"Queens and commoners, princes and peasants, welcome to the party of the quincentury!"
For most people, receiving an invitation to the White King's Masquerade is an honor. Even attempting to attend is a chance to go down in history. But for Sol of M...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
She smiled, wickedly, basking in our confused stares. Then, standing up, she led us gracefully to the Isle of Semele tower.
The evening light filtered into the room, bathing us in a cerulean glow as Haven stepped into the circle of water.
This time, though, she remained and it seemed the pool was no longer a portal.
I slid in, skeptically, as the others did the same and was grateful when I planted my feet on solid ground. The water was up to my thighs, and refreshingly cool. And it was glowing.
Haven had closed her eyes and reached her hands into the water, causing it radiate softly.
The water warmed considerably and before I could blink I was watching Haven hurriedly make her way down a canal, jumping from boat to boat, and smiling apologetically at the ruffled sailors.
The glass of the Isle of Semele tower had fallen away for columns of stone and cement and she hurried through the city, not slowing until she reached a large natatorium.
In the pool there were twelve stone platforms circling a dias, on which sat a single jug, filled to the brim with a viscous, purple liquid.
A stern looking man shot Haven a disapproving glare, as she settled herself on one of the platforms.
"Sorry, I'm late," she grinned, looking just like herself but whereas now she had an ancient allure, the Haven on the platform had a youthful exuberance.
"As we are now complete, the Trial can commence," the man said, his long, ebony hair pulled into a tight braid. He stood on a balcony overlooking the natatorium, other equally severe-looking, beautiful people flanking him.
"The first to reach the jug and bring it to me without spilling a single drop, wins the honor of Attending. Maika dem i'loa sona," he began.
"A dem i'nali dari," the other eleven and Haven chorused.
I didn't speak Semish but it was like I could hear Haven understand the words. I felt their importance like a weight on my heart as the voices carried over the water. May the waves guide, and the wind lead.
Immediately they said the phrase, a conch was blown and the trial began.
I could see a strong-looking, dark skinned boy leap into the water, his legs immediately transforming into a tail as he swam forward powerfully.
Another girl called a whirlpool like Ciel had done and cruised towards the dias.
Haven remained still, wicked smile never leaving her lips.
A cerulean-skinned girl had just climbed onto the dias and was reaching for the jug with a webbed hand when Haven began to sing.
This was not like her song at Icarus Falls. This song was slow and sweet and beautiful. The girl slowed, as if trying to move through tar, before collapsing to the ground, shaking ferociously.
