Once upon an orbit of planet Fait, a playful young girl and her flustered yet resourceful single father must endure sickness, encounter exotic creatures, escape a predatory government, and outwit a wicked wizard to survive just one more day. Having...
Up and up and up did Arachnor courageously climb the great, tall wall of North Tower, heading for the Jade Pyramid at the top, and with Neatherella safely mounted on its back, holding tightly on.
Around the great beast, Sirens buzzed and fired laser blasts at it, but Arachnor expertly scampered and dodged each blast, and swatted away those Sirens on their aerocycles who flew too close. Nothing and no one would stop Neatherella, nor her new best friend, from getting to the Black Banquet.
Inside the Jade Pyramid's capstone chamber, all decorated to the tip-top heights of fanciest fancy, with gold and silver, with candles, with fruit, and Takke, and sweetest of sweets, and sparkliest of sparkling jewels, and mounted furs of slain creatures from across Planet Fait, here stood assembled the most important, the most rich, the most depraved of Tetrapolis in their fine clothes, and everybody waiting for their foul host, the General Gorchen himself, to arrive.
All the Guild leaders were there, of course, and among them were the Factory Guild Leader and the Factory Guild Leader's Wife, in their simple-yet-magical sylvan garments, as well as the Takke Guild Leader and Wife, in their simple-yet-magical sylvan garments, too. A Disasi diplomat asked if he could rub his leather wing on the shimmering arm of the Factory Guild Leader's sylvan tuxedo to see if the fabric was really as smooth and handsome as it looked to the Disasi displomat's eyes. The Factory Guild Leader, enjoying the fawning, replied, "Verily, yes, of course, you can. Admire away, my good Disasi." Every powerful and important person at the Black Banquet touched the sylvan garments at least once. (The magical effect upon each of them would be made manifest very soon indeed.)
Just then the jade wall exploded, and in Arachnor poked its massive black crystal head and roared its ferocious pincers.
Everybody screamed and ran but the Sirens, on order from Lieutenant Mandias. They had locked the doors "for security purposes," to keep out everyone who was not invited, as well as to keep everyone in who was invited, from leaving before the grievously tardy General had arrived.
From Arachnor's back, Neatherella hopped down. In her sylvan slippers she strode while everyone looked at her. Her sylvan gown appeared to them like silver shimmering armor. She wore her bruises, suffered from her stepmother's cruel fists, with pride. Some Sirens tried to run toward her, to stop her, but Arachnor's massive black crystal legs swooped through the air and swatted them away, knocking the Sirens out against the wall. Leaned on a crystal crutch, Mandias leaned against a jade pillar, with a big red flower in her hair to cover the lump on her head. She was resigned to sip her strawberry shake and watch what happened next.
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Neatherella spotted the Factory Guild Leader who had been so cruel—to her, and to so many of the imprisoned peoples who toiled in his factories of Tetrapolis—and began marching toward him. Others in the way stepped aside before Neatherella, forming a clear path for her to the Factory Guild Leader, as Neatherella declared to the room, to all those who served and helped Gorchen keep all the poor peoples and creatures of Tetrapolis imprisoned in the supertowers, her declaration of independence.
"Now is the time for you all to see that this"—she pointed to her own bruised yet dignified face—"is the face of your people." She kept on her steady march toward the Factory Guild Leader—silver step, by silver step, by silver step.
"That this"—she gestured to her sylvan-armored figure—"is the body of freedom."
She was almost to the Factory Guild Leader. "And the silver slipper of righteousness, is this."
With her silver-armored right foot Neatherella issued a powerful kick to the Factory Guild Leader's chest, who went flying and fell back, smashing into the banquet table, spilling all the greasy Takke all over the floor.
Neatherella looked out over the stunned, rich faces of the crowd. She shook her head. "I pity you all. You're trapped here, too. Trapped by your own wants. Your own loneliness. Your own selfishness."
Neatherella removed her right silver slipper and dropped it at the base of the black glass throne at the center of the room.
"Who are you?" someone asked.
"'Neatherella,' I was called in my yesterdays," she said as she swiftly re-mounted Arachnor. "But for all my tomorrows, I am Sylverella. I am free."
Close by, Mandias, admiring the silver armor, shouted, "Who are you wearing?"
From atop Arachnor, Sylverella looked back over her shoulder and smiled, "Myself."
With fast, thundering steps of its eight black crystal legs, Arachnor climbed back out the huge hole in the wall and leapt off into the night sky.
Upon the horizon, far out in the Western Wilds, Mount Veda erupted its last blast of the night.
