Author's Note (Nov 10th, 2010): The story of Hook, Line, and Sinker is finally complete.

Author's Note: One year ago I started a story. That story told the unfortunate tale of three characters for whom it was named. The 'Hook Line Sinker' Fairytale was and still is one of the longest stories I've composed and yet, it was ordained to be so much more. In honor of the characters themselves, and the wonderful community members who stood by me and supported me so amazingly, I continue the story, as it was meant to be told.





There was once a little baby boy. He was smaller than all the other boys, even smaller than the girls, and his mother never loved him. He was the youngest of nine other children so by the time he was born his parents were quite tired of this childhood nonsense. The baby spent his first three hours of life crying for he was very hungry, and soon the other children grew cross with him. He was put out in the lane way in his basket, a note pinned to his blanket that said ‘Free to any sort of home at all’. The basket was later retrieved because the family realized they had nothing in which to put the laundry, so the baby was left out in his dirty little blanket on the hard paving stones.

The baby died that night from hunger, cold, or maybe just heartbreak. His little soul floated up and a passing cherub brought him straight away to the Gates of Saint Peter. Giving the soul a quick glance Saint Peter leaned over his desk, and taking a moment to read the note, shook his head.
“I can not let you in, my lad, for you have not been Christened, Baptized, or anything else of the sort.” With a sad shake of his head Saint Peter took the baby boy and set him at the foot of the golden steps.

Three more hours past when an imp happened to be scampering by in search of lost souls. Spotting the baby the imp let out a cackle and in a flurry of wings carried the baby off towards Hell. When the imp arrived at the gates of Hell he called out to Lucifer.
“My lord I have brought you a fresh new soul, only three hours old. Snatched from the steps of Heaven itself!” The Devil peered down at the baby and scoffed, reading the note pinned to his blanket.
“Foolish imp, this child doesn’t even have a name, what am I going to do with a drooling, crying, nameless soul!? Away with you!”

So the imp, very much afraid and disappointed carried the little baby soul out of Hell and back to the world of the living. Now the imp was not sure what to do with the child, so he simply sat him down under a park bench and in the nature of imps, was soon off causing mischief. The baby soul however, lay in the dust and weeds. He was not cold, nor hungry. All things considered being dead was quite an improvement, so curling up fairly content, he watched the people at play in the park.

He watched the young children playing ball, boys wrestling and ladies in big frilly hats reading in the shade. A young lady dressed all in yellow and with light yellow hair strode by pushing a pram from inside which the baby soul could see a young boy. The boy wailed and banged his little fists against the pram, shrieking despite the lady's attempts to offer him a teddy, bottle, and blanket. The baby soul looked down at its own filthy blanket and thought how happy he would be to have a teddy, a bottle, and a nice clean soft blankie. More over he thought how good a boy he would be if only he had a mother who loved him.

In due time the pram rolled on, screaming infant and all, leaving the baby soul alone with is simple thoughts. The sun was going down and while the colors it made were pretty, dappled oranges and reds through the leaves, the baby soul was sad. The exact cause for his sadness was unknown to him, for he was still just a baby, the concepts of fairness or irony unknown to him…still, he knew he felt sad. With that he began to cry. The baby cried for a long time until finally, too tried and frustrated to cry any longer, he curled up and slept.

Some people say that when the first caveman dreamed he thought he had left his body behind and entered some new, strange place. So too was it the same for the soul of the sad little baby. He dreamed of pram rides with a mother who loved him, and more blankets, teddies, and bottles than he could shake a rattle at. The soul liked this dreaming business so much that he resolved to never wake up and eventually, forgot he was dreaming at all.

Later that evening, a sailor just returned from the war and very much drunk, lay down on the park bench to rest. Soon both he and the soul were snoring soundly. The baby dreamed of tall ships with great white sails, mops, cannons and salty spray. He dreamed of being older and so when the soldier woke with a start, roused by an angry policeman, the baby’s soul found himself no longer a baby. The baby’s soul was now a boy’s soul, having experienced so many new and wondrous things.

