Drawtober 2024: Undead

The castle on the hill shone with light.

Oh, it still brooded, dear reader. But it did so with flare now—glimmering torches lined the outer walls, and vibrant fires crowned the many towers of the King’s menacing palace. As Ella’s pumpkin coach pulled up to the front entrance where the drawbridge still lay down, she couldn’t help but stare up at the castle with a kind of cold fear. That same premonition that had so rattled her when her step-sister had left earlier in the evening shuddered through her bones again.

Reader, it may be too much to ask you to believe that Ella was beautiful. I have, up until now, described her as a ghoul—flesh torn and gray-blue with decay, joints attached by the thinnest of tendons. But as she stepped from the carriage, wrapped in the ice of the witch Astrid and squaring her shoulders, she was beautiful indeed. A queen of ice, uncertain but still moving forward, up the long drawbridge and into the castle itself.

Following the flicker of torchlight and the sounds of music, Ella walked through the halls of the castle. Skeleton guards watched her with eyeless sockets, but none dared challenge her, not tonight. Her icy shoes tapped upon the stone like water dripping off a roof. Idly, she wondered if Peter was sneaking around upstairs, using the distraction to do whatever a curious weremouse could get away with. She certainly hoped he didn’t get caught.

A pair of double-doors at the end of a long, long hallway had been thrown open, revealing the castle’s great hall beyond. The chamber was so large, so impractical, as to be very seldom used. But tonight, it had been dusted and polished until it glittered. Curtains had been rehung, chandeliers restrung. The long mouldering carpets had been removed and the black and white tiles of the room swept until you could see your reflection clear as day within them (if you had one, of course). All in preparation for the ball.

And my goodness, what a ball it was. By the time Ella arrived (because Ella always arrives late, don’t you know?), the party was in full swing. The long, tall mirrors along the walls of the chamber flickered with the light of a thousand candles, turning it to ten thousand in their reflective depths. An orchestra played at one end of the room, filling the air with a lush, velvety song. In the center of the room, the dancers had long been at work. Vampires in shimmering dresses spun with half-turned werewolves, furry tails emerging from cleverly cut suit pants. A bevy of goblins cackled together, their long, green fingers stealing hors d'oeuvres from passing waiters. Humans—at least, humans in appearance—spoke in knots, their mortality obvious in flushed faces and beating hearts.

And at the center of it all, dancing with one of the beautiful vampires in attendance, was the King.

He would have been hard to miss. A crown of twisting antlers topped his head, making him stand even taller than he already was. A coat of red velvet edged in black broadened his shoulders, and a decorative saber rested as his hip.

Of course, the knot of tittering women surrounding him probably would have also given him away, if all the rest hadn’t.

Being on the grand staircase—in a dress of ice and snow, no less—may have drawn some attention regardless of the hour. Being the only person on the grand staircase so late in the evening ensured it. As Ella entered the chamber, a great many eyes turned her way. Werewolves and vampires, zombies and a few minor demons, all gazed at the snow queen now descending into the ballroom with curiosity, admiration, and envy. Ella, who had never been so looked at in her entire life, found she did not much care for it. She tried her best to ignore it, staring around the room to see if she could spot Lucinda. The room was so crowded, however, that by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she still had not spotted her step sister. She was just about to start moving through the throng when a gallant hand appeared in front of her. Looking up, she realized to her horror that it was the King.

He had shed his hanger’s on, though a few tittering women still stood behind him, gazing at Ella with confusion. In the gown, her hair done just so and her face not covered in soot (or blood), none recognized her as the ghoul whom they’d so often dismissed.

“Mademoiselle,” the King said, bowing over her hand. “Might I ask for your name? I’ve never seen you within these halls before.”

He didn’t look like a sorcerer, Ella thought. He looked a little frightening, certainly, but not a terrible magic user. Still, there was something in his face that made her uneasy. A kind of glint in his eye that reminded her of her stepmother, when the Countess had not eaten in a while.

“Mademoiselle?”

Ella cleared her throat. “It’s Ella,” she replied.

“A lovely name for a lovely young woman.”

She did not know how to respond to this, so she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, looking around him to see if she could spot Lucinda or even the Countess somewhere in the crowd. A new song had begun, the strains of it rippling across the room and encouraging those in attendance to dance, but quite a few eyes were still fixed on the tableaux of the King and the ghoul.

The King followed her gaze. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Umm, yes.” Ella shifted. Logically, she knew ghouls didn’t sweat, but she could have sworn she was anyway. “My…my stepsister. She got here before me.”

“Ah, of course. By all means, let me help you find her.” The King held out his arm, expression expectant. And Ella, not knowing any other recourse, took it.

