When the group steps out the door, they find themselves deep in the woods - off the beaten path. They are urged to step aside by the suits of armor that usher Varian forward, and as he walks past, he is engulfed by swaths of shimmering white light. When it fades, he is transformed.
Gone are his usual peasant's clothes. Instead, he stands before the group clad in a long black dress with a deep purple cowl, a tiny witch's hat perched atop his head. His toolset is gone, but in its place he holds two things - a mixing bowl and a whisk.
Before their eyes, a house made of gingerbread springs up as if from nothing - walls and rooftops slotting into place and standing tall as if they were always there. Varian finds himself compelled to walk toward it, and as he approaches, its gingerbread door swings wide open. He vanishes inside of the house, and the door shuts behind him. One might think that he has finally gone home to rest -
But that's not the case, is it? He paces around inside of the house, visible in brief glances through the spun sugar windows. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
There is movement in the shadows of the woods, and two small figures step out of the shadows of the trees. Both have inky-black hair and sharp, glinting white teeth. They giggle together as they approach the house, and when the boy puts his hand on the gumdrop handle of the door, their eyes glow an eerie red.
They vanish inside of the house. Outside, the Narrators hear the sound of a scuffle, followed by a loud crash and a grunt of pain. Then, silence. A long, deafening silence that stretches on and on and on until they smell the faint tinge of smoke in the air. Plumes of purple smoke rise from the gingerbread chimney, trailing away into the air.
But they cannot leave yet. They stand there, waiting for what seems like almost a full half hour, until the door swings slowly open. The boy and the girl step delicately around a puddle of purple ink as they emerge. Both have splotches of purple on the fronts of their clothes that were not there before.
The girl giggles as she takes a bite of what looks like a charred hand, and tears away a pinkie finger with her teeth. Purple ink drips down her chin, and she munches contentedly as she and her brother walk away, back into the woods. He leaves a trail behind them - a blue eye, an ear, a toe...
Silence falls over the group, and you can't help but wonder:
The story of Varian has come to an end... or has it?
EXECUTION
Gone are his usual peasant's clothes. Instead, he stands before the group clad in a long black dress with a deep purple cowl, a tiny witch's hat perched atop his head. His toolset is gone, but in its place he holds two things - a mixing bowl and a whisk.
Before their eyes, a house made of gingerbread springs up as if from nothing - walls and rooftops slotting into place and standing tall as if they were always there. Varian finds himself compelled to walk toward it, and as he approaches, its gingerbread door swings wide open. He vanishes inside of the house, and the door shuts behind him. One might think that he has finally gone home to rest -
But that's not the case, is it? He paces around inside of the house, visible in brief glances through the spun sugar windows. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
There is movement in the shadows of the woods, and two small figures step out of the shadows of the trees. Both have inky-black hair and sharp, glinting white teeth. They giggle together as they approach the house, and when the boy puts his hand on the gumdrop handle of the door, their eyes glow an eerie red.
They vanish inside of the house. Outside, the Narrators hear the sound of a scuffle, followed by a loud crash and a grunt of pain. Then, silence. A long, deafening silence that stretches on and on and on until they smell the faint tinge of smoke in the air. Plumes of purple smoke rise from the gingerbread chimney, trailing away into the air.
But they cannot leave yet. They stand there, waiting for what seems like almost a full half hour, until the door swings slowly open. The boy and the girl step delicately around a puddle of purple ink as they emerge. Both have splotches of purple on the fronts of their clothes that were not there before.
The girl giggles as she takes a bite of what looks like a charred hand, and tears away a pinkie finger with her teeth. Purple ink drips down her chin, and she munches contentedly as she and her brother walk away, back into the woods. He leaves a trail behind them - a blue eye, an ear, a toe...
Silence falls over the group, and you can't help but wonder:
The story of Varian has come to an end... or has it?