He continued to dream. He played catch with his friends, wrestled with puppies and cried momentarily over scrapped knees. His favourite part of dreaming was, of course, his mother. Perfect in every way, she would pick him up and they would sit together on a bench in a nice park and watch the sun go down together. He loved his mother more than anything, and she loved him too.

The stars, who see everything no matter where or what you are, were looking down and saw the little soul asleep under his bench. They twinkled amongst themselves for a moment as to if they should do anything. They settled that they should at the very least bring him somewhere safer than under a park bench, which even by star standards, was not a good place for a growing little boy! Off the stars went, twinkling and dancing across the night sky, casting spells that only they can, and finally, come morning the park bench was deserted. The stars slipped happily under the rosy pink sheets of dawn and happy with a job well done, went to bed.




He dreamed of sitting with his mother, as they so often did, in the shade of a large oak tree by the fountain in the park. They watched the sun set and counted the stars as they peeked out from behind the clouds. The little boy found the longer he looked at the stars the closer they appeared. Curious he wrung his tiny fists in his eyes and looked again. Sure enough the stars were quite bright now, almost too bright. He squinted, afraid because he could not stand the bright light but wanting very badly to see his mother’s face. He reached out blindly, called for her but nobody answered. He felt very alone in the big yellow glow, so bright he could even see it with his eyes squeezed shut.

With a start, he jerked awake. The yellow star glow was gone and it was night time. Carefully, he looked up at the sky but that too was dark, like all the stars had burnt themselves out. The little boy was not so sure if he liked the dark, so he called out for his mother. She was nowhere to be seen.

All around him was tall dark trees and tall dark grass, small black things were fluttering around between the branches and the air was thick with fog. The boy was scared. He had never seen bats before, or fog, or anything quite like this. He wondered to himself why he was dreaming this and not happy dreams of the park? Why was his mother not here with him? Not knowing what else to do, he cried. Soon his sobs grew tired, his throat strained, so he curled up quite pitifully under some ferns and tried, desperately to return to his happy dreaming.

In the still air the child’s cries echoed weakly through the forest and perhaps, if he had any manner of luck, they wouldn’t have been heard at all. Of course the little boy had very little aside from bad luck, so bad luck was what found him. Deep under the crumpled walls and sunken pillars, nestled in amongst the graves and crosses of an old monastery, there slept a spirit.

Sometimes, if something exists long enough it can be forgotten by the rest of the world. On rare occasions, if something exists even longer it can even forget itself. It was this No Thing that found the boy, drawn out by the cries of a human, so alien and yet hauntingly familiar to it. Familiar enough that it stirred the No Things memories and drew forth consciousness from eternal slumber.

It watched for a while, disappointment and excitement awhirl but not knowing precisely why. This little mewling thing was not what it had wanted to find. The No Thing however was not prepared to simply go back to sleep, something about the child intrigued it. Waiting until the boy’s eyelids slipped shut, and a little longer just to be safe, the No Thing gathered itself and slithered into the boy’s dream like warm molasses.

The dream was weak at best, no details, all just emotions strung one after another; warm, content, happy, laughing and love. Something about that feeling made the spirit slow, another memory that couldn’t quite be placed. Then it saw her. All blue silk and yellow curls, with bright eyes and a round face. It remembered, painfully, like watching a mirror slip through your fingertips to shatter on the floor below. Alarmed at this sudden emotion the spirit fled the boy’s dream, coiling back into the safety of the forests damp earth, dark and familiar.

The No Thing could not rightly be called such anymore. It had substance now, memories, and at its core the painful mirror shard that embodied loss. The more it thought on the girl in the blue dress the more that shard twisted, but with each jarring yank it remembered more. It had known the girl once, had sat with her under the trees of this very forest and he had loved her. Loved, oh but he still loved her. Where was she if not here with him? The spirit wracked its memories until it grasped something far in the past that burned across its mind like lightening. A red hot coal of hate and anguish was lit at the memories of what had happened to his love.

She was dead. The weight and finality of the thought almost ended him…and yet. How if his love was dead, had he just seen her in the dreams of this lost boy, how was it this child had known her if she had died so long ago? Curiosity and ambition sparked in the spirits mind, he would question the boy, find out all he knew.

