You had never been particularly good at magic. Sure, a little trick here and there—levitating objects or lighting candles with a flick of your fingers—but summoning a dark, ancient being? That was definitely not on your list.

Yet here you were.

You’d been poring over an old, dusty grimoire in the back of a tiny, forgotten shop, muttering incantations that you barely understood. One phrase, one wrong syllable, and the room went cold. Shadows slithered across the walls, twisting unnaturally.

And then he appeared.

Rumpelstiltskin. The Dark One himself. Standing tall, a crooked smile curling across his face, eyes glinting like molten gold.

“Well, well, well,” he said, voice silky and mocking. “Who dares summon me?”

You swallowed, heart hammering. “I… I didn’t mean to. I—I was just…”

“Ah, the classic, ‘I didn’t mean to,’” he interrupted, circling you like a predator. “No matter. You’ve called me, which means…” He held up a long, gnarled finger. “…you owe me a bargain.”

You gulped. “A bargain? Like… a wish?”

He grinned, teeth sharp in the dim light. “Exactly. A wish. But beware… magic always comes with a price. And my prices are… negotiable.”

You hesitated. “Anything I wish for?”

“Almost anything,” he purred. “But remember, dear summoner… the greater the desire, the steeper the cost.”

Your mind raced. A wish could fix so much—maybe undo a mistake, protect someone you cared about, or even give you a chance you thought was lost. But the thought of the cost made your stomach twist into knots.

“What… what do you want in return?” you asked cautiously