Sketch turned his head sharply, the noise far louder than it had been outside.

Behind him was a beautiful blonde woman, with a short blue dress with white trim, striped stockings, and a bright, blood red cloak.
She stood in the corner away from Sketch, her posture one of confidence and surety, with one hand behind her back, and the other held to her lips.
The overall effect would have been pleasant to Sketch, if not for several factors, one of the more prominent being that he was still in his underwear. The fact that he’d expected some sort of reaction to occur from reading the story helped stifle a majority of the surprise of the intrusion.

The girl walked over to Sketch, her hips swaying seductively. “That, is our story, Teller. The true sequel and legacy of the Wolf. We wonder if you know why we brought you here…” She strode around him slowly, her eyes analyzing him.

Sketch calmly stood from the chair, walked over to the fire, and collected his slightly damp clothes. As he slowly dressed in his black and grey suit, he spoke to the girl, “I came here at the request of the horseman. If you know specifically why, a specific reason why I was asked to come here, I’d be very grateful for the information.”

“My, my, could it be that the Teller knows all the stories but his own? Truly what his purpose is? We’re afraid that it wouldn’t be our place to say Teller. You must wait until you’re called, those are the rules WE live by.” Her bright, melodious voice stressing the “WE”. She walked over to the man, as he fastened the last button on his jacket.

She ran a finger slowly under his chin, looking him in the eyes as she said with a low voice, “Would you call on US, Teller? Will you tell stories of us? Spread our name to world along with your own? We will come if you ask…” she let the words trail off.

Suddenly she grabbed his chin with the full of her hand, holding it in a grip like iron. “Would you let us out of our cage?! Allow us to bring fear to the people again?! We do so want to feel our ax bite into flesh again!” These words came out in a rapid succession, with a manic air about them. Her mouth grew unnaturally wide, and her teeth grew sharp and wicked. The most disturbing change that occurred to the alluring face was that the eyes that were a bright blue, turned into empty, hallow pools.

To Sketch’s credit, he didn’t flinch, even when a long, serpentine tongue flicked his cheek. Sketch grabbed the wrist of the Grym, and lowered it from his face. He pushed her away, and straightened his tie, gave a sigh, and lifted his eyes to the monster.

“I’m very short on patience, Madam. I have been harassed by you Grym three times now, in almost as many days, I have been lead around on a chain by people who know more about me twice, dangling my past in front of my eyes. I’m tired of taking orders…I’m sick of being treated like a servant. If you want me to do a favor for you, then you will speak plainly. You ask me to call on you, tell me how!”

Sketch let his head drop and let his smile grow wide. He spread his arms wide at his side. “I will summon you, lady. I will incant your name, and bring you against my enemies.” His voice took on a dark, angry baritone. “But know this creature. You will serve ME. I’m tired of games, tired of being lead around to serve the desires of others. You will come and fuel MY legend.” The words he spoke grew dark, and weighted with the promise of action behind them.

The Grym stood there, her eyes carrying a shocked expression. Her face took on the features of the pleasant maiden once more, both hands clutching the ax close to her chest, her mouth in a pleased expression. “My Teller, I will follow you. You walk without fear, even knowing us, as we are.” She walked towards the man, her voice still holding the manic tone. “You can’t even see the parts of you that are missing, how incomplete you are. You hold on to stories as if they were lovers, with you, we’d never be forgotten.” With a sharp snap, the form of the Grym returned once more, “Oh Teller, What an Empty Soul You Have!” the words of the Grym were followed by a round of malevolent laughter coming from her.

The walls of the cabin began to fade away in the echo of the laughter, the ephemeral building disappearing as the scene finished. The red hooded Grym walked close to Sketch, her mouth drawing closer to his ear. “My name Teller… is “Red Riding Hood,” I give you permission to speak it and bring me forth.”

As the words left her mouth, the familiar fog crept out over the snowy ground, enveloping the area. She receded back, away from the man, her eyes never leaving him. As the fog enveloped her, he saw the features shift back to those of the maiden, an expression of anticipation on her face.

Sketch knew the importance of her words, of the power of a true name, given freely for a Grym. He knew now, the difference between The Witch, The Horseman and the Grym that acted out his scripts. He knew with an absolute certainty that when he spoke her name from now on, it would be no formless shape, acting out a part in his play, but Her.

They would come, he corrected himself, both The Maiden, and The Wolf.