He was greeted by a voice like honey over sand.
Smooth and grating.
“Come. Sit. Help yourself.”
The knight approached with caution. He and his army walked around the pit with a wide berth. The long table, stretching down to the dark end of the impossible dining hall, stood like a petrified centipede.
On it, a feast.
Whole turkey, fresh fruit, and every sort of bread—all of it just sitting there with steam rising. It took hold of his stomach and pulled him in.
Of the three diners—all of them heavy set—the one closest to him was a young man. Armor sat in a pile behind him with the grip of a sword sticking out from the bottom. It looked far too small a suit for it to have fit this man.
“Excuse me,” the knight said.
The man ignored him, content to continue eating.
“Please,” the voice at the far end said, filling the room as though it were coming from the very walls, “take a seat and rest. Eat.”
“What is this place?” the knight asked.
“A feast,” the voice replied. “You are safe at my table. I know you are hungry. Eat.”
He was terribly so.
“I’ve been hungry before,” the knight said, making his way along the table.
“I know,” the voice replied. “You need not be anymore.”
He couldn’t be certain, but the food only seemed to grow more fragrant as he walked. Across the table sat a woman. She was old, and twice his size. Her hands constantly grabbing and her mouth constantly chewing.
She looked happy
The knight’s stomach growled, sending a sharp pang running through. Forward still, his army followed, but the figure at the end remained shrouded in darkness and distance.
A muted thud and a clatter of dishes came from that direction, followed by a rhythmic tapping.
He stopped.
He looked at the old woman. She appeared content to continue eating.
The man closest to the figure didn’t flinch as the thing scurried past. He continued to eat, tearing bread with greasy fingers and shoveling it into his mouth until crumbs clung to his beard.
The tapping grew louder.
The knight followed the sound with his eyes.
A hand slid along the table, weaving between dishes.
It was pale and thin, its fingers too long and its nails clean—neatly kept but sharp and pointed. They tapped as they moved—slow and patient, like the ticking of a clock. The arm followed it, slithering across the wood, bending where there should have been bone.
It stopped in front of the knight.
Resting in its palm was an apple.
It was perfect. Red and unblemished, its skin caught the chandelier light in a dancing shimmer.
“I know you like apples,” the voice said, closer now. Warmer. “You always have.”
The knight stared at it as his mouth filled with saliva. His stomach growled again—forcefully.
Behind him, one of the dead soldiers shifted, its ribs creaking softly. The sound snapped something loose in him—an awareness of just how empty he was.
His fingers trembled as his mind pulled forward recognition.
He knew this place and its host. Knew the voice without ever having heard it.
“How long have you known me?” he asked.
The hand did not withdraw.
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“Eight years,” Hunger said gently. “Longer than most admit me. Longer than you allowed yourself to notice.”
The apple’s scent was sharp and clean. Unlike the rest of the food—this was brighter. Truer.
“No need to fight me,” she said. “You never had to. You’ve carried me faithfully. Let me return the kindness.”
He took it.
The apple was cool in his hand. Solid. In its skin he could see himself—haggard and bloodied.
He raised it and bit.
The skin broke with a clean snap.
Rot flooded his mouth.
The flesh collapsed into brown mush, sour and wet. He gagged, nearly choking as the taste overwhelmed him—but he did not swallow, nor did he spit.
He couldn’t bring himself to.
Behind him, the young man groaned softly.
The knight looked back.
The young man’s cheeks were split at the corners of his mouth, raw and weeping. Food spilled from him as fast as he forced it in.
The old woman across from the knight moaned in pleasure.
Her shirt was split open above the table. Beneath the torn fabric, skin stretched thin and shining, ulcers blooming across it like a lattice necklace adorned with rubies. Vomit pooled beside her plate, thick and yellow, and she scooped from both without hesitation.
The knight’s stomach clenched.
Not in revulsion.
In want.
He swallowed his bite.
His hunger grew.
It clawed at him, sharper, louder—demanding more, demanding everything.
He dropped the apple.
It hit the carpet and burst, already black.
Flies clouded the room—buzzing.
“No,” he said hoarsely.
Hunger sighed.
“You see?” she said. “Don’t you want more? Have more.”
The knight stepped toward the table, pulling back a chair across from the old woman.
“Sit. Eat.”
He held the chair-back but did not sit. His legs weakened with each welcome inhale of the rot laid out before him. Hunger pulled at him without break, but the knight refused to bend.
He’d known hunger before. Perhaps not so great, but relentless all the same. Had this table been set in front of him in that dungeon, he would have eaten knowing how rotten and cursed it was.
It wouldn’t have been a choice then.
He pushed in the chair, turned toward the end of the table, and marched. His army ran ahead.
“You would turn away my hospitality?” Hunger asked without malice.
“I’m not hungry,” the knight said.
“Liar,” she said with a laugh. “But if you say so, then you need not stay.”
The walls pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
The chandeliers swayed as the floor flexed beneath his feet. A wet sound rolled through the hall, deep and slow.
The carpet rippled, drawing taut toward the pit. The walls contracted, stone folding inward like muscle. Crashing and grinding.
It started at the entrance, near the pit, booming through the hall. He watched as the dead soldiers still behind him were the first to break.
Bone cracked. Armor buckled. Bodies compressed into themselves as the hall tightened, grinding them into ruin
The knight ran.
The hall continued to digest.
Briefly, he heard the young man scream, choking off under the slamming of stone. The knight looked back again. The hall had crushed everything, save for the table.
Behind him, his army vanished beneath the pressure, crushed into pulp and silence.
The knight dove beneath the table while the walls slammed inward at his heels, claiming the old woman. He watched the walls destroy everything as it rolled toward Hunger.
Wood groaned but held.
The table was spared.
Breathing hard, he crawled until he heard her call.
“You live,” she said, frustration scratching at her voice. “No matter.”
From the entrance once more, the process began anew. This time, the snapping of wood came with it.
The knight climbed out and sprinted.
Hunger was close now. Close enough to see.
She stood at the far end—tall and slender, her frame drawn tight over bone. Her skin was pale and flawless; her eyes sunken but bright. Her mouth was small. Delicate.
Beautiful.
Starved.
She watched him with a fury sharp enough to cut.
He was nearly there.
“You ruined my table,” Hunger cried.
The ceiling came down, crushing the knight beneath the stone, ribs snapping, vision flashing white. He felt himself fold, felt the world squeeze the breath from him.
Then stillness.
He drifted out of nothing to the familiar sound of snapping bones. The ground beneath him was moving. When his vision returned, he could see the ceiling above crawling steadily past.
Slowly at first—then faster—sliding toward the pit, dragging broken stone, bodies, dishes, everything with it.
The knight coughed.
Pain flared.
He forced himself upright. His sword lay beside him, as unbroken as he. He picked it up and hurled it with everything he had left.
The blade struck Hunger between her eyes. Her head snapped back. She screamed—not in pain, but in rage—and stumbled backward, vanishing into the dark beyond the table.
The hall slackened.
The pull ceased.
The knight lay still until his breath returned.
When he stood, his army was gone. It lay in rotten piles of flesh and food. Only the sound of surviving flies cut through the silence.
He approached Hunger as she lay motionless on the floor. She wore a black satin dress, but she was far too thin to fill it. Pitiless, he retrieved his sword and turned away.
In the far wall, behind Hunger, spiral stairs sat open.
He climbed alone.
