Giselle and a Nightly Man-Eating Sorority

Giselle

My first few months of being a Wili were lonely ones. The majority of the women were altogether a matronly clique, save for grave Candace who welcomingly smiled at me sometimes when we arose. Usually, the Wilis were off watching their loved ones from a distance at night. From what little I could remember, I had no loved ones, or if I did, I wouldn't want to see them again. Unlike the other Wilis, I couldn't leave the island for a hundred years because I had died on its shores. Most Wilis had been killed, but not all. I hoped that even if I had been betrayed by some lover, that I at least died naturally.

My nights were usually spent listening to Myrtha talk about herself, which she did lyrically and often. Myrtha and I seemed to get along, despite some initial primary differences between us. For starters, my general mien was earthy and hers was more aerial. Myrtha was a flesh-eating Ghouleh and I was the invisible ghost of a dancer, judging by my subconscious instinct for graceful movement and the toned but wiry poise of my limbs. And Myrtha joked about my being a ballerina. Myrtha had a usually morbid sense of humor, though there was often a grain of truth to most of what she mocked.

Someone left flowers for me during the day when I was "asleep" in my grave. I often found wilted bits of formerly distinguished bouquets left to the wind's mercy, like how I was merely a shell of a past living self that was resigned to the will of the rising sun. Myrtha once noticed scattered petals by my tombstone and teased me about a lover, but I paid no mind to her jests

"I hope any men in your life who hurt you would have the gall to appear at your gravesite," Myrtha remarked one night. She fiddled with thorny wild roses while I braided her hair to the best of my ghostly abilities. "Why?" I asked, having almost given up hope of fully unravelling the random bits and pieces of my former life that I could remember.

"Because," declared Myrtha, in a strong, gold voice reminiscent of the tolling of a bell. "Then you can dance him to death. Most apt, given how much you loved to dance." Myrtha usually spoke in a theatrical manner, yet despite being used to her by now, I found myself shocked by her words. "How much exactly do you know about my past?" I asked Myrtha as I plucked a limp flower from her hands to fasten amidst her tresses.

Myrtha shrugged and bit her fuller lower lip. "Just what I can sense," she replied, gazing pensively into the night. I knew better than to press further. Still, my curiosity was piqued by her vagueness. I studied Myrtha while I considered my next words carefully. The Wili queen was calm and surreal as always. Her primping gestures were aristocratic yet strange, and she had this way of voluptuously pouting her lips or quirking them into a perpetual, sensual sneer.

I attached the rose I had taken to her hair, and noticed hat Myrtha seemed to be trembling like a stray leaf with the strong autumn wind. Like she did for me before, I lay a reassuring hand on her bony shoulder. Myrtha started with a flash and turned to face me, wounding me with her burning eyes. "Unhand me, viperess!" she blazed at me.

I retracted my hand quickly. "Maybe you can show me...just pieces of my life. Like, why do I remember some things about my life and not others?" I asked quietly. "I can't. It's not allowed," Myrtha said. Some Wilis found Myrtha's "hard-to-place" accent hypnotic. Most of the time, I found her voice harshly grating like a raven's call or a braying goat. Hypnotic all the same, I begrudgingly admitted to myself.

"Ok...well, I just thought I'd ask," I said, forcing a smile. Myrtha watched me shrewdly and then studied her reflection in the fountain nearby. Did she happen to notice the painstaking care I had taken to not just make her beautiful, but to enhance the raw beauty she intrinsically possessed? The beauty I came to see in her, anyhow, even if few others did?
Appearingly appeased by my handiwork, Myrtha frantically spun her head here and there to look for any possible eavesdroppers. "Alright, fine," she said. "I'll make an exception. Only because you're new, do you understand?"

I nodded vigorously. Myrtha held up a warning finger. "Don't. You. Dare. Tell. ANYONE!" she ordered. I could barely hide my relief. Myrtha looked stern, but she also fought to prevent twitches of mirth from animating her face. "I swear to gods, Giselle Wilhelmina Charlotte Rosabelle Dumas, if you tell a single soul, you won't be able to BEGIN to imagine the horrors I will subject you to!" Myrtha leaned over me, taller than I was. She clearly wanted to intimidate me, but I didn't find her intimidating at all. Instead, I found her like a diminutive puppy barking piercingly to prove how frightening it thought it was.

"Horrors, huh?" I asked, trying not to chuckle. I forced my eyes to meet Myrtha's. "Whatever you think you can imagine might not be as bad as you think," I said, my eyes fluttering downward against my better judgement. Myrtha stared at me chillingly. "Grab my hand, let's make this quick," she said tersely. "But you told me to unhand you just a second ago. I-" I began to say, teasing her. "Shut up, Giselle. Do it!" Myrtha roared.