Yet the spirit was not ready to enter the boy’s dream again, knowing the smiling face of his loss was waiting there for him. Instead the spirit waited, mulling over all he had learned. The boy would wake sooner or later, and when he did the spirit would have his answers.




Everything in the forest was deathly quiet, but the boy stirred, drawn out of sleep by that most primal of instincts. He was no longer alone. The boy looked about but all there was to see were tall dark trees in the heavy dark night. Hopeful that maybe his mother had come back to him, the boy called out. The voice that replied was deep, melodic and in a way soothing despite how the hairs on his neck prickled.
“Hello.”
The voice was also, most assuredly not that of the boy’s mother.
The boy looked around the forest once more for whoever it was but the voice seemed to be coming from nowhere in particular. More confused than afraid, he wiggled back deeper under the ferns. “That lady you were dreaming about, who was she?” The voice was closer now, like it was there under the ferns with him, so the boy scampered out into the mist. “I asked you a question, answer me!” The voice boomed like thunder, the mist swirled and the trees rolled their leaves up in terror. The boy began to cry.

The spirit bristled, irritated not only at his failure but the cries that pierced through his mind. Sounding flustered but restraining his anger the voice spoke again, sickly sweet and false. “Look, shut it. Stop that racket!” Suddenly the spirit had an idea. “What would your mother think of you going on like this? Hm? I can’t say she’d be impressed!” At the mention of his mother, the boy’s sobs dried up and with a hick-up, dried his eyes. “There now, that’s much better. I’m a friend of your mothers you see, she and I were..friends.” Another twist of the jagged mirror shard. “I am trying to find her, you see.”

The boy’s eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, nodding excitedly. “If I’m not mistaken, you’d very much like to find her. Am I right or am I right?” More excited nodding but the spirit stalled. “Can you even talk?” This seemed to puzzle the boy, he knew what talking was but had never really felt the need before. “Fantastic…hm.” The spirit thought for some time, ignoring the boy’s uncomfortable fidgeting. Finally, he chuckled, the sound like vapours bubbling up through a tar-pit. “What is your name, little boy?”

The boy, having grown tired of standing was now sitting, watching ants march along amidst the grass. At the voice speaking once more his brow furrowed, as though the thought of a name brought unpleasant memories.

“Oh but child, names are a wonderful thing.” The voice swirled up around the boy, speaking as though from his shoulder. “With a name, everyone will accept you. If you don’t have one, well…nobody can expect to love someone if they don’t have a name.” The boy frowned. “You understand that’s just the way things work, but you know, I like you kid. I also just so happen to have a name I’m not using.” Waving through the air the voice drew from his memories the faint yellow glow, letting it hang flickering in the dark night air. The boy, upon seeing the yellow glow was reminded of the painfully bright stars, but this was different. This glow as good, welcoming; he wanted this name. He wanted it very very badly.

Reaching out a tiny hand towards the friendly glow the boy thought of nothing more than wanting the name, more than anything in the world. Accept of course his mother, but wouldn’t he love to have a name and a mother. That would make everything perfect. The disembodied voice grew quiet as he watched the boy sleep, no longer the two legged body of a human but a lanky, ashen pelted fawn. Puzzled but all together pleased with himself, the spirit watched the little symbol twinkle merrily between the ears of the sleeping fawn. It ebbed and shone with the heartbeat of the little deer, happy to finally have someone to which it belonged. “Well my little Hook, sleep tight and dream of mommy.” The spirit curled up round the fawn, hovering and watching his dreams play out like shadow puppets on a dim-lit wall. He would stay with the fawn, find out all he knew and then maybe, if he was a good boy he would take him to see his mother. “Would you like to have a little fawn, a little baby of your own Lynnet. Yes, I think you would.”

In the dark of the forest, hidden by the mist and comforted by the whispered lullaby of the spirit, Hook slept. He had a name now and the voice had promised to take him to his mother. For the first time since being left on the doorstep in naught but a laundry basket, the sad little boy was not quite so sad anymore.




Away across the forest on a tall hill stood the two stone idols, glimmering in the warm day sun. They watched the deer frolic about in the waters of the pond below, happy because their children were happy. You see these statues were Gods, at least, they were in their image and anything in the shape of a God is in no way a mere lump of marble. No, these twin statues were magical and mystical and it was to them that the forest creatures would come in times of need.

