A/N: You know, I'm just going to stop apologizing for the late updates because I feel like at this point, it just goes without saying. I would just like you all to know that I'm not gonna give up on this story. It really means a lot to me that you're still reading even though I'm being painfully slow about updating. I also want to send oodles of love to FineChyna, who is one of the only reasons I'm still writing. Seriously, if you guys ever have trouble writing, as her to PM you with constant, sweetly obnoxious reminders. I'm sure she wouldn't mind.

To Rossana's Mind: And I loved you! I'm sorry that you were dying, but hopefully the majority of your questions will be answered in this chapter.

To Riverfang12: Oh, buck up, lovely. The world's not over.

To HazzahtheMan: Thank you much! I'll try.

To wildwolf007: DON'T-DON'T KILL YOURSELF. OVER A FANFICTION. DON'T. NO.

To FineChyna: Well, I mainly have you to thank for the pheonix tears now, don't I? I'm afraid I don't know who Kitten is, but whatevs. And thank you so much for all the support and understanding. It's really appreciated.

To ReadALLTheBooks: That. is the most adorable thing ever. "Happy Hiccups." I'm using that. Anyway, I've never heard of the Lunar Cycle, but I'll see if I can add that to the mile-long list of books that I need to read. I'm super glad that you liked Animals, and if you really like TWAU, might I suggest that you read Fables? It's the comic book series that the game is based off of, and it's very fantastic, if I do say so myself.

To LostHero171: *evil snickering as I scamper away like a mischievous kelpie on weed*

To TheKittenAuthor: POSSIBLY

To FreakVonNebenan: Wow, I would be flattered! I totally don't mind you drawing scenes from my stories. And you simply must tell me you're tumblr username so that I can follow you. Also, thank for the advice. If you have any pointers or suggestions that you'd like to give me for my story, that would be greatly appreciated. Thank you so much.

To ChildOfWisdom: Well, if you insist.

The night air outside the cave felt colder than it had been before. Maybe it was just him, but Bigby couldn't help the shiver from running down his shoulders. Everything seemed colder, dimmer than it had before. The werewolf paced across the opening of the cave anxiously. It felt as if everything was out of place. He needed Snow back or he needed a fix.

The Fable glanced back into the cave, wary to venture inside. The air inside of it had turned hot and thick, and it pulsed with an irregular, ethereal beat. He didn't know what kind of magic was being done in there, but it was unearthly, and made the hair on the back of his neck quiver.

As the minutes dragged on like eternities, it felt less and less likely that the Snow he knew would come walking out of that cave. And if that didn't happen…

Bigby's face darkened. He'd get his fix.

After going out of the cave, the werewolf had thrown on his shirt and boots, which were now filthy after days of sweat and grime. He could even smell a bit of Merek's blood splattered across the tunic's chest from when he'd ripped out his heart.

At the thought of the satyr, Bigby's skin started to tingle, and he unwittingly gave a huff of satisfaction. Then, his eyes widened and he glanced around. The sky was a blanket of black and violet, completely devoid of starlight. Whatever magic surrounded the witch's home seemed to kill all light around it, save for the small torches that lined the cave walls. Even the trees in the woods looked bent and menacing in the torches' flickering glow. Everything was crooked wrong. The werewolf shut his eyes tight and shook his head. This place was poisonous, and he needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

But not before Snow, and certainly not before his fix.

Suddenly, the Fable bristled, and he turned around to see Red walking out of the cave. He instantly started towards her, but hesitated when she passed a torch, the brief golden light illuminating her face in an eerie manner. She looked different. Her face was stony and cold, a blank mask, devoid of all expression. Her steps were uneven, almost like she had a limp, but no injuries were visible. When she spoke, her voice was hollow and reedy.

"Bigby," she said, "she's alive."

And just like that, his concern for Red went out the window. He picked up pace, almost sprinting back into the cave. His shoulder knocked against Red's as he passed her, knocking her back a few steps, but he didn't care. He had to see Snow again. She was all that mattered.

As soon as he reached the main room of the cave, Bigby was hit with a brick wall of nausea. The air itself seemed to ripple around him, like it was made from soap. It made all of his actions feel sluggish and his breath labored. The magic in that room was heavy, and it beat against his chest painfully, and it took all of his strength not to lose consciousness right then and there.

But then he remembered what he came for, and suddenly, the werewolf felt more alert than ever.

