Once upon a time, in a decaying, forgotten forest lived Moldilocks.
She wasn't always a zombie, but a peculiar curse had befallen her after she dared to explore a forbidden, ancient ruin. With brittle, pale skin, dim eyes,and moldy, moss-covered hair, Moldilocks wandered the forest, driven by a vague memory of a life that once was.
One evening, as the moon cast an eerie glow over the trees, Moldilocks stumbled upon a dilapidated cabin. Intrigued by the flickering light inside, she shuffled up to the back door and pushed it open. Inside, she found a dark scene that echoed a pleasant but distant story from her childhood: three bowls of brain porridge sat on a rickety table, steam still rising from them.
Moldilocks’ hunger gnawed at her insides, a constant reminder of her cursed state. She reached for the first bowl and took a sip. "Too hot," she rasped, her voice a ghostly whisper. She moved to the second bowl and tried again. "Too cold." Finally, she dipped a finger into the third bowl. "Just right," she croaked, before slurping it down with a grotesque enthusiasm.
Her hunger partially sated, Moldilocks noticed three chairs by the fireplace. She attempted to sit in the first, but it was small and crumbled even under her decayed weight. The second was too large and made her feel lost and insignificant. The third chair, though old and creaky, held firm.
She sat in it for a moment, feeling a fleeting sense of comfort in the quietness of the cabin.
Moldilocks’ curiosity led her to a staircase near the front door. Upstairs, she found three beds. The first was too soft, and her modest weight caused it to sag unnaturally. The second was too hard, her bones aching as she lay on it. The third bed, however, felt just right.
Moldilocks lay down, her body finally at rest, and fell into a deep, undead slumber.
Not long after, the cabin's inhabitants returned. But they were not the agreeable bears from the distant and familiar tale, but rather three witches. They had crafted the cabin and its contents as a trap to ensnare curious souls.
Upon discovering Moldilocks in the third bed, the dark, hovering witches with glowing eyes exchanged knowing glances.
"Look at this poor creature," the eldest witch said, her voice tinged with pity. "The curse has ravaged her beyond recognition."
The second witch, more pragmatic, added, "We should help her find peace."
The youngest witch, always compassionate, nodded in agreement.
Together, they chanted an incantation, weaving their magic around Moldilocks. Her skin went from pale and brittle to lush, pink flesh. Her hair twisted from a moldy green rat’s nest to flowing, golden locks. Her dim eyes brightened to a brilliant blue.
For a brief moment, she looked up at the three witches over her not with fear, but with calm and gratefulness. Her very last expression, a profound “thank you”.
The girl who had been Moldilocks exhaled one last breath as the curse lifted, freeing her from her eternal hunger and wandering.
The three witches gently carried her still body out of the cabin and into the forest. They buried her beneath an ancient tree, marking the spot with a stone inscribed with runes of peace and rest.
From that night onward, the forest felt a little less haunted, and the girl’s spirit, at last, found its way to a place where she could find eternal rest.
