It was just barely morning. The sun was slowly rising over the hills and the blackened nighttime sky that had formerly been dotted with stars was giving way to the light blue and purple hues of morning. In a small room behind the workshop of the candle-maker, Charles Valois had just risen from the warmth of his bed where he set his feet down on the slightly cold wooden floor. Reaching his arms above his head, the twenty-one year old stretched and let out a soft groan, which turned into a yawn, as he shook off the lingering feeling of sleep. There was work to be done that day, just like every other day if Charles wanted to earn enough money to pay his room and board there at the shop. Although he had been on his own for quite some time, the hardships were still constant.

Pulling himself up from the modest bed, Charles crossed the room and went about dressing for the day. He splashed some water on his face, the coldness of the liquid finally rousing the rest of his sleep-dulled senses. Quickly, not wanting to be late, the blond man pulled on pair of trousers and a woolen shirt for work. Although there were small flames around the shop at all times, used to heat the wax, it was still cold in the back room where most of the craft was done and with winter soon approaching, Charles wanted to stay warm. 

As an apprentice to Louis, the man who owned the business, most of the hard work fell to Charles. It had been the same way when he was younger—setting the wicks, dipping the candles, pouring the wax, while the older man had sat back and sometimes managed to shop with mother. He had run off in order to get away from all of that, and by some sort of cruel twist of fate, this was the only job that Charles was capable of doing. Although, he had to admit that he did it well and was often proud of the sculpted wax creations that went on the light the homes of the townspeople throughout the village; the one thing he loathed ironically brought him satisfaction.

Now that he was dressed, Charles set out to make the short walk from his room to the workshop. The weather outside was shaping up to be a pleasant day, but the temperature that hung in the air was still chilly from the night before. He rubbed his hands together, longing to start the fire inside the shop and warm his fingers on the growing flames. I didn't take Charles long to unlock the door and he quickly shut it behind him before a large gust of wind could knock it back off of its hinges. Shivering slightly, he ran a hand through his wind-tousled hair and began to set up for the day. Soon enough, there was a roaring fire and Charles readied the wax to be worked with. There was still a few hours before Louis and his wife would be awake and ready, but Charles didn't mind the peace when he could watch the beautiful sunrise from the window.

Sometime later, Charles had finished making the first batch of candles and was cleaning up when Louis came in to open the shop for the day. Everything about the man was large, from his round belly and scraggly beard, to his booming laugh that filled any room, no matter the size. He wore a grin on his face, and although he was getting on in age, he was still friendly.

“Good morning,” Louis smiled, brown eyes shining as he saw that the work was on schedule. “Did you sleep well?” 

Charles found himself nodding as he scraped off a bit of hardened wax from the side of the workbench. “I did, sir. And yourself?” 

The pair had a quick conversation about sleep, the coming winter and how that would play into how much more work they would be doing. With the days growing shorter, the traditionally made light source would be in demand and Louis was always happy if business was doing well. Charles and Louis spoke for a while longer as Charles moved about the shop, multitasking as he set up the next batch of candles to be made. There were longer wicks to these ones, and Charles frowned when he realized that he was short by twelve. If he wanted to keep good time, he would have to go out to the small shed behind the main house. 

“I've got to go into town today,” Louis mentioned, standing up from the seat he had taken by the warmth of the stove. “Have you eaten yet?” the hulking man asked but didn't give Charles much time to answer, “I'll have the wife bring you something down from the house. She'll be here to keep you company today.” 

Charles nodded again and offered the man a polite smile, “have a safe trip.” 

As Louis left the shop, Charles made his way outside to fetch the rest of his supplies. It was much warmer now that the sun had fully risen and Charles admired the blue sky as he walked. Although, he soon caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye. It was slight and a deep black, causing Charles to pause in his stride as he looked toward the forest. There on the edge lurked a single fox whose eyes were somehow darker than its body, shining and inky, but inviting all at the same time. The situation certainly was curious, and the blond slowly advanced toward the creature, seeing if it would run away. The animal stayed in its place, though and Charles walked on, finally coming to a stop with a few feet between himself and the fox. 

The animal tilted its head at him, and Charles noticed that it was standing on something just as black as it was. In some sort of silent communication, the fox took a step back and revealed the piece of parchment for Charles to take. He hesitated, brows knit tightly together in confusion. “For me?” he asked, uneasy, but the fox remained still, its eyes oddly insistent. Charles bent at the waist and plucked the paper from the ground, unfurling the black roll to reveal snow white ink. It was a letter.

[i]You are one of six chosen few to receive this letter. You were chosen, because you wish for something with a great desire. So I shall grant you your wish. Into the Woods you must travel, to the Tree of Truth. There you will find me and if you follow my commands, you shall have your wish granted. [/i]

Charles hadn't had a chance to read over the letter a second time before the ink had vanished, leaving a blank piece of paper in his hand. Once more, he looked down to the fox who was slowly retreating back into the tress it had come from. “A wish,” he said aloud. “My wish.” Suddenly, he was smiling. If he followed the fox to whatever this tree was, he could know the truth—he could finally be whole. “I can find them.” Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Charles pulled out the only clue to who he really was. The crest; set in cold and painted with such lovely colors. He would have a home again, a real home, with his real parents. 

“Let's go,” he said, still grinning as he pocketed the token once more. “Into the woods, lead the way!” There was excitement in his voice as he followed the fox, true hope and Charles was so eager that he hadn't thought twice about his job, the extra wicks, the candles or even Louis. If he got his wish, he would never have to make another candle for the rest of his life.