His eyes glanced over the room. The witch was sitting in a chair next to the wooden table, her head bent with exhaustion. He would have taken her for a corpse if he couldn't hear her thin, raspy breaths echoing through the room.

But he wasn't interested in the witch. Bigby looked at the figure on the table, taking cautious steps forward. She was lying so still, at first Bigby thought she was still dead. But then he saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest and heard the steady ba-dump of her heart, and his own began to soar.

As Bigby looked closer at her, he felt a small twinge in the pit of his stomach. Her raven-black hair was matted with blood and dirt, and her army pants and tee were stained so dark with red that their original color could not be discerned. Her skin, while still pale, no longer had its glowing ivory color, but instead was an ashy grey-white, and he could see weblike patterns of veins running beneath her skin, darkening when they reached her bluish lips. She looked, in short, like a corpse. Except she was breathing.

"Of course, there are spells that can help immensely in the…erm…cosmetic department."

Bigby started when he heard the witch's tired voice break through the silence. He turned to see her rise shakily from her chair. She looked a good deal paler than she had before, and he noticed a thin film of sweat that coated her brow. The witch eyed the pair with nothing short of utter contempt. "Unfortunately, I find myself disinclined to practice any more magic tonight. I'm going to get some rest. You would do well to do the same," she said, an edge to her voice. She then turned around and began shambling deeper into the cave.

Bigby looked down at Snow, at her fragile body that still looked more dead than alive. He took her hand. It was cold as ice.

"I…" Bigby cleared his throat. He hadn't expected his voice to tremble as badly as it had. When he spoke, the witch cocked her head ever so slightly, encouraging him to continue. The werewolf frowned, then spoke. "She was pregnant," he said uncertainly. "Is it…?" He trailed off, his voice shaking. He felt his heart pounding like a steam train in his chest. Please, please, please, please, he prayed silently to himself as the sorceress turned so that she was looking into Bigby's face. For a moment, he saw the barest traces of pity clouding her green eyes, and she shook her head very slowly.

The werewolf's heart dropped down. He released his breath. He hadn't even realized that he was holding it in. Again, he looked down at Snow, his heart throbbing. He remembered her telling him that she was pregnant. It was only yesterday, he realized with a jolt.

After a few moments, Bigby realized that the sorceress was still in the room. He looked up at her. He still didn't trust the woman, and he doubted that she was overly fond with him, either. Still, she saved Snow…

He glanced down at Snow's pale, slack face. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely audible.

The witch was silent for a few seconds. Then, she said, "You can stay until your friend is well. But after that, I never want to see your faces again." Having said her part, the woman continued on her way, and soon disappeared into the darkness of the cave.

Bigby stared after her for a moment, then turned his attention back to Snow. He held her hand between both of his, gently stroking his thumbs over her knuckles, but he doubted that she could feel it. He gazed at her face, her delicate features painted with thin blue veins and dry, crispy blood. It was disconcerting to say the least, seeing her like this. She looked just as dead as before. What would she say when she woke up? How would she react when she found out that the baby was gone? Would she even recognize him? Bigby's heart nearly stopped at that last notion.

"How is she?"

Bigby instantly whirled around at the sudden voice. It was Red. She was standing in the doorway, drifting with an eerily empty expression like a ghost. Her auburn hair looked dull and dry, and her brown eyes seemed half-asleep. Her entire person seemed entirely different, and it gave the werewolf an uncomfortable. "She's fine…I think," he said uncertainly. "She's alive, which is good."

What the hell am I even saying? Bigby asked himself, closing his eyes and giving a long exhale. "I just don't know," he admitted. "I mean… She was dead. And now she's breathing, but it's still…" he trailed off, at a loss for words.

Then, Red spoke up. "She's a good woman," she offered. "I like her."

Bigby looked confused, causing the corner of Red's lip to twitch up. "I know that we aren't exactly friends, and I've only just met her yesterday, but...but I'm glad she's alive." She spoke haltingly, as if the effort to form a coherent sentence was too taxing for her. Again, Bigby gave her a peculiar look.

"Are you OK?" he asked, eying her carefully.

Red looked surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem different," the werewolf say simply. To that, the other Fable only shrugged.

"It's been a long day," she said simply. Bigby didn't say anything, and they remained in awkward silence for a few moments. Then, Red said, "I'm tired. I'm going to see if I can find a bedroom."

