The Hushing [#ONC2022]

Chapter Five (part 1)

Echoes of the ball emanated from downstairs – the droning wail of violins; the clatter of cutlery; the eerie murmur of wraith voices that knew only mournful, haunting sounds. All of it was muffled by Valecroft and the cold drafts that breezed through every crack and crevice.

Marion toyed with the fabric of her gown. There were no mirrors in her room. The only mirror she wanted – the only one she needed – was nowhere to be found. But she already knew what she looked like without seeing her reflection. The billowing skirts of her gown whorled around her ankles in pools of red, silky fabric. Even against the dark solitude of her own room, Marion was too warm, too bright, too alive.

But she knew she couldn't hide in here forever. Eventually, Lady Ingrid would summon her to the celebration. Marion couldn't escape it.

A faint tap-tap came at the door. It was time.

When Marion opened the door, two wraith servants flanked the threshold. With their backs turned to her, she got a full view of their bare-boned wings draping down around them like capes. Slowly, they turned their heads to look at her.

Marion gulped and fought her instinct to recoil at their blank stare. She was almost getting used to looking them in the face now.

"I'm ready," she said in a voice as strong as she could muster. "Show me to the ball."

For a heartbeat of silence, the wraiths didn't move. Marion's breath went still in her chest. As far as she knew, Lady Ingrid's protection was still in place. But it could be rescinded at any moment.

Then the wraiths turned and drifted down the hallway, leaving a tide of cold air in their wake. Marion shuddered as she followed after them. Her eyes had adjusted to The Hushing's dim light well enough by now that she could make out where she was going without the use of her candle anymore. She still kept what little remained of the waxy stub tucked away in the bodice of her gown for emergencies, just in case. She hoped to see Septimus soon and ask him for a few spare matches.

The further Marion went into Valecroft, the louder the music became, reverberating off of the walls with a sighing song. The wraith servants stopped before a broad, black door composed of tree roots, tangled and knotted and twined together. As Marion approached, the roots unraveled and withdrew into Valecroft, revealing the glorious room beyond. The ceiling was jet black, too dark to see clearly whether it was made of stone or wood or something else entirely in this world beyond the mirror. Gray banners of silk draped down, depicting a pale crescent moon and a dark crown. Scattered up the walls were thousands of mushrooms, giving off a faint, silvery glow that served as light instead of torches or candles. Stretching along one side of the room was a giant banquet table, piled high with food – delicate dark roses of marzipan, goblets of rich dark wines, platters of figs and pomegranates gleaming plump and ripe with juice.

As Marion crossed the threshold and emerged into the room, the music stopped. The head of every wraith turned toward her in unison. Lining up along the edges of the room, they ran three or four wraiths deep – far more than the pack that had chased her in the forest and she'd thought there were too many then. Now, she must be facing over two hundred of them. Marion bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to remain where she was when all she wanted to do was bolt for the door. Quickly scanning the blank, featureless faces, she found no sign of Lady Ingrid or Septimus.

The violins resumed their plaintive tune somewhere in the room, though Marion couldn't see where the music was coming from. The wraiths began to whisper again, accompanied by the rustle of their shifting wings. A moment later, they all huddled against the ground like reeds bowing before a storm.

The queen was coming.

A moment later, at the opposite side of the room, a set of doors opened to admit Lady Ingrid with Septimus just behind her. She was a terrifying vision all in black – a stark contrast to Marion's raging fire. A high, stiff collar shaped like brittle bony claws wrapped around her throat. Her skirts were a sheath of black smoke, shifting and swirling around her. The bodice of her gown was composed of raven feathers that fanned up around her deathly-white, slim shoulders. And her face...her face was her own, not the human mask she'd been wearing. When she smiled, her gray, needle-like teeth were on full display, the black gore of her saliva sliding down her chin.

The message was clear: Marion had nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Lady Ingrid could wear her monstrous face in plain view all she wanted now that she had her little fly firmly ensnared in her sticky web.

Gliding further into the room, Lady Ingrid made her way to the head of the table. She waited as Septimus pulled out her chair before seating herself. Then she turned her black eyes on Marion and beckoned her closer.

"Marion, my pet," she said, "you look even better than I imagined you would in that dress. The color suits your liveliness." Lady Ingrid patted the chair to her right. "As the guest of honor this evening, you may sit next to me."

To Marion's dismay, joining Lady Ingrid's end of the table meant walking the full length of the room. In front of every wraith. As she forced herself to take one step after another, she couldn't help feeling like a prize pig on parade in front of starving wolves. But that was the whole point of this celebration, wasn't it? Lady Ingrid was flaunting Marion as her toy that she had claimed in the forest that day. And now, she dangled Marion before her entire kingdom, mocking them all that she had what they wanted.

When Marion finally reached Lady Ingrid's side, she sat stiffly, fingers fisted into the folds of her skirts. From the corner of her eye, the shadow of Septimus's figure lingered in the background.

"Would you like to start the feast with the first bite, pet?" Lady Ingrid said, gesturing to the table.

Marion had no appetite. But the tone of Lady Ingrid's voice indicated it was not a suggestion or a request. So gingerly she selected a plump, black grape from a nearby platter and placed it in her mouth. When the thin flesh broke between her teeth and the burst of juice hit her tongue, she startled. It took every ounce of concentration to force herself to swallow.

Lady Ingrid smiled, her lips stretched gruesomely tight across her abnormal, freakish teeth.

"Now the fun may begin," she said.

No sooner were the words out of Lady Ingrid's mouth then the wraiths surged to the table in a flurry of wings and grasping hands. Within seconds, the neatly arranged displays of food were ravaged, crumbs scattered across the table's surface. Marion watched – confused, transfixed, baffled all at once – as a wraith grabbed a slice of cheese and brought it to the wide-open gape of its mouth. But the cheese dissolved into ashes, spilling to the floor.

Marion's throat felt tight and she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She hadn't tasted ashes before when she'd eaten...but now, there was a bitter aftertaste, cloying in the back of her throat. When she glanced at Lady Ingrid with concern, Lady Ingrid simply gave a slow smile.

"Oh, my little pet, don't tell me you thought the food here was real."

Marion fumbled, panic rising in her chest. Had she been eating...ashes all this time?

"But you said it was safe to eat," she countered. "What have you been feeding me?"

Lady Ingrid studied her long, bone-white fingernails, filed to knife-like points.

"A simulation," she replied lightly. "A little power goes a long way, darling. I like things to have a certain look around here. It's soothing, for myself as well as my subjects, to surround ourselves with the comforts of our former lives. Don't worry. It's harmless to ingest for living creatures. You just won't..." Lady Ingrid shrugged. "...derive any nutrition from it."