Gathering all your courage, you press your hand to the door. "We fey folk shall not be shunned, cast aside as though we didn't exist!"
The fey folk! You freeze now, as you realize who's speaking. You try, but you aren't able to push open the door, transfixed by the terrible speech continuing from her room.
"We watched over her, we did! And she deigned to not believe in our very existence."
"Aye!" You peer through the crack, and see a small, dark creature with a faint green skin. A hobgoblin, for certain, probably from under a kitchen cabinet. "What thanks has she? I say we slit her throat and be done with her!"
"No, no, first she must suffer. You can be more crafty, I'm certain." The first man who spoke walks now clearly into view: a red-capped dwarf, with a beard trailing behind his feet. "You could curse her, I'm sure."
Laughter. "A curse, aye. I shall curse her with a terrible spell. She shall prick her finger by the well, and stubble shall sprout from her face like crab grass from a parched earth."
"And I," speaks the woman, "shall poison the pastries at her party. No, no," she says to the dwarf's grumbling, "not a lethal poison. Just something to bring out her mean side. Shouldn't be too hard."
"That's good. And the fish, and the toad, you two know what to do." You hear a frog's croak, and wonder about the fish. "And I shall finish her off, a draught to put her into a deep slumber, lasting a hundred years."
You gasp, your hand covering your mouth again, but too late. The dwarf turns and looks you directly in the eye, glaring, before the old woman in a black robe turns, her wart-covered face scowling. She throws a silvery powder in the air with a flash, and the fairies in the room vanish.