Everything hurt, but by the gods, she was grateful to be alive. Groaning, Heather sat up and gingerly began checking her body for fractures or wounds. A scrape on her elbow. A pear-shaped bruise stretched across her side and most of her back. Her shoulder was stiff, and a blinding migraine pulsed behind her eyes. Falling several stories onto solid stone wasn’t an experience she ever wanted to repeat. Still, all things considered, it could have been much worse. If she had fallen on her pack… Heather shuddered at the gruesome thought of being pierced by her own tools. Yes, much worse.
The fleeting relief of survival faded as the memory of her fall surged back. Mabel’s face, twisted in hurt and betrayal, flashed in Heather’s mind, a tight pang pressing into her chest. The severed rope — their only escape — was dangling somewhere above beyond sight, a bitter reminder of what had happened.
Her shoulder throbbed beneath the strap of her pack as she pushed herself to her feet. Every movement sent pain lancing through her body, but she forced herself upright, leaning briefly against the cold, towering leg of the table for support. The taste of bile filled her mouth. Anna could return at any moment, and staying here wasn’t an option.
The space beneath the table stretched wide and shadowed, cavernous in its dimensions — but it was cover. Heather moved deeper into the gloom, her footsteps echoing faintly off the stone floor.
By the time she reached the far wall the chandelier light had receded to the point where her hands were barely even visible. Aimlessly she walked along the base of the wall, fingers skimming the surface in case she collapsed and had to quickly steady herself. Mentally she went over the blueprints again and again and again. There had to be a way out. She’d come too far to die in this place. What good was revenge and untold riches if it meant her sister would lose the only family she had left and remain a pauper?
Her fingers brushed against something — an opening in the wall, almost large enough to fit her hand. Her eyes widened. She traced the stone carefully, her heart skipping as she found another, then another, each spaced evenly along the surface. Squinting in the dim light, she examined the worn, chipped edges of the holes. They looked old, like they’d once been part of something long dismantled.
Heather’s pulse quickened as the realization hit her. These weren’t just holes. They were the remnants of old ladder rungs. A way out. A chance.
Her fingers trembled as she reached up to grip the first opening. The rock was craggy and jagged against her fingers, but it felt stable. She tested her weight on it, then the next. Pain shot through her shoulder as she hoisted herself upward, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.
One rung. Then another. And another.
The climb was agony. Her muscles screamed, her bruised side burned, and her hands slipped more than once on the grimy stone. But the thought of staying in this place — a mouse in a cat’s house — was worse.
She didn’t look down. She couldn’t afford to. Her world narrowed to the wall in front of her, the next hole, the next pull. The faint smell of dust and mortar filled her nose as she climbed, her breaths ragged and shallow.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t fast. But Heather didn’t stop.
Heather reached the top, managing to squeeze through the small gap between the wall and table with some difficulty. Her bruised side flared in protest as she twisted her body, scraping against the stone. Finally, she pulled herself onto the surface and collapsed, gasping for breath.
She lay there for a moment, chest heaving, the cool, smooth wooden surface pressing against her cheek. Her hands stung raw from the climb, and her body ached with every movement. Slowly, she pushed herself onto her elbows, her head still spinning.
Then she looked up — and froze.
A face only inches from her own, pale and wide-eyed. Heather let out a sharp yelp, jerking back on instinct before her mind caught up with her fear.
Her reflection.
It stared back at her from the curved surface of a massive glass jar, the same one she saw when they’d first reached the table. Heather’s fingers slid down her hair to fiddle with a knot there as she tried to calm down. The reflection unsettled her. It made her feel like she was being observed. Heather looked around, just to be safe, but saw no one.
The only change was the sky beyond the window. Twilight had begun to settle, staining the horizon an ugly, tombstone grey. Emma was probably worried sick by now. Then again, Emma knew better than most that jobs like this were rarely straightforward. Delays and setbacks were part of the deal.
The thought of Emma pacing anxiously on the hilltop like a nervous hen brought a small smile to Heather’s face — the first real smile she’d felt in months. It was enough to push her back to her feet, shaking off the lingering unease.
Almost there.
She studied the line of holes trailing up the wall, noting that none aligned with the rafters overhead. She felt a flicker of relief — she wasn’t sure if her body could have taken much more of such a steep climb. But she quickly admonished herself; scaling the rope won’t be any better. That is… if the rope was still there.
Heather trudged along the vast expanse of the table, her boots scuffing against its dull surface. Her gaze drifted to the massive book lying open a short distance ahead. A trickle of guilt crept into her thoughts, unbidden. She really hoped Ada and Mabel had made it out. Even after everything that had happened — even after Mabel had cut the rope — she couldn’t shake the knot in her chest. Maybe she’d acted too hastily? Maybe she should have waited? Planned better.