As she neared one of the tunnels that branched out of the main room, Bigby said, "Did the witch do anything to you?"

This made the other Fable stop dead in her tracks. She turned around and met the werewolf's gaze, her own eyes hollow. "How do you mean?" she asked.

Bigby stood and approached her slowly. Red shifted her weight nervously as he neared, but stayed her ground. He stopped about a meter in front of her, and when he spoke, his voice was hushed and serious. "Red," he said, "if she said anything to you, if she threatened you at all, you can tell me. I can take care of it. You know that, right?"

Red seemed to take a sudden interest in her shoes. Bigby could see the mental battle going on within her. He was about to say something when she spoke up. "The witch wanted something in return for bringing Snow back," she confessed. "A price."

Bigby's eyes flashed. "What price?" he asked. "What did she take?"

Again, the Fable was flustered. She looked around the room, at the shelves, the earthen walls, and the limp body of Snow White – anywhere but Bigby's face. "I don't remember," she said finally before turning around and hurrying down the tunnel.

Bigby stared after her, his eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air, seeing if he could detect a lie, but was shocked to find that Red was telling the truth. He felt a small growl start at the back of his throat as he turned back toward the wooden table where Snow was lying. He walked over and knelt down next to her, eyes travelling up and down her body, taking in her ashen skin and blank features. He clutched her hand tightly, trying to warm it, but didn't seem to do any good. Her hand was still cold to the touch.

Bigby exhaled slowly and looked around, making sure that no one was in room. Then, slowly, the werewolf got up and pressed his lips against the Fable's forehead. "We're going to get out of here, Snow," he whispered to her. "We'll be safe."

This time, he thought her fingers may have twitched ever so slightly, but then the moment was gone, and again, she laid still.

The sorceress was lounging across the cot in her quarters. It was a small, modest space, with very few things around for decoration. A shelf here, a stool there, but overall, it was a very plain room.

She was toying with one of the more pleasant memories. It was the time that Red had come home to her cottage to see the woodsman with a burnt plate of sweet rolls. They had been a surprise gift for her 16th birthday. They had tasted horrible, but still, she had eaten every last one of them

It was the sound of footsteps that woke the witch from her trance. She looked up to see Red standing in her doorway with that blank expression. The witch only smiled up at her. "Such lovely memories you have, dear," she said sweetly. "I don't know why you'd ever give them up."

For a moment, the Fable looked confused. Then, a look of understanding passed over her features, followed shortly by the stony mask that she now wore. "The payment," she said. "Those…things that you took from me to heal Snow."

The witch nodded. "Memories, dear. I took your memories of the woodsman." She flitted through her collection once more in her mind and smiled. "They're so…quaint. The blooming of young love, adorable as ever." She then looked up at the other Fable, a look of faux concern written plainly on her face. "How do you feel, dear?" she asked politely.

At that, Red looked down at her shoes. She brought a single gloved hand and rested it on her chest, right over her heart. Her expression was pained. "I feel…empty. Like a part of me is missing," she said glumly.

The witch nodded in feigned sympathy. "That will pass over time. You will soon discover that you don't need them. Nobody needs a man to complete their life."

"If that's true," Red said curiously, "then why did you take them in the first place?"

At that, the witch's grin only widened. "Love is…unpredictable. It is messy and savage and chaotic, but it is also powerful, when it's true. And there is no truer love than yours, darling, I can promise you that." She sighed and leaned back on her cot, staring at the cave's ceiling. "True love is a rarity these days. Who knows what sort of spells I can come up with aided by the power of your memories? I don't know about you, but I am very excited." She glanced over at the Fable for agreement, but she was still staring solemnly at her shoes.

The witch sighed. "Don't be so depressing, dear. Like I said, love is messy. You're better off without it." After a brief silence, she spoke up once more. "Are we still in agreement?" she asked.

Red sighed with melancholy. "I won't go back on my word, but I am curious… You already cured Snow. Why do you need to do this?" she asked.

The witch smiled then, her eyes glimmering mischievously. "That creature broke into my home and threatened my life. He caused me to use up one of my most valuable elixirs, and now he sits in my home as if he has the right. That is a slight that will not go unpunished." With that, she shut her eyes and rolled over in her cot. "Now get some sleep, darling," she said. And as Red retreated back into the tunnels, the witch lost herself once more in an ocean of stolen memories.