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Roland’s face hardened, but he drew nearer, and it took everything in me not to push him away. I hated how he smelled, like wet hay and leather.
“I could make this go away. Say the word.”
“What word?” I asked between my teeth.
“Say you will marry me.”
I shoved him.
It was not as if he were serious either. He had made many proposals to women under the guise that he would save them, only to shame them later for believing he was serious.
If anyone was a curse on this land, it was Roland Richter.
“That is more than one word, idiot,” I seethed. “But I shall give you one—never!”
Roland ground his teeth and then pushed me toward the well.
“Then you will face this curse.”
I stumbled, catching myself against the side of the well, my palms braced against the slimy stone as I faced the endless darkness below.
“The crone in the wood says there is a toad in the well. Kill it and we will have water again.”
“And did the crone say what will happen to me?”
“I gave you an out and you refused.”
“You did not give me an out,” I snapped. “You offered another curse.”
“You think marriage to me is equal to what the forest would do?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “I might consider it if I found you the least bit handsome, but as it is, I would vomit the moment your cock entered my body.”
Roland snapped. I knew he was capable of violence. It was a truth that moved in his eyes.
He pushed me, and as my knees hit the back of the well, I tumbled over the edge and fell. The air was cold against my back, and I hit the bottom with a loud crack. I lay, quiet and stunned, blinking at the bright light streaming in from the round opening above. It seemed so far away, though my fall had been quick.
Elsie was the first to peer down, and when she caught sight of me, she covered her mouth and disappeared. Then there was Roland, who spit into the well.
“Elven bitch,” he hissed.
I flinched at the words, which were just as painful as my fall.
Then they were gone.
I groaned and tried to sit up, but my back hurt and each breath I took was painful. A high-pitched trill made me jerk, sending a spasm of pain down my spine. I turned to find a large, bulbous toad staring at me, its round eyes glowing like lamplights in the dark.
I mourned that I had not killed the toad during my fall. At least then it would have been an accident.
“This is all your fault,” I said.
The toad’s answer was a shrieking call before it jumped.
I screamed, thinking it was about to leap on me, but saw that it landed on a piece of stone jutting from the side of the well.
I sat up slowly, groaning as the pain in my back constricted my lungs. The toad screamed again, throat bubbling. I considered killing it and looked at my feet, searching for a loose stone I might use to smash it, though the thought sent a wave of nausea through me. I might slaughter geese to eat, but a toad was different. This toad was different. It was the victim of this curse just as I was.
Another screech echoed loudly in the compact space, and I cringed.