But no. Heather shook her head, forcing herself to focus. It didn’t matter now. What was done, was done. Regret wouldn’t get her out of this place, and it wouldn’t change the choices she’d already made.
Her back prickled, an intense feeling like she was being watched. She waited, glanced around, but saw no one. Instead her eyes felt woozy, her mind a daze. Only a little bit further, she thought, gravely hoping this spell of exhaustion wouldn’t be the end of her.
Heather passed the book, the stack of pages as tall as a door. There was a quiet rustle of metal on leather and immediately her hand darted for her dagger. She spun around just in time to fend off Ren’s incoming blade.
Ren moved back, sword tip up, creating space. Her puffy, red-rimmed eyes glistened, her nose raw, but the seething fury twisting her sneer left no room for grief. With only a knife, Heather was at a serious disadvantage as long as she was kept at a distance. Like a pair of cats the two circled each other, waiting for the moment to strike.
“I knew you had another way out. Just like I knew you were a scheming, lying whore from the start. I’m going to make you pay for what you did to my brother!” Ren feinted and Heather hopped back. They continued to circle.
“He got what he deserved. My mother was just one of hundreds that you leeches wrung dry.”
“Your mother? Your mother was a filthy lowlife. An addict who grovelled for scraps until the very end. You look just like her. The same sad, pathetic, greedy eyes, always begging the world for more.” She tilted her head in mock sympathy. “Maybe if she begged a little harder she could’ve gotten a few more doses — just enough to see what a miserable wretch her daughter truly was.”
Ren attacked and instinctively Heather dodged to the side, nimble as a dancer, but not fast enough. She winced, feeling a sharp sting graze her cheek — had she moved a moment later it would’ve been her eye.
With an undignified twist she dodged a second jab, then lunged forward with her knife. Ren parried the small blade, throwing it from Heather’s grip, but her riposte went wide. Something had caught her attention, a bewildered expression flashing across her face. Heather capitalized on the distraction. The thief grabbed the woman’s wrist and wrenched, hard, the rapier clattering to the ground.
The two wrestled then fell together, Heather’s head cracking against the floor. They twisted, rolled, and Heather somehow got her weight on top. Another shove and they were scrambling again. Mindless, frenetic punches and kicks flew back and forth.
Heather managed to wrap her elbow around Ren’s neck. With all her weight she pulled and the alchemist lay writhing on top of her, desperately scratching at her arm, legs thrashing.
Her free hand reached into her pocket, quickly retrieved the blue vial, and popped the stopper off with her thumb. Ren was hissing, choking, screaming — all at once trying to curse Heather in anger and suck down air in desperation. Heather poured the contents of the vial into the frantic woman’s mouth. She clamped her hand over ruby-red lips, felt Ren sputtering, wildly trying to spit out the drug. A good deal seeped out between her fingers, but not enough.
Ren’s struggles grew weaker. Clawing nails turned to feebly slapping fingers. Heather pushed her off, scanning for the sword, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was ready to end this.
Ren got up, tottered, but immediately collapsed again. The dosage she swallowed hadn’t been enough to knock her out, but it was plenty to make her as harmless as a drunk infant. She let out a string of incoherent curses and grunts, but Heather ignored her.
The sword was right here. I heard it fall. Did we kick it in the scuffle?
Heather scowled and looked at the massive tome. It was closed. She was sure it was open when the fight began. Heather spun, looking around the room, another wave of dizziness settling on her.
The massive front doors were still shut. Surely they’d have heard if someone had come in. Her gaze drifted to the clothes rack, a second uniform hung from the hook. Something in her mind seemed to snap into place, and Heather stumbled back in horror.
Sitting at the kitchen table was a giantess. Her blonde, curly hair was neatly tied back, save for a few loose locks that twirled down the sides of her round face. Blue tourmaline coloured eyes sparkled with curiosity as she watched Heather, the way someone might observe an interesting insect. An affectionate smile spread across her lips as she idly twirled Ren’s sword between pinching fingers, as if it were a blade of grass. She wore a plain white undershirt that clung to her curvy body, the taut fabric emphasizing her profound presence. Heather turned ghostly pale as the giant leaned in close, her ample chest resting against the table.
“Well ‘allo there, sucre d’orge. I was wondering when I would get your attention.”
Her voice was warm, friendly even, and she spoke with a lilting accent. It was unlike anything Heather had ever heard.