This time however, it was the Gods who were troubled. They knew something was amiss; there was darkness at the edge of their vision. Something old and mean was lurking, but they knew not where. Looking at the happy faces of their deer the Gods were unsure, they hated to break the peaceful lull of forest life so instead they cast their fears away. They would wait, as they always did, until there was something to be done.

The deer of the forest went on in their leisure unaware and untroubled. Time passed by around the isolated forest world, which had not felt the weariness of age or the sting of death in a long, long time. The grand forest had not always been so endless but those stories are old now. They are forgotten, the last to hear them gone and the proof of their passing crumbling to dust.

Down where there was no light and the air was stale with rot and worms, the spirit rested. He was tired, soul weary. It had been so long since he’d done anything but dreamed. In the cellar of the old monastery, in amongst the mildewed remains of wine casks and pantry a shelves, this was where he had slept for so long. He brooded, having left the fawn to his cheery dreams for now.
He holds no answers for me, little maggot. He thinks only of someone to care for him, play with him, LOVE him. Bah but he’s no help at all.
Still, the spirit was loath to let the little fawn go, he had given him a name after all. Names were powerful things, as far as magic is concerned and this spirit was not prepared to give something without exacting something in return.

Something would have to be done, there was no doubt about it the fawn was the key to this whole mess. It had been his cries that had awoken the spirit, and the spirit had the strong suspicion that it would be the fawn’s dreams that would end it.
But how…
How indeed, for dreams are a tricky business; they are the manifestation of all we long for, all we want. Built of nothing more than emotion, they can be shattered in an instant as a careless tug will knot a game of cats-cradle. They can also be strong, complex, interwoven and able to trap a mind forever in its tangled corridors.

Down amongst the wreckage of his past life, the spirit dozed. A rare breeze of dry, crypt like air fanned the pages of the many books that lay crumbling on the cellar floor. They had belonged to Lynnet, oh so long ago and maybe, if the spirit was allowed to have his way, they would be hers again.




“Name...what was her name again?”
“Hm? Come again, lil Buddy?”
“Mummy. What did you say her name was?”
“Her name’s Lynnet.”

The two sat in an endless field of poppies. The spirit had formed them within the boy’s dream, for they comforted him and made him happy. The spirit did not truly care for the fawn’s happiness of course, but he was much more compliant this way.

“Her name is Lynnet.” The spirit continued. “Her hair is bright, like warm sun on your face. Her eyes are pale and blue, like the sky in a puddle.” Hook smiled sadly, lying down on his side in the poppies.
“Mum, um, Lynnet, she sounds perfect.”
“She is perfect.”
“Why can’t she be here, with us?” There was a long pause, the spirit uneasy and sad.
“Lynnet wants very badly to be here with us, that is her greatest wish. But she can’t because…” The voice cracked and faltered.

“Because. Because the bad ones set her away didn’t they.”
“Yes.” Croaked the voice.
“They shouldn’t have done that…”
“No. They will come to regret it. I promise.”
“You promised you would bring Lynnet back, to be my mom…right?”
“Yes. I promise that too. ” The fawn smiled. He was going to have a mother, a perfect mother with hair like the sun and eyes like the sky. He and the voice that rang in his ears would be happy, because even Hook could tell the voice missed Lynnet very badly. “Hook? Would you like to hear more about Lynnet?”
“Yes please!”

So the spirit talked of those happy days before the end, when Lynnet and he had first met. He spoke of how she would read him stories in the shade, of Peter and Wendy, and of Robin Hood, of poems about love and ladies meeting fine gentlemen who cared for them forever and always. Hook listened intently, eyes and heart wide; hungry for every word and memory of his mother. Listening to the voice, who Hook now knew was named Sinker, it was almost as if Lynnet was there with them after all.

Lynnet was not there, of course. She was dead. Her flesh was gone and her bones were old and cracked, her hair no longer gold but spider-thread white, and her eyes were dark. She had been dead a long time, her soul moved on to Heaven or somewhere much like it. All that was left of her were Sinker’s memories of her, his love and devotion. In a normal instance, these would not have been enough, but Hook, who was little more than a figment of thought himself, gave them a home. These memories grew in him, fed by the stories of the spirit. Eventually, it was like Lynnet was there with them, after all.




