There is an apartment building in New York called "Bellum Letale."
Most people ignore its auspicious name, though they would be advised to pay more attention to its meaning.
It is a strange building. It seems to be somehow bigger inside than out, with narrow passageways, intimidating doorways, and lovely corners that disappear and reappear at random. There's the pool downstairs that reflects the truth, the painting that shows people where they really came from, the catacombs beneath the building where children lost their lives. And its occupants are just as strange—from all over the world, from all walks of life, all of their lives have nudged them toward this building as if they were always meant to live there.
This is, of course, because they were. Every man, woman and child in the building is a reincarnated fable, the stories told to human children for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. Once very real, the fables began to fade as science and reason dispelled the probability of their existence. They have all been reborn in human forms, though their essence remains, waiting to be awakened at the right time, in the right place.
Now is the time—Bellum Letale is the place. As their lives connect and weave together, as they follow their petty desires and long-held grudges, they are, all of them, on the brink of disaster. Their Landlord knows their every move, and the building they live in seems to have an agenda of its own. People are tortured, people die, people plot behind each other's backs and sneak around and cheat. They love, they fight, they draw blood. This is not the fairy tale you remember.
