Soft moss gave way beneath the knight’s boots as he trudged deeper into the cursed land. Dead forest surrounded him. The air smelled of decay. Each breath bathed his tongue in a putrid taste, not unlike the dungeon he’d been confined to. Unfamiliar sounds skittered and groaned from the shadows. When the knight looked back, the road was no longer visible. A chill ran up his back and caressed his neck.

  Welcome home, the chill seemed to whisper. As terrible as this curse-bloated land was, part of him always felt drawn to it.

  A sudden gust of wind descended upon him, cold enough to sting. The ground shook beneath him. The knight’s hand went to his sword. A shape stood just beyond his blade’s reach—tall and unmoving. Its black robe hung in tatters that dragged across the dead earth.

  The figure rose slowly, until it towered nearly three times the knight’s height. Behind it, four black-feathered wings stretched out. The feathers quivered, shedding flecks of rot, then folded back in a slow, deliberate sweep. Only then did the knight see its skin, glistening with a sickly sheen. Its face remained shrouded beneath its hood. But from within the darkness, two pale lights opened like eyes.

  They fixed on him, piercing his mind.

  The creature’s head cocked with a sharp, bone-deep crack.

  It leaned forward.

  The knight wrapped his fingers around the grip of his sword, and positioned his shield in front of him. Only then did he realize he'd left his food on the carriage.

  “I mean you no harm,” a deep voice spilled out of the darkened shroud like a plagued mist. Nearly too low to hear, it took root in the knight’s skull.

  Like a statue, the knight waited for the accursed creature to either attack or move along. It did not move. Instead, after an oppressive silence, it spoke.

  “You smell of curses.”

  “Why have you followed me?” the knight asked.

  “Curiosity,” it answered.

  “What are you? What business do you have with me?”

  “I am the Question,” it replied. “You know my name. Ask it.”

  The knight thought, feeling some unwelcome thing pulling his mind, leading it to what it meant for him to ask. When he arrived, the knight recognized it. It was a question he’d asked many times.

  Low and solemn, the words came out, “How long must I live?”

  “Must?” the Question asked, recoiling. “Curious. Look through my eyes and see.”

  The Question fanned out its wings. Where its feathers had been hung the heavens. Among the distant stars drifted countless eyes. At once, they opened.

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  Each eye, a burning light that tugged at the knight’s soul with every pulse. The light faded, and the heavens sank into the black of the Question’s wings. Dull, lifeless eyes were all that remained.

  “What is this?” the Question asked, a frigid fire in its voice. “Why can I not see?”

  “You have no answer for me?”

  Confused, the Question’s wings folded back up, and it kneeled before the knight. It leaned forward until they were eye level. Still, the knight could not see its face, but he could feel its cold breath.

  “What have you done?” the Question asked, each word drawn out like a blade slipping from its sheath.

  “I’ve only asked of you, foul Question,” the knight replied.

  It said nothing.

  “I’m looking for the remains of two bodies,” the knight said. “Have you seen them wander through?”

  The Question nodded. “A princess and a knight in ivory armor?”

  “Yes. Do you know where I can find them?”

  The Question shook its head. “I know only the path they tread.”

  The knight’s patience wore down, and his grip tightened around his sword. “With all your eyes, did you not witness them? Their end?”

  No response.

  “What use is a question without answers?” the knight huffed as he surveyed the area around him. The Question occupied most of his vision, and he could hear little else over its low, lumbering breath.

  “There is a cursed crown,” the Question said. “Its wearer cursed with knowledge of all things.”

  The knight took a moment to think. The last time he’d been in the cursed lands there was little time to think. Last time, he had not stood beside a question so wretched.

  “Take me,” the knight said. “Where is it?”

  “It lies forgotten, in a horde. I can guide you.”

  “And why would you aid me?”

  “Curiosity,” it replied.

  “Then, rotten Question, guide me. But know this: should you lead me astray, your life is forfeit. I will not rest until I see it done,” the knight commanded.

  “I accept your terms,” the Question replied. From its dark shroud a long, cadaverous arm extended. At its end, its hand opened like a flower blooming into spiders’ legs. Each finger capped with jagged nails, each coming to a point. It curled a finger until its nail met its palm, then contracted—cutting through flesh. Blood, a deep violet, wept from the wound.

  It extended its bleeding hand toward the knight.

  “Drink,” it said, “and bind this accord.”

  The knight, reluctant, leaned in. Hesitation found him. He wouldn’t die, surely, but how much pain would he endure? As he considered this, the creature’s fingers crept into his peripheral vision. He recoiled, but the Question’s fingers clamped around his face and lifted him from the ground. Suffocated by its grip, the knight fought to free himself. A tremendous pressure built in his head.

  “Drink,” the Question repeated.

  The knight ceased his struggling and drank. Its blood tasted of sweet bile, burning his throat as it went down. A numbness trailed, filling his chest with an emptiness he’d never known. He wondered if that was what it felt like to die.

  The Question released the knight.

  “Why?” the knight shouted. “I would have drunk freely!”

  “We are bound,” the Question rumbled. “Follow me.” Then the wretched creature turned its back and appeared to glide further into the wasteland.

  Left to wipe his face clean, the knight followed. He spat the remaining liquid as they walked. The dense, cathedral-like quiet of the woods gave way. The soft cushion of moss thinned, revealing the dead earth. He continued to follow the terrible curse as he stepped into a dead meadow.

  A purple mist hung low. Steady beads of light shone through beneath it, strewn about haphazardly. As he walked, the mist parted for him like a king’s subjects, revealing blackened grass that crunched beneath each step. He came upon a light, revealing itself to be a single lily. Its center emitted a comforting white light, which burned along the edges of each petal.

  “Death,” the Question spoke. “Each lily, a life feeding on death. Death buried shallow beneath us.”

  “Stop,” the knight said. He knelt and took in the scent of the glowing flower. Something inside him, long buried, flinched. It smelled of laughter, of family and friends—of warmth, of love, of hope.

  “Enough,” the Question spoke. “Our journey is long.”

  The knight rose, nodded, and continued onward.