So night came to the forest and a cool wind whispered through the trees. They groaned, swaying, their leaves curling in discomfort. The ground has gone dry. They choked out in their rustling, cracking voices. Highest and widest of any in the forest was The Oak, her roots dug far and deep. Mother we are scared! The cries of her seedlings echoed about within her and for the first time she felt truly hollow. She thought to herself How long have I stood here, empty like this. her leaves turned the feverish burn of autumn.

It was not till morning that the ground was discovered, littered with fallen leaves. The whip-thin branches of the willows hung coiled on the ground, weary and mournful. The drone of The Oak was a whisper, her cheerful hum gone. Most took this new change in stride, a new magic of The Gods for their amusement it would seem. Fawns floundered in piles of leaves, playful stags throwing them high with mighty antlers.

Some were troubled. The oldest amongst the deer woke to aching joints, fur flecked with grey. Bellies felt the sharp claws of hunger for the first time. Throats, parched, demanded water. The novelty of this new magic wore thin and soon all the deer in the forest flocked to the Idol Hill and in scared voices called out to their Gods.

“We do not like this new magic!” Their eyes were full of tears. “We want to go back to the way things were before; we do not like these new things! There is no fun for us in hunger or sore bones.”

With a crack of thunder the Twin Gods appeared, pelted in gold but their faces sour.
”...This is not magic you feel but the loss of it. We fear that the magic of this forest, the peaceful endlessness we have crafted for you, to keep you safe and happy…this is being undone...”

A great calamity filled the deer; they sobbed and wept in honest disbelief.
“But you are our Gods!”
“How can you fail!?”
The Gods stood silent until quiet settled over the herd. Exchanging a glance they nodded in unison then in their singsong voices they spoke their commandments. Their voice drifted through the forest to all ears within.

”…We know the cause of this unravelling, we have suspected for some time…”
“…There is a fawn, he does not belong here in our forest and his very presence tugs at our magics….”
“…He carries some evil in his soul, you must take our blessing and deliver it to him...”
“…This is the only way to free him from this evil...”

So the deer cast their heads in prayer, hearts aglow with the words of their gods. Off they raced through the woods in search of this little child who had damned them. The faceless fawn was an easy scapegoat for their fear and recent sufferings. Their crashing hooves spared no moment to ponder any possible innocence. Hook’s dreams were troubled. He tossed and turned among the ferns, visions of ghostly white monsters, blazing like the burning white of the stars he so feared. He cried quietly, hidden away, his only company the terror of his dreaming. Soon he would wake and find himself hunted.




Winding through the pale yellow birch forest, Hook cantered from one grassy patch to the next. The past few days had held much excitement for him, and confusion. At first Hook had been happy to stay hidden in his fern patch, but he had grown curious and so he had set about exploring the vast forest.

The sun dappled clearings and cheerful flower patches were all together new to the young boy and he spent much time in wonder over the beauty all around him. Of course this beauty was not his alone and he was quick to hide from the other, much larger deer. From behind the safety of stout trunks Hook would watch the brave deer at play, entirely undisturbed by the brilliant flicker of starlight they threw at one another.

Hook also discovered there were others like him, smaller and younger, and feeling quite a bit bolder himself, he grew fond of playing and running with the other fawns. They shared laughter and braided flowers round each others heads; Hook was thrilled when he was given a wreath of poppies.
“I shall give some poppies to mother, when Sinker brings her here. That will make her happy!” A raven soon joined Hook and the two became fast friends. It was refreshing for the fawn, to have something which was small than himself. “I have to be careful, Mr Blackbird. I don’t want to step on you!” Despite these protective desires, it was the bird that ended up protecting Hook, squawking angrily when a stag would come too close or cast devout magic upon him.

