CAVE #Wattys2016

Fire Feast

All around, the feast had commenced. Rivera entered the dining hall, and took slight glances, left and right, at the entire room and the strange bodies that surrounded the halls.

A long, trailing carpet, patterned with royal fabric that reflected the color of blood made its way to the throne, where Rivera and Yomney were to sit at every, annual Grand Feast.

The music was haunting in itself, with an orchestra synchronizing the sound of several strings with one another, along with a bevy of flutes as to animate the guests for the entire night.

There was something, however, about Rivera. She was anxious, breathing quickly, and not failing to anticipate every movement of every guest that made his or her way near her or even tried to approach her. Her white gown was now blended with a scenic, red carpet, and she made her way into the feast.

Her movement made a sound that shattered the entire musical silence that once emitted within the hall. Yomney appeared, with his squire, who as soon as Yomney started to make his way down the carpet to walk next to his queen, ran to the other side of the room, and never showed his face again.

Neither Yomney, nor Rivera, paid attention to such a frivolous matter. They locked their hands with one another, and continued to speculate around the sound of silence as they made their way to the throne.

The guests stood divided between the lines marked by the carpet, as they stood between both ends of the seemingly infinite road to the throne. Their eyes were fixated upon their king and queen, and their mouths were open with some awe and some disbelief.

Rivera rubbed her thumbs against one another between her legs as she walked with Yomney to the throne. Seconds felt like hours within Rivera's heart, and she grew further worried when she saw her husband, ecstatic and jocular.

The golden throne lay before them, with only a few steps towards the end of the carpet. Rivera was yet to hear another sound. She looked to her right, to see Tristane standing, tall and handsome as ever, flickering his blue eyes towards his mother, with a soft smile painted upon his face.

Rivera could finally hear sounds; they came from a couple or a few crows who rested their claws at the majestic windows lined to the right and left of the throne. She looked at them, as she muttered inaudible tunes within her breath, and started walking faster towards the throne, pulling her husband with her.

Yomney fought back his wife's efforts, and instead focused on the Margels who walked behind them, with paces slower than a man, effortlessly walking amidst a snow storm. Hepta, Rolan, and their daughter Illiana, kept their heads up, smiling, then turned their feet towards the same panel that Tristane was watching his mother and father from.

The guests began chattering, not knowing whether to focus on Rivera and Yomney, or Rolan and Hepta, or their beautiful daughter, Iliana, who seemed starstruck with the handsome prince, Tristane.

"Yomney," whispered Rivera, "we must leave." She begged him dearly. "This is not right, the charcoal crows are here and they're beckoning me to them."

"Are we back with this nonsense again? You and your animal friends?! Everything and everyone is fine." Yomney was stubborn, he always was. It was a quality that Rivera considered alluring, especially since it was what got them married initially.

The clock chimed three times, Rivers froze her to the ground and looked at her husband who had already sat on the throne. The crows wept, and flew slowly and gently as soon as the fourth chime struck, as soon as the king sat on the throne, as if too coordinate a farewell.

Rivera looked at her husband: the cheater, the lover, the fighter, the warrior, the brave, the gallant, the gentle, the pure, the healer. She gave him a sad smile to bid him farewell, and shut her jade eyes to the sound of fire and explosions.

From the two sides of the window, azure flames that burned from the pits of hell shattered the glass and broke into the citadel, and pointed directly towards the king. The throne combusted with the fire, and was immediately torn apart by the flames. The paintings fell to the ground, burning with the scorching terror that plagued the feast.

The guests were all screaming, and running. Tristane with them, and his hands coiled tightly around Illiana. The Margels were well on their way towards the carriages, blinded by the colorless smoke that had them panting for a breath of a life. The guards ran towards Rivera, who had fallen to the ground on her knees, and surrounded her as they tried to carry her away from the combusting feast.

As they dragged her, locking their arms with her's, Rivera, who was losing consciousness by the smallest fraction of the second, looked at her husband, who was gone with the eternal fire.

She closed her eyes, and prayed for another day. Or that it was all a dream in her head; an illusion of some sort.

But it wasn't. It was very real. Yomney was gone.