A character by

There was a beast who lived in the craggy hills outside the village.

His name was Archelaus, which meant "ruler of man" to the people who gave it to him. It was a fitting title for such a creature who terrorized those from the village, but the most dreadful of habits he had was the ability to imitate any sound: birdsong, stags in rut, the wind in the leaves, and even human speech.

He often used this talent to lure people through the trees and into his grasp. His personal favorites included imitating the wail of a newborn child, or the allure of a pretty maiden's laughter. He relished in the horror on his victim's faces and their futile attempts to escape his wicked teeth when they realized their mistake.

Archelaus loved the hunt, but Agatha sang a song he could not comprehend.

She was a small child with dark and wild curls - and she had come for the beast who lived in the craggy hills outside the village.

In her small fist, she clutched her bow with an arrow drawn. In her home, her father lay dying in his bed.

Agatha had come for the beast's heart, which her people shared rumors of its ability to cure any human ailment with its rare and potent qualities.

But Archelaus loved the hunt - and he did not discriminate.

He had stalked Agatha that morning as soon as she had set her bare foot into his realm among the trees and stone. She was clumsy and stubborn - and soon exhausted from her search.

Archelaus had grown bored of the child and resolved to set upon her as she sat by a stream that fed the maples. He wanted her caught in his teeth - until she began to sing.

Her song was not special. Her song was not profound.

But it baffled the beast, because he knew he could not imitate it.

And Archelaus no longer wanted the girl in his teeth. He wanted her song.

He revealed himself to the girl, who snatched up her weapon and glared at him with such fury. But the creature wove a lie so honest that she lost her will to be so brave: his heart could do nothing for sick men.

It was then that Archelaus convinced the child to stay with him in the hills where he would watch after her. What was the life of an orphan in her village but scrounging for meals and sleeping in the filth of the dirt roads?

And thus, Archelaus and Agatha resided together among the trees and stone. He loathed to admit it, but he had grown quite fond of the child. He taught her to hunt, and she taught him how to braid her hair without pulling it out. He collected books for her from unfortunate travelers and they would read together in the shade of the great trees that were even more ancient than the beast himself.

When Agatha was older, she longed to visit the village to collect her own books and her own trinkets. Archelaus was belligerently opposed, but she was eventually given his blessing of temporary independence.

While her first visits were brief, they soon become more elaborate and extended.

Archelaus missed the girl and, selfishly, hated that she seemed to enjoy the village more than his company.

But it wasn't the village she loved. It was a boy.

A boy who followed her into the woods she slipped into after their secret meetings. The woods which harbored the beast with wicked teeth and a selfish heart. The beast who was outraged by the sight of the boy and nearly took his life if not for the wretched pleas of Agatha.

The boy escaped, but Agatha had become trapped by the beast. He locked her away in the craggy hills while she cursed his name. He was fearful of losing her to the world and to the boy she loved.

He insisted that man was a creature who lied, who destroyed, and who was irrevocably selfish.

But Agatha knew better.

She knew this was true about monsters.

Despite Archelaus's efforts, he had inadvertently raised an already stubborn Agatha to be resourceful. Her meetings with the boy did not stop and she was soon expecting a child.

The boy begged Archelaus for Agatha.

The beast relented, and lost his songbird forever.

Years passed after Agatha left the beast. Baleful cries rumbled from the craggy hills for the first three years, followed by an even more dreadful silence for the preceding five.

Even the birds were quiet.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Archelaus was resting beside a stream that fed the maples when a small boy with dark and wild hair approached him, a bow clutched in his small fist.

The beast spoke.

"What do you think you're doing, child?"

Stunned by the words that left the beast like hot daggers, he gathered his courage and responded.

"My father is ill. They say your heart can cure anything, so I'm going to take your heart and save my father!"

The boy's glare, obscured by the curls in his hair, struck the beast.

It was then that Archelaus asked the boy to sing.

And the boy did.

And his song was not special. And his song was not profound.

But it baffled the beast, because he knew he could not imitate it.

Archelaus did not weave a terrible lie for the boy about his heart and the rumors swirling about it.

He gave his heart to the boy - to Agatha. And to the man who stole his songbird away.