Fleeing the white blaze Hook cowered back in the familiar birch forest, happy when his raven friend sat with him. “I do not like those white stars.” He muttered idly to the bird, which tilted its head towards him. “They hurt my eyes and make my brain fuzzy…Sinker doesn’t like them either. He got really angry…” The bird tilted its head and looked around. “Oh you can’t see Sinker, he just talks. I don’t know if he’d talk to you though, he’s a bit mean sometimes.” Hook smiled absentmindedly. “But he looks after me…he warned me about the white star glow, said that all the deer here would come after me. He said they were mean but, I don’t think that’s true. Even Jergens gave me some poppies and said he was really sorry. He didn’t seem mean at all really.” The raven fluttered energetically and nodded. “Haha and you are very nice too! I like you, Mr. Blackbird, we should be friends.”

So Sinker’s words of venom, his falsities and empty warnings fell on deaf ears and when Hook slept that night no phantom white stags haunted his dreams. Instead he sat with Jergens, his fawn friends, and the little black bird. Lynnett smiled, kissing each of them on the forehead, even the little raven who fluttered and puffed his feathers bashfully.
“Thank you for looking after Hook for me, I think I’d like to meet you all when I get back.” Hook looked up at her golden framed face expectantly.
“Will you be gone much longer mom? I miss you.”
“I know Hook, I miss you too. I don’t think it will be long now, you’re growing into such a fine young man. I look forward to seeing you very soon.” She kissed his forehead, just under where his hair tufted. Hook smiled and as he cuddled with mother and all his friends, he was sure this was the best day he’d ever had.




Everyone who falls asleep must, in time, awake and there are two ways to do so. There is the jarring shock, to fall for a long time and with horrible finality, crash to the ground. Then there is how Line woke. Line, who had never actually been awake before, had to crawl slowly towards consciousness. A slow blooming of senses, the pink glow of the world behind her eyelids, the chirping of birds above, and the soft bed of grass below her. Awareness came slowly and with it a sense of self previously unbeknown to her.

She knew what she was, knew that she had four slim legs, silky chocolate fur, and perky velvet ears. She knew her name and that of her son, Hook as well as that of Sinker, whom had always shown the greatest kindness and interest in her. Beyond this Line knew nothing at all, least of all where she was and what was expected of her. Still, she was a confident doe so she quickly set off to see what was to be seen in this quite pleasant forest.

The mellow nature of the other deer was perhaps the most marvelous discovery Line made upon her wanderings. She met many fawns, all reminding her of Hook in one way or another. She laughed at their unbridled joy, cheerful as long as they were. She enjoyed peaceful strolls through the cool shade of the trees, or sitting and chatting on the sun-dappled ground. The more Line experienced The Forest the more she was left questioning.

“Why am I so full of doubt all of a sudden?” Line looked down at her reflection on the glittering waters and frowned. “It used to be enough that I was told who and what I was but now, I am not so sure. These memories of a girl named Lynnet, they don’t feel like my memories at all!” The more Line recalled all the tales Sinker had told her of the times they had shared the more she realized he had never looked at her when he spoke. There had been a distance in his beetle-black eyes that spoke of loss and hope. “But not for me…” Line curled up and in as quiet and as dignified a manner as she could manage, begun to cry. Line, as all so many young must do, had discovered quite painfully the difference between being and simply pretending. “A place has been made in his heart for Lynnet and I do not think Line can fill it.”

Resolved to discover the truth, Line returned to the place strongest in Lynnet’s memories. The crumbling ruins with their long shadows and scent of decay had an uneasy feel to them and indeed, this had been where Lynnet’s tragic story had ended or at least, been abandoned. Carefully Line set about scratching at the broken stones, shifting them until her leg punched through into open air beneath. Panting heavily but too far gone to turn back, Line widened the hole and in due time, descended the decrepit stairs into the belly of the ruins.

This place, once the cellar of the monastery had been sealed long ago when the walls above were toppled, by gravity or some other, more motivated powers. The air inside, foul and cloyingly dry clutched at Line’s lungs but already she could feel a fresh breeze, the smell of pine and freshness washing away some of the unpleasantness. Despite the dark, letting Lynnet’s memories guide her Line picked her way through the debris until she found her.

