At her captor’s squalid cabin, the princess unconsciously rose from the woodcutter’s bed.
Her survival instincts had somehow transcended the witch’s brew he’d forced into her.
Sleepwalking, she opened the bedroom door.
The startled woodcutter, hunched outside over a fire, shouted, “What in the bloody hell?”
The potion’s ineffectiveness had betrayed him.
Ignoring his howls, the princess strode unknowingly into the hearth, where the rapturous flames ate her gown and followed her across the shack.
Trapped by the sealed front door, the woodcutter helplessly burned, as death freed the princess from capture, but horribly stole her from the cruel world.