Chapter 4 A Lonely Cabin in the Woods.
It doesn’t take long to forget we’re supposed to be running away. The snowstorm muffles everything now, wrapping the world in silence. I doubt anyone in their right mind would chase me through this just to drag me back. Honestly, they’re probably thrilled I’m gone, and that’s fine; I’m ecstatic, too. What I hadn’t planned for was what came after. I mean, it’s not like I circled today on a calendar and thought, Yes, this seems like a great day to overthrow lifelong imprisonment. But here we are. Now I get to figure out what comes next. And apparently, what comes next is a whole lot of walking. Six hours, at least, judging by the sun’s lazy crawl across the sky. There's nothing but trees, snow, and—you guessed it—more trees. Gilfred has dozed off on my shoulder, leaving me alone with my thoughts until a faint light flickers in the distance. It’s still far away, but it’s something. Hope flares in my chest, pushing my tired legs faster. By the time I reach it, I’m half-frozen and half-disappointed. I’d imagined a town, or maybe a castle made of gold, with a red carpet to welcome the girl who turned a village into an ice rink. Instead, there’s just a cabin—one lonely little cabin in the middle of nowhere, swallowed by snow. Still, I can’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally have someone to talk to.
When I finally—finally—reach the cabin, I step onto the old wooden porch and try to dust some of the snow from my dress. It’s completely soaked, and considering my current no-shoes, no-jacket, no-winter-wear situation, I doubt it really matters if I’ve got a little snow left on me. Still, first impressions matter, right? That’s what I’ve read, at least.
I give myself a quick mental pep talk, raise my hand, and knock on the door.
“Here goes everything.”
I wait.
And wait.
Maybe they didn’t hear me? I knock again. Still nothing. Hmm.
I step to the side and peek through the window. There’s a fire crackling inside, a pot of something hanging over it, and yet, no sign of movement.
“Hello?” I call, trying my sweetest, most innocent, most sorry-for-the-blizzard voice. “Is anyone home?”
Silence.
How… anticlimactic. I’m not trying to be the villain here, but my feet are numb and I am absolutely not walking another who-knows-how-many miles to find someone else. So, I try the handle and—miracle—it opens. Maybe that’s normal out here? Maybe forest people just… trust everyone? Either way, it’s a win in my book, because the fire is warm, and whatever’s in that pot smells so freaking good.
“Is anyone home? I’m so sorry for just barging in, I’m a little… lost,” I call out, hoping for some kind of response. The only one I get is from Gilfred, who’s perched on my shoulder and now glaring at me like he fully understands the extent of the felony I’ve just committed.
I roll my eyes at him. “Oh, please, Gilfred. You didn’t have to walk half the day and into the night. It’s fine. I’m sure whoever lives here will understand.”
He gives me a look that screams 'you’re insane' before scuttling down my arm. I crouch to help him onto the floor, and he immediately toddles off toward the fire. Typical. I follow, stretching my hands toward the flames. I don’t really need the warmth, but it still feels… nice. Comforting, even.
While I’m standing there, letting my dress steam dry, I sneak a little peek into the pot and oh my lordy, I have never smelled anything so delicious. It’s a thick brown broth dotted with bits of meat and vegetables, definitely a stew. I’ve read about them, but I’ve never actually had one, and I’m starving. Screw it. We’ve already committed two crimes today—breaking out of imprisonment and breaking and entering—so what’s one more? Bad things come in threes anyway. I grab the ladle, scoop up a bit of the liquid, and bring it to my lips. The spoon steams and whistles as my cool breath meets its heat, but it goes down lukewarm and rich. Honestly? Best stolen meal ever. I wander around the small cabin, just to be sure there’s definitely no one home. It’s cozy in that slightly suspicious way, like someone could walk through the door at any moment and catch me mid-crime. There’s a tiny bedroom with a neatly made bed, a bathroom with an actual mirror, and the kitchen that bleeds into a snug little lounge room. Just me, Gilfred, and the stolen stew I’ve now claimed as dinner. I sit cross-legged on the floor by the fire, bowl in hand, the heat kissing my cheeks as I grin to myself. The flames crackle softly, and for the first time in… maybe ever, I feel excited for tomorrow, for what it might bring, for where I might go, for who I might meet. The world is literally at my fingertips now, and all I have to do is be brave enough to take it by the hand and run with it. It's mine now, and I'll be damned if anyone tries to cage me again.
Once I’m done eating, I do the polite thing and I wash the bowl and spoon. Then I do the impolite thing and crawl onto the bed of the poor stranger whose house I broke into and whose dinner I shamelessly stole. The blankets smell of smoke, pine, and something faintly sweet. My eyes grow heavy as my body sinks into the warmth. In someone else’s eyes, if they were reading my story, it would probably seem pretty boring right now; just some lonely girl who's read too many fairytales and got lost in the woods. But you know what I’d say to that? My story is just getting started, and you won't even see what's coming next. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I fall asleep—in a stolen bed, in a stranger’s cabin, dreaming of freedom.