Heaped beside the crumbling remains of her beloved books was Lynnet, her skeleton bare and glowing ivory in the dim light. “Oh Lynnet..I’m sorry.” Line did not feel fear, when maybe she should have, but her heart was full of pity and condolence. “You never deserved to end up like this, locked away in the dark.” A gust of warm sunlit air curled and crumbled a book to dust, sending the words dancing on the wind for a moment. Just as Line was seized by how right this all felt, a new, deeper darkness settled into the corner of her vision.

“Don’t look at her!”
Sinker’s voice, a guttural shriek ripped through her ears and mind. She could feel his panic, his rage, his fear. “You can’t look at her!”

Quietly, no more than a whisper of thought, Line looked at the destroyed books before her. “Why? There is no her anymore. No her.”

“NO!” Sinker shrieked, an echoing clawing at the cellar walls.

“There is no Lynnet.”

“SILENCE!”

“No. You have done a terrible, terrible thing. You went too far and now…now the wonderful, kind, beautiful forest that you cared nothing for is dying!” Fresh tears drip from her eyes and her voice cracks, hollow in the empty crypt. “All you ever cared about was Lynnet. Me, no. Hook? Did you ever love Hook? Do you know how much he loves you, Sinker?” He made no answer, his echoing sobs reverberating deafeningly in the tiny cellar. “Can you even love anyone? Did you forget that too, all those centuries ago that you’ve spent dreaming and wasting away in the darkness?”

Line was done crying. She was done talking and she was done pretending to be someone she was not. With that she put Sinker’s mournful howling and the dark, dead of the cellar behind her. The Forest welcomed her back, the trees swaying pleasantly as though nothing earth-shattering had taken place. Still, Line could feel the magic once so strong in the ground and air weakening, leaking away. With an urgency in her step, she headed off through the trees.




Rain threatened far off on the horizon, thunder rolling across dark clouds. But those troubles were for other places and night in The Forest was calm. Cool blues and the happy yellow glow of fireflies painting the world in peaceful splendour. Even with the gravity of her situation, Line could not help but marvel.
“You have made such a wonderful world here.” The white marble statues glittered, rising nobly out of the ferns. “I…would like to apologize. I shouldn’t be here, I know that now. The way I was made was wrong.” Comforted by the parental composure of the animate stones, Line smiled sadly. “I know that me being here…well it’s killing this place. I can’t allow that to happen, I won’t allow it,” A hint of fear crept into her voice. “a..and neither will you, I think.”

You are right.
The appearance of the little lost one, he was unexpected but we have learned to entertain the unexpected. We can not accept you however. You are a hollow shell made by a sick mind to fill an empty void, you could not do this and so you were thrown aside.

To hear it worded so harshly shocked Line, but the words of the Gods rang true within her. She nodded, frowning slightly. “I do not think there is a way to go back to the way I was before, not after meeting so many and seeing so much. I do not want to be false or a lie, but if living here as Line means everyone who has been so kind and warm to me…I do not want them to die for me.” She had begun to cry, shame and sadness, urgently bubbling away inside her. “I. You have to understand I never asked for him to do this, I never asked to be made like this!”

No one ever asks to be created, they simply open there eyes and are.
You care very deeply for those you have met, even though you have only known them a few short days. You would truly die for them?

“Of course but…I ask that no harm comes to Hook. He is my son and I love him very much.”

He is not your son. He is not Sinker’s son, nor a construct of memory like you. The little lost one is unique, we do not fully understand him but we are willing to let him stay if he wishes.

“You will keep him safe then if I am gone?”

We will give him safety if he so desires.

“Then that is the best I can hope for.” Line smiled and dried her eyes. “You are very kind Gods, I am sorry about all of this.”

As are we.

“What will you do?”

We will act when it is time, we will do what is decided. The Forest will speak and it will be its voices that will tell us how to deal with you. Until then, sleep peacefully. We will wake you when an answer is found.

Amid the twinkling fireflies and the soft glow of the Idols Line lay her head down on a pillow of fern leaves, feeling sad only that she never did get to see her son.
“Hook, my precious little boy, mommy is sorry. I never got to lay with you, to chase away your bad dreams, to watch you grow strong, to keep you safe. I am, and always will be your mother, even if you can’t see me or hear me anymore. I love you, my perfect little Hook.”