“Chut. Tout va bien. Don’t be scared. I’m not going to harm you.”
Heather yelped as something pressed into her back. Her breath hitched when she realized she’d been backing up and was now cornered against the massive spellbook. The rough-cut pages brushed against her spine, a harsh reminder that she had nowhere left to go.
The giant gave a patient, reassuring smile. “Can you tell me your name?”
Heather blinked. She wanted to know her name? Giants didn’t want to know people's names. They wanted their gold, their land, their crops, their lives. At least… that’s what the stories said. Regardless, Heather was a professional. Handing out an alias at the drop of a hat — Amber being her favourite — was second nature at this point.
“I’m… Heather.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, inwardly she cringed. Why had she used her real name?
There was no time to scold herself. The giantess reached out with both hands. Fingers scooped her up with gentle precision, curling around her and sealing her in a cocoon of warm, unyielding flesh. Dim light filtered through the soft fingers, casting shadows like prison bars. Heather crawled and clawed against the powerful digits, desperate to worm free like a caught bug.
With a careful tilt of the giantess’ hands, she slid back into the cushioned cradle of her palms. Heather looked up to a sky overcast by the colossal woman’s breasts and cheerful face. Heather’s breath came in shallow gasps, her mind racing. First the massive woman appeared out of nowhere and now Heather couldn’t lie. Sorcery was at work here; she had to be careful.
“Si jolie, it is a pleasure to meet you, ‘eather. I am Larissa. Now, what brings you to our little château?”
To steal all your riches and commit murder in the process. Heather bit her lip before the words could spill out. She thought about her response, but knew she had to delay — she needed time to think. Heather wiped the back of her hand over the bleeding cut on her cheek, making a show of wincing as she inspected the blood.
“S-sorry, it… hurts a lot.” It wasn’t a lie, it really did hurt. In fact, her whole body felt like it was one push away from shattering.
“Oh, bonté divine, ma petite chérie! I am so sorry! I should ’ave asked before picking you like that. Did I hurt you? You are not in more pain? Please, let me aid you.”
Before Heather could respond, a soft honey-gold glow wrapped her in a lulling embrace. Her muscles trembled as the soothing warmth seeped into them, easing aches and knitting her pain away. The tension in her body melted like frost under the morning sun. By the time the light faded, Heather felt completely rejuvenated, like she’d just woken up from a good night’s rest. For a moment, she simply sat there, awestruck and weightless.
Larissa caressed the top of Heather’s head with her thumb, gently brushing the finger across her hair and down her back. Heather surprised herself by nuzzling into the touch.
“Are you feeling a bit better?”
“Yes, a lot better… uhm… thank you.”
Larissa’s face lit up with delight as she lifted Heather gently, pressing her to her cheek in a warm, affectionate hug. The sudden rush of being hoisted into the air made Heather’s stomach plummet, her heart hammering as the giant’s face loomed closer. For a moment, all she could focus on was the overwhelming size and proximity — the faint scent of lilies from Larissa’s skin, the delicate heat from her cheek, and the slight pressure as she was snuggled against it. Despite the initial jolt of panic, the benign hug felt oddly reassuring, like being wrapped in a heavy blanket. Bit by bit, Heather’s tension ebbed and faded, her fear giving way to an unexpected sense of safety.
She almost regretted Larissa finally pulling away. The giant nudged Heather into just one of her palms, her newly freed hand moving behind her head. The hair loosened like a cascading waterfall of gold, curls dancing down freely to her shoulders. Then she turned her attention back to Heather, continuing in her dulcet tone.
“I am very glad to hear that. Though I must ask again, why are you here, little one?”
Her time had run out, stalling anymore would arouse suspicion. Heather didn’t think she could trust Larissa with the truth, at least not the whole truth, but maybe she could take advantage of her surprisingly gentle nature.
“Anna.”
Larissa gave her a knowing, doleful look.
“Ah, je vois, of course... Not all my companions treat your kind gently.”
The giantess lowered Heather again, glancing around the brightening room as if looking for someone. There was a deep, organic rumble emanating from Larissa’s plump middle that shook Heather to her core. She looked up, horrified, then felt a pang of guilt when she saw Larissa’s turn face bright red.
“Je suis vraiment navrée!”
Heather wasn’t sure what the titanic woman was saying, but she had a good idea. Taking a deep breath, she tried her best to push away the terrifying mental image of being on the other side of that doughy stomach. Heather forced herself to give a heartening smile. She wrapped one arm around one of the woman’s tree-sized fingers in a hug, then used her other hand to tickle and caress the creases. She felt awkward doing it, but Larissa had been nothing but kind to her so far. And besides, the quicker she got the giant’s attention away from her hunger, the better.
