A troll under the bridge
A long time ago, in a place far away, there lived a troll. He is small, hunched and dark as a deathly night. His eyes are piercing, his brows are forever frowning, and he has a face that made white knights crinkle their noses in disgust. He speaks rarely; but when it does his voice seeps like a poison, hateful and unrelenting. He was never particularly sad, nor was he particularly happy. It’s just that maybe misery was his best friend and happiness is his best enemy. It is both source of entertainment for him and also source of despair. Companions? He had few, or none at all. He despises company, mistrusts friendship. Whosoever extends their arms, even so slightly, would get a bite back from the ferocious troll. He guarded the old bridge in the huge, enchanted forest; and whoever pass by that tickles his fancy—looked either weak or gullible, he will attack mercilessly, ruthlessly until they ran home, tails tucked between their legs. From the innocent little children to the ch...