Storm clouds above finally broke, and the rain came racing down with all the finality of an act of God. Crisp cool air rushed through the forest, chasing away any lingering gloom. Line could hear and feel the rain on the air, only a few steps away in that other world.
“Is it a good place out there?”
There are many good, wonderful, beautiful things in it. The two deer beside her smiled knowingly, eyes a twinkle.
“But if it was all good, you wouldn’t have made this place. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?” The twins nodded sagely, almost condescendingly but Line was too resolved to care.
She felt concluded like a page had been turned. “It’s time to move on.” The fresh breeze fluttered through her fur, filling her and raising her up.
Before you go, there is one last thing.

Hook rolled over in his poppy patch, murmuring, hooves twitching as he dreamed. He’d been so lonely. Sinker would no longer talk to him, not even when he cried and said he was sorry for whatever it was he had obviously done wrong.
Little one. An ear twitches, someone is there. Little Hook? An eye cracks open and he sees two huge deer. Just as the fawn coils in terror, ready to bolt he sees Line.
“MOM!” There are no more tears now, no more lonely or sad. He throws himself at her and is wrapped in all the warmth and love he’d been denied so long. “I love you mommy I’m so happy to see you and I love you so so much and I’ve missed you and..”
“I know Hook I know.” Line’s voice is thick and her cheeks are wet with fresh tears. “I’ve missed you too!”

The Twins stood by politely but sternly, their faces still basked by parental smiles.
It is time to go.
“Hook, my little baby boy, I have to g..I have to go away.” Hook’s smile cracks, the light behind his eyes winks out and he slithers to the ground.
“B..but you just got here!” He sobs, sides heaving, shaking his head back and forth.
“I..I know Hook but I can’t stay. I have to go.”
He might go with you, he need not be parted.
Line shakes her head franticly. “But…surely it is safer for him here, he can be safe forever here with you two.”
“Nonono Mommy no. I want to be with youuu!” Line fights to quell the quaking in her legs. “You don’t want me! Why did you come back?!”
“Hook, baby it isn’t that! I love you, I love you more than anything but I..I want you to be safe. You will be better here in this lovely forest!”
The choice is yours. The two Gods circled the two grieving deer, gently lifting the fawn back to his feet and bringing him to his mother’s side. Still, condemning him to a life of safety without you…you can not expect Hook to understand this.
“All I want is for my boy to be safe! I…how can I know what to do? …I feel so lost.”
Nestling into his mother’s fur Hook sniffles weakly and groans.
“Mummy I just want you…please mummy, please.”

Our Forest will be forever closed to you, construct, but this Little Lost One need not face banishment. Bringing their crowned heads down to Hook's tear-stained face, they smiled warmly. If one day you wish to return, you might do so, Little One. Keep us with you as a little light in your heart, and you will always be able to find your way back to our Forest paths.
Shifting his hooves shyly, Hook nodded. "I..I would like that. To see Jergens and..and my little black bird friend..all my friends." He looks up to his mother, who smiles reassuringly.
The it is settled.
Now, it is time to go.

The first few raindrops splattering her fur were chilled, and at her side Hook shivered.
"Stay close to me, Hook."
"Yes momma."
With careful steps, ears perked, Line made her way out into the large grassy plain and out of the shelter of the trees. All was calm, despite the rain, with a certain...electricity in the air. "Momma?"
"Yes, Hook?"
"I like it here, it's so much more...more, than back there." Line laughed, watching Hook investigate carefully the damp grasses. His unbridled excitement was contagious and despite her apprehension she found her spirit lifting for the first time since having awoken. The safety and calm of The Forest seemed stale compared to the opportunities of this vast new world that stretched out inviting in every direction.
"Come Hook, let's move along."
"Ok Mummy!"

The two golden deities watched until the two were hidden by the swaying ocean of grasses, nodding to each other, all together, quite pleased with themselves.
Finally an end to all of this.
Yes, it already feels more lively.
Still, for may years the deer of The Forest would talk of those days when their magics failed, of course, with time those stories because more fantastical, so much so in fact that if Hook ever did return, he might not even be remembered as the little fawn who had caused so much trouble.
I think, that would suit him just fine, don't you?