Read Once Upon a Time: The Villains for Free Online

small part, almost non-existent, but still there — and part myth. Stories abound regarding creatures like me. Man is master of this earth while I am of this earth. I am misshapen, a creature of the clay and of fears. Man cannot see me. It’s not that I am invisible; I do not matter.
    I once had a mother, a maid who bore a monster. She tried to love me, but my very existence was indecent, immoral, and unsettling to everyone. Even her. I was seen as a curse, the manifestation of the evil that lies within us all. My own father believed the lies. “Never would my seed take such unnatural shape,” he accused.
    He took my mother to the priests and demanded justice. She was given a choice. Repent and destroy her child, or burn at the stake.
    What choice did she have? In the end, she took me deep within the forest and placed me within the roots of an old oak tree. She backed away, begging the old wooden giant to help her. “I will burn. We both will if I do not leave him here. Live or die, it is now your choice.”
    As she watched, the roots slowly covered me and I sunk into the earth. Without a backward glance, she ran back to the village. A fatal mistake. Within the tangle of roots and forest debris, I was abandoned and forgotten by man. But for my mother, it was too late. The whole village knew of my disfigurement, and their superstition urged my father to cut away the curse.
    When my mother got home, my father went into a rage. He rushed forward and pulled her hair until her neck twisted painfully. “Where is the child?”
    “Dead. I swear. Just as you asked. The babe died in my arms.”
    He didn’t believe her. He wanted to see the cold blue shell of my tiny body, something she couldn’t produce. He shoved her to the floor as he had done many times before, for my father was not a kind man, and she screamed in pain. Within his clenched fist was a hank of her dark hair, ripped away by the roots. He shook the glossy fall in her face as she wept for mercy. “Deceitful harlot! Your lies rot your flesh. You shall die for bringing such a curse on our family.”
    As he forced her toward the village square, she pleaded with my father and everyone else to listen to her. The forest had taken me. I was gone, no longer a threat.
    No one believed her. They were smart after all.
    That night, while the air trembled with the accusations that my mother was cursed, I lay safely hidden within a fox’s burrow, nursing my fill. When my suckling finally slowed and my eyes closed with contentment, the night sky gradually brightened as the fire licked at my mother’s flesh. Her cries of anguish became my lullaby as she writhed against the stake to which the villagers had bound her.
    So, here I am. The spawn they fear. I lie in wait and watch man go about his life. I’ve embraced my fabled legacy. I’ve learned to play the game well. I’ve developed a magic, cruel and dangerous, that feeds my soul a black, hateful gruel. I thrive on its bitter taste. Mankind has made me what I am. Man will suffer for my misfortune, for I am injured beyond repair. I want what mankind has ... what man is. I want revenge. Humanity has been denied me, and I will make man suffer. I live, now, to trick him, befuddle him, and cause him pain.
    The desire for revenge sparks my life, ignites my imagination and keeps me forever looking for that which I have not yet found. I feel it within my bones that I will soon be rewarded. I am patient.
    Seasons are my time measure: winter chill, spring rain, summer heat, autumn bluster. For each season I have created a game. For each game there is a player, one who has foolishly wandered into my domain. Some seasons I see only one man. I start my game and watch as the intruder fumbles to understand the rules. Be it Conkers, Blindman’s Bluff or a rousing game of Huckle Buckle Beanstalk, man rarely wins, and in the end, a bonfire greets the end of his life. So my mother died, so shall he, leaving behind a confused family who