Page 103 of Don't Let the Forest In

Then a knight tried his hand and found that thistle fairies’ teeth could sink straight through silver-plated armor.

Finally, a lonesome exiled king found the crown and wearily tried it on to remember his glory days. When the thistle fairies attacked and pierced their teeth into the jelly of his eyes, he did not fight. He simply opened his mouth and invited them to dive into the dark depths of his throat. The monstrous creatures could not resist, flying into his mouth and down into his lungs and ribs to feast.

But when the king clamped his mouth shut, they could not escape.

He died with his blood sucked clean from the inside out.

The thistle fairies died from suffocation as the corpse deflated around them.

III.

After the village boy fell in love with a queen, he was determined to prove his worth so she might agree to marry him. He brought her all sorts of gifts: thimbles full of fairy tears, moonbeams trapped in glass jars, clusters of azure roses, and crowns of fresh-cut hollyhock.

It delighted the queen, this love, and her eyes lit up whenever he laid the gifts at the foot of her wicker throne. She took him into her royal gardens and kissed him behind the hedgerows.

“But,” she warned, “I cannot marry you until you prove utmost devotion to me.”

Desperation stoked the lovesick village boy’s heart, and he hurried away only to return the next morning with a curl of his hair in a silver locket so she might wear it against her heartbeat. The queen accepted it with a wan smile. But it was not enough.

Again, the village boy returned, this time with a filigreed dagger, sharpened on the edge of his own frozen tears. It was still not enough.

Again, the village boy returned, with a tooth pulled from his own gums, the bloody roots curved in the shape of a heart. It was still not enough.

Again, the village boy returned, this time with his hand cut off and laid in a golden box. It was still not enough.

Frustrated tears spilled down the village boy’s cheeks as he wept at the foot of her wicker throne in despair. He was fevered from blood loss, yet all he received was the queen’s sorrowful dismissal.

“What more can I do to prove my love?” he said.

The queen led him gently to the royal gardens once more and kissed away his tears behind the hedgerows, murmuring soft and lovely things. Then she pulled out the filigreed dagger and placed it in his remaining hand.

“If you gifted me your liver,” she said prettily, “it might convince me that you are wholly devoted to me.”

He cut his liver out then and there before her, careful to keep his blood from staining the gossamer lace of her gown. While he lay at her feet, his body split open in ruination, she ate his liver with delicate delight, marveling at the softness and the way it split open in her mouth like a sun-warmed peach.

The last thing he heard her say was “It is still not enough.”