“Don’t worry about it. Really, it… happens to everyone.” Heather cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting nervously with a loose strand of her hair.
She hesitated, struggling to find the right words, then finally looked up into those massive, sky-blue eyes that seemed to drink in her every movement. Her chest tightened, a faint tremble coursing through her.
“Larissa… I’m sorry to ask, but… can you set me free?” Her voice wavered as she spoke. “I saw what Anna did to…” The words caught in her throat, and she let them hang, the silence amplifying her anxiety. After a shaky breath, she forced herself to continue. “I really don’t want to be here, I’m… I’m terrified.”
Another string of hushed, bubbling grumbles came from the giant’s gut. Larissa brought Heather up to her face again.
“Aid your escape?” Her heavy breath rolled over the thief like a summer gale. Her rosy lips were barely parted, just enough for Heather to glimpse the threshold of her gleaming teeth — and beyond them, a devastating dark. “I am responsible for protecting citizens of this nation and executing any criminals I come across. Es toi? Are you a criminal, ‘eather?”
Heather clenched the fabric of her trousers in a futile attempt to steady her shaking hands. It didn’t help. The memory of dangling above Anna’s gaping maw flashed vividly in her mind, and her throat tightened, suddenly painfully dry. Larissa’s words hung in the air like a guillotine as she waited for an answer.
“I’m a citizen of Alryon,” Heather began, her voice uneven but determined. “And I’m in danger here. I have a sister — a little sister — who depends on me. And… and I believe there’s nothing more noble than ridding the world of criminals.”
The words left her in a rush, quivering but earnest — not that she had much choice. She gripped the fabric tighter, as though it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Tres bien… I will not keep you ‘ere against your will. Be careful, my little sucre d’orge, as long as you are in sight of the château you will be in danger. Tu Comprends?”
Heather saw the giant woman glance around the room one more time, then without waiting for a reply clutched her tight against her chest. Heather couldn’t even squeak before her face was smothered against the soft linen shirt. An almost cloying fragrance of sweat and floral perfume invaded her senses along with a soothing, booming lub-dub of Larissa’s heart.
The distinct groan of a door echoed through the air. A moment later, Heather was pulled away, the blazing warmth of the giantess’ body replaced by the frigid chill of morning.
The sky burned crimson, the furnace of dawn casting its glow over the castle courtyard. The cold, ashen stone was softened by hues of pastel blush, and for a fleeting moment, Heather wondered how a place filled with so much horror could appear so beautiful. She turned on Larissa’s palm to face her.
The giantess stood still, serene, her eyes closed as she basked in the radiance of the sunrise. After a brisk sigh, Larissa opened her eyes, smiled at Heather, and knelt down, lowering her palm until Heather could step onto the cobblestones below.
Heather felt heat rush to her cheeks as she realised Larissa was only dressed in her undergarments. Her gaze flicked, unbidden, along the giantess’ enormous thighs. She felt her heart palpitate at the sight of the underwear hugging her hips, tightly covering her privates, and completely vanishing between pale cheeks. She forced herself to look down.
“Au revoir, little one. Remember what I said: you are not safe until the château is out of sight. And even then… Sois prudente.”
“Thank you, Larissa. Thank you for saving me. I will never forget your kindness.”
Heather bowed at the waist, trying to express as much gratitude as she could without showing the blush on her face. Then she turned on her heel and marched away – letting the crisp sound of crunching stones take her. The weight of Larissa’s gaze eventually lifted, accompanied by the heavy boom of the closing castle doors.
Heather had walked for around ten minutes when she noticed she was approaching a familiar blue coat. As she drew near she saw the rumpled body of carnage was blanketed by a fine layer of frost. Limbs were contorted in odd angles, with caked blood and jutting bone ruining the fine fabric.
Her eyes went wide — she’d completely forgotten about Ren. She anxiously turned to face the castle, but, after a moment, simply shook her head. There was no way she was going to risk getting back in there. All she could do now was hope.
Heather continued on toward the small hill, feeling excitement begin to kindle in her chest. Emma would either be up there or already on her way to the rendezvous — Larissa might have scared her off. Who knows, maybe Mabel and Ada would be there too. Guilt began to cloud her mood, but she quickly pushed it away. Instead, she thought of Essie, her family, what she had done in their name. Tears began to roll down her face, and she let them, she wanted to feel them. The bitter, painful journey was finally at an end. Heather took in a deep breath, and the air had never been sweeter. Afterall, there was no greater pleasure than knowing she’d never have to see this place — or giants — ever again.