Die Märchentante returns. Wandering around this desolate town without children, she is without an audience. But new stories have been bargained, as en route to this foreign land, there happened to be a Wolf awaiting death by the banks of a river, praying for salvation.
She crouched down and with shaking hands cupped up the flowing water. Who is to say that her kindness need not be spared upon the bastard? Whether or not it deserved to taste the sweetness of life in its final moments was none of the Märchentante's concern. Her only duty was to catch its final breath and render it immortal.
And so a bargain was struck, that it may awake from this life and sleep again, finding itself in a tomorrow that is no different from yesterday.
As its last words immortalized themselves in her soul, its memories became hers as well. She fell, with the burden of the experience that came with the life she never lived, but could feel. The two bodies that lie underneath the skin of a wolf that now ceased to exist continue to dream a peaceful dream in which they are still drinking the poison of a lie. Should they wake, they will find themselves sat at the dinner table again, spoon feeding each other white lies in a loving gaze. In their hearts, the common filth of selfishness has triumphed. Because they only wanted the demise of the other, neither of them could claim to be the victor, for in the end, it was the wolf that devoured them all.
Thus far, whose story has been told?
There was no story, for there was never an audience.
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