Based on a dream I had last night. Thought you guys might enjoy it. (ʃƪ¬‿¬)
Thick curtains of gold glide gracefully through waters of red. Two figures stand on either side of the ballroom, a carpet of slain flesh curled at their feet. The gilded throne, still occupied by a heartless king, the description suddenly literal. A woman holds his hand out to dance under it. She sways on her feet, dancing in tune to the beat of taciturn hearts. Her marble white eyes, split on either side to retain them within the skull. Her bare feet caked in layers of dried blood.
Only one heart still sputters and bubbles with life. Across the mounds of bodies, a young man shakes, an unlit cigarette still clasped in his hand. His ugly brown suit is crumpled and ripped in the places his family had tried to grab as they ran away. Ribbons of stray blood congeal and tighten on his cheeks, wrapping around his dulled green eyes. His simple gold mask lay forgotten at his feet, his little sister still reaching for it even in death.
The woman spins abruptly, throwing stray droplets of blood. They make eye contact briefly, a smile cracking across her porcelain face. He blinks once, twice, three times and suddenly she's behind him. With a blade in each hand, she trails the tips delicately up his back and stops them on both of his shoulders. With the lack of music echoing from the room the huge grandfather clock above the throne can be heard as it strikes 3 AM.
After three tolls, quiet envelopes the castle once more. They were the only ones able to hear and speak, yet he felt as if the bodies on the floor were all holding their breath, waiting with him.
The chill of her breath raises the skin on the back of his neck. The feel of the glass eyes on her rabbit mask cuts into the skin of his skull as she pulls herself closer. The burning light from the chandelier above them draws harsh shadows onto her thick claw-like nails.
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She takes a hand full of his hair, bending his neck to the side. Dropping one knife, she drags a talon down the taut skin of his skin. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he tries not to move. Noticing, she pushes her face into his shoulder and giggles.
Abruptly, she pulls away from him and wields her remaining knife, it's scarlet edges glinting under the candle light. She raises it above her head and gathers her silky, black curls. In one swift movement, she runs the blade through the locks. The rest falling to relax around her ears. She whips her head back and drops the knife. Working with deft fingers she quickly ties a knot in the center of loosed hair. Bringing it to her blue lips, she whispers feverish incantations, sealing it with a kiss.
In front of her, the man shuffles backward toward the crescendo of stairways leading outside. He stumbles over numbed fingers and protruding limbs, teeth gritting in the pain they no longer feel and Thomas has yet to experience.
The face of his mother peaks out from under the pile of torn dresses and torsos. Her stare is blank and a thin rivulet coursing from her forehead to chin breaks her face in half. Thomas falls to his knees, his erratic heartbeat like the bells in the clock. Reaching for his mother, he throws everything off of her body, trying not to notice what he was touching. It had been his mother's idea to attend the newly crowned king's masquerade ball. Thomas had a bad feeling about tonight but never would have realized it would be this horrible.
He can see through his mother's abdomen, strings of lacerated intestines dangle like the cut strings from a marionette. Her calves are only attached to her thighs by a few tendons and cords of muscle.
Thomas grips her cold, stiff hand in his own, tears washing the dried blood from his mother's lifeless blue eyes. He stares into her crystalline blue hues as they suddenly blink back at him.
Blink
Blink
Blink
He flinches away and into a pair of icy, cold hands. Searing pain erupts from his back soon after.
Latching onto his skin, like a leech, Madam digs into his flesh like a hot blade into fat. Curling his skin back with a flick of her finger, she pushes her mask to the top of her head. Whispering sweet nothings to him as blood reaches his twisted lips.
His mother snatches her hand from Thomas's hold and struggles to stand. The other guests slowly emerge from they're eternal slumber, walking to their partners and assuming a haunting waltz around them. Blood sitting in empty cavities spill out of to the marble floor as the dead dance.
Thomas can't turn around. Madam finds a handle on his spine and taps her nail on the pale bone creating a rhythm for the dancers. She turns so that they are face to face, Thomas's eyes rolling to the back of his head and the whites of her's smile back.
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Using his spine, Madam pulls him toward her open and waiting mouth. One last passionate, wet, sloppy kiss and Thomas squeezes his eyes shut.
The pain finally dissipates and he hesitantly opens his eyes again.
Classical English music flits through the room again. The chandelier emanates warm light upon the sea of colorful dresses on the dance floor. Laughter resonates and the new king sits idly, flirting with young girls.
Someone pulls on his mask, the bells on it jiggle merrily. His little sister smiles up at him and points to the main doors. A tall, slender woman enters, a rabbit mask donned on her still features. Casually, she turns her head in his direction, a cruel grin can be seen easily under her mask. Her dress doesn't run red anymore, its sterile white now. Perfectly squared nails subtle gesture at the grandfather clock. Reluctantly, he tears his wide eyes from her. His back breaking out in a cold sweat and with shaking hands he clasps his sister's hand in his own in a tight grip. In his other, an unlit cigarette.
He can just barely hear the sound of bare feet gingerly walking down the staircase through the deafening sound of his heart.
