The day they come back to find him on the floor - again - and are forced to cut off silk threads from his neck and revive him with cold water and one or two hard slaps, again, they finally sit him down to have a serious grown-up talk.

Again.

It's not as easy as it sounds, because he's still shaken from the almost-dying experience, since it doesn't become easier with practice, apparently, and they're sorry for him, they truly are. But this bullshit has to stop.

"Now tell me," Rosa says, "What was the last thing we told you before leaving this morning?"

"That I wasn't supposed to open the door," he mumbles, looking anywhere but her face. Rosa holds his chin, lifts his face so she can glare properly.

"And if you remember, then why did you-"

"It was an old man, and he needed help, that's all! You know how hot it gets outside, and I thought he'd just wanted to rest. I didn't mean to get killed. Are you mad at me?"

He's pouting now. Rosa can't stand when he pouts. The kid is just too beautiful, too innocent, too goddamn stupid for his own good.

"I'm not mad, I just-"

And then Blau interrupts her.

"Oh no you won't. Stop coddling him, that's why he keeps acting like that. Listen, kid, the next time you invite someone you don't know-"

She pauses. Everyone waits. Even Rosa is curious.

Everyone knows they won't kick him out.

"-I'll put you over my knee and then you won't be sitting for a week, I swear to God."

He pouts harder. He believes it, they can see it in his eyes, the stupid kid is taller than her, and could… well, not take her on a fight, but surely he could outrun her, right? And yet he sulks and looks away, and he's ashamed and feeling guilty for the attack and it breaks everyone's heart.

"You're just a stupid baby," Blau says, still gruff, but now there's affection there too and he picks it up, because his face softens.

"I'm not a baby," he says. Then, after a moment, he adds, "And I'm not stupid either. I'll be more careful, I promise."

So earnest and sincere.

They don't believe a word of it.

They go through it again the next morning, before leaving to the mine.

"Now remember," Rosa says, "No one ever comes here. No one. Just us and your murderous stepfather. So if you see anyone who isn't us, be that an old man, a talking animal, a creepy child, a cute lady selling vacuum cleaners, it's safe to assume it's that guy in disguise."

"Got it," he says, cheerfully as ever. He kisses them on their way out, Rosa and then Blau, and Dunkelblau and Hellblau and Gelb and Grau and then Lila is the last. She's always the last. She holds his hand.

"We just care a lot about you," she says. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. He beams at her.

"I know, I know. I won't open the door, I promise."

She thinks about how parched his hands are, dry and calloused from working all day in the palace, everyday every week every month every year, for so many long, long years. He's still waiting, a little curious now, so she pats his hand and gets her kiss and then leaves with her sisters.

"So," Blau says, "Place your bets, ladies, will be he alive when we come home?"

"With any luck, his princess will come soon? And then carry him away, somewhere that creep can't reach him."

They don't answer. No one wants to think too hard about that.

"Say we tie him to a chair," Grau says later, and then she giggles, "Not that it would make much difference. But then at least the evil king would have to climb the window, instead of just waltzing in."

"It's not funny," Rosa says, flatly.

They don't think it is. They know it's not. They think about him standing at the door, waving.

"Stupid kid," someone grumbles, and the others all sigh.

So, question, how long does it take him to open the door to the evil stepfather again?

The answer? Three days.

It's when the miners decide to throw him a birthday party, because he says he never had one since his mother died, and that was when he was a little child.

They think he's a little child now, but most of them are somewhere around a hundred years, and Rosa is older than two hundreds, so they know they're a little biased on that. And thirteen is an important milestone, for humans. It marks the moment when he ceases to be a boy and becomes a man.

Hopefully.

He doesn't look any older when the big day arrives. Or wiser. Or stronger. Or anything.

Just a little happier. And that's all that matters.

"For the love of everything holy, don't open the door, alright? We'll try to come home earlier. It's only a few hours, just- please. You promise?"

"Okay," he says, and he's so ridiculously pretty when he's grinning like that, his face is all alight.

So they go, and he waves and goes back inside to bake himself a cake and pies and every kind of sweet thing he can think of, and that's when someone knocks.

He is a dutiful kid, so he doesn't open. The person walks around the house and greets him through the window.

"I'm sorry," he says, polite in case is someone completely innocent who just happened to walk by, "I can't open the door, or talk to you."

"It's alright," the old man says. He has a nice face, like a kind grandfather would have. "Could you give me some water, then? I'll be on my way right after."

The boy fills a jug and give him through the window.

"It's just that nobody really knows this place," he explains, "And so the only visitors we have are either my stepfather or someone he sent to kill me."

"Why would anyone wants to kill you? Did you commit a crime?"

"No," he says, "I don't know why. He just hates me."

"Too sad, that is. 'Suppose it happens sometimes. But more people know about you then you think. I heard it in the village nearby."

"You did?"

"They all know you're here. A lovely child, they say, living with the miner sisters."

"It must be someone else," he says, intrigued, "I'm not a child. I'm turning thirteen today."

"A lovely young man, then," the grandfather says, smoothly as anything, "So it's your birthday, yes? Maybe I could give you a gift, then? As a thank you for your kindness."

"I don't know… they said I shouldn't accept anything from anyone…"

"It's nothing harmful in any way. Here."

It's a comb. A nice, fancy looking one, black and silvery, and it looks expensive.

"I was going to sell it," the man says, "But I want you to have it."

The boy is touched, too. He can't help it.

"It's the first time someone gives me something in years", he says, shyly. The man smiles at him.

So he tries the comb, even if he shouldn't, because he's in the kitchen.

So it prickles, as combs are wont to do, because the teeth are sharper than they look.

So he feels very weird for a long second, then he feels his head hit the floor, then he doesn't feel anything.

The door is not even locked, the old man finds out. He pushes it open and goes to the kitchen and lifts the boy's arm and checks his pulse. Presses light fingers against his throat.

Nothing anywhere.

He's not grinning when he leaves. It feels good, he's not going to lie, it feels fucking wonderful, but-

-it's crazy how beautiful that stupid kid looks, even dead. Downright infuriating.