and was bored of them.  “That thing’s loaded with enough spells to block any kind of light, but especially fairy light.”

Oozewart stared at it, somewhat dumbfounded.

“You seem confused. As a goblin, I thought you’d be comfortable in the darkness.” 

“I am…” 

“And you should know from taking your victims that any kind of light in that darkness doesn’t represent safety; it represents a target. With that candlestick, you were a walking target. You’ll do well to remember, it’s safer in the dark. I tried to tell you to keep to the shadows.”

“Wise words,” Oozewart said, wondering, but not asking if the witch had ever met a Night-Vision. If she had, she’d know that the darkness was certainly not safe… but she wasn’t about to tell the woman who’d just saved her that she was wrong. That would be rude… even for a goblin. 

“So where did you get the candle from anyway?” the witch asked. 

“My room,” Oozewart replied.

“That’s another lesson: don’t accept gifts from strangers.”

“I didn’t. I stole it.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”

“Was this really it? The whole job? They just wanted me to get eaten?”

“Nah, they had a backup plan,” the witch replied. “If you survived, you would have been told your job was to kill the fairies… and probably kill me. Otherwise, you were just a sacrifice. Either way, it meant at least one night where they didn’t lose one of their own.”

“That… oddly makes sense.”

“What? Does that mean you forgive them?” the witch asked.

“Oh no, not at all. I plan to make them all pay.”

The witch laughed. “I like that, but you may find it difficult. The hat only works for a while. Sooner or later, that thing’s going to go up in flames… and it’ll happen long before you’ve claimed your revenge.”

“Well, can’t I just let go of the candlestick now? I mean, don’t you have a spell for that?”

“I wish, but no. There’s only one way to rid yourself of the fairy’s light. You must pass back through the iron gates of Obsidia. Once you leave, you can never return. If you do, the light will appear in your hand.”

“Well, ain’t that a bit shit?” Oozewart said, thinking about the double whammy of not only missing out on vengeance, but also having to put up with the Night-Visions again. 

“Yup,” the witch sighed. 

“Why are you stickin’ around?” Oozewart asked. “It’s clear your neighbours don’t like ya. Ya can leave wiv me… but we ain’t friends… just… y’know… acquaintances…”

“Acquiantances?” the witch said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know big words.”

“Whatever,” the witch replied. “The fact is I can’t leave. I’ve got a little curse of my own. The folks in this town are twisted beyond belief. If you stay, you’ll get eaten by fairies. If I go, I’ll cease to be. In fact, it’ll be like I never existed.”

“That’s…” Oozewart searched for a word, but couldn’t find one.

“Exactly,” the witch said.