Now, dear reader, by now you are surely asking yourself if the King truly was all that bad. He seems gallant, does he not? Kind, even. Noticing our dear Ella as she entered, because of course he would. She was beautiful, after all.

But I ask you to remember another fact, a very important one. She was alone. And there is nothing the King wanted more in a bride than for her to be alone.

On the arm of the King, then, Ella found herself passing through the crowd with ease. Creatures of every imaginable variety bowed as they passed, their eyes tracking her. She was increasingly grateful for Astrid’s icy gown—the chamber was terribly hot.

“You have never been introduced in my Court?”

The King’s question startled Ella, and she glanced up. He was watching her with those hungry eyes.

“No,” she said.

“Why ever not?”

“My stepmother never found the time.”

“A shame, to keep such a rare flower out of public view.”

Ella frowned at him. “I’m not a flower. And I don’t much care for public view. You don’t have to escort me, I can find my way myself.”

“Ah, but what if I like escorting you? Surely you will not deny me that privilege.”

They had reached the edge of the dance floor. A new song was starting up, a variation of the danse macabre, and the King paused before extending his hand to her. “May I have this dance, before I must relinquish you to your family?”

How did one say no to a King? Ella didn’t know. And with so many eyes watching, pressing in on each side, she knew such a refusal was out of the question.

So, of course, she put her hand in his. And he led her onto the dance floor.

The flute played a low, lilting melody, quickly joined by the violins as the King swept her onto the floor. Ella suspected Astrid must have laid some extra enchantment upon her icy shoes, because her feet moved with ease through the steps despite never having danced them before. Flurries of snow flew from the hem of her dress, causing gasps from the onlookers.

“You’re causing quite a stir,” the King murmured, leading her into a turn.

“I suppose.”

“Where did you get such a dress? I’ve never seen its like before.”

Ella opened her mouth, then paused. She wasn’t sure Astrid would like the King to know about her work. “My fairy godmother gave it to me,” she said instead.

The King cocked an eyebrow. “Your fairy godmother?”

“Yes indeed. Everyone has one, you know.”

“No, I did not. I would have rather suspected that your stepmother would have gotten it for you.”

“Oh, no, she doesn’t like me.”

The music grew more frantic. Trumpets and horns took up the melody while the strings rippled up and down the scale in arpeggios. Through every turn, Ella strained to see her sister somewhere among the crowd. She didn’t like all of these strange faces peering at her. She didn’t like how hot it was, or how close the King held her.

“Well, I like you very much,” he murmured in her ear. “I find you interesting.”

“You don’t know me.”

“But I would like to.”

“That’s nice,” Ella said distractedly. She’d seen something in the crowd. A flash of dark hair and red fabric.

“Tell me,” the King continued, “if your stepmother does not like you and you had to resort to this…fairy godmother to come here tonight, why come at all? Or, perhaps, you were hoping to see the King.”

“Oh, no, I just wanted to find my sister.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want her to marry a sorcerer.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Ella realized she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t been thinking—her mind had been fully engrossed on determining if she really had spotted her sister in the crowd. And now, through her own thoughtlessness, she had given herself away.

The King’s eyes narrowed as the song came to an end, but he didn’t release her. “Why would you think she would marry a sorcerer?” he asked quietly.

“I…just have heard…things.”

“From who?”

“No one. I—”

“Ella!”

The Countess’s voice, sharp with fury, cut through the air like a blade. Ella turned to find her stepmother pushing through the crowd of undead and monsters, Lucinda behind her. Her stepmother’s expression was black with fury, her eyes trained on Ella. The expression smoothed out, however, as soon as she saw who Ella was standing beside.

“Your Majesty!” She dropped into a deep curtsy.

The King turned magnanimously. He kept one hand on Ella’s shoulder, his grip tight enough to tell her she shouldn’t move. “Madame. You must be this young lady’s stepmother. She was just telling me about you.”

“Ah, well.” The Countess gave a nervous laugh. “You mustn’t believe everything my stepdaughter says. She’s so prone to flights of fancy.”

“Actually, Madame, I find her flights of fancy quite interesting. I would love to know more about what she thinks she knows. Would you miss her terribly if I requested her presence here at the palace for a few days? To get to know one another.”

His grip tightened, and Ella’s stomach dropped. Oh no. Oh no. She had come here, intent on saving her sister, and had doomed herself instead.

“Oh, I’m sure that would be fine,” the Countess said with some surprise. “We can certainly do without her.”

“Mama,” Lucinda broke in, her expression concerned. “I don’t think—”

But whatever Lucinda didn’t think never found a voice. For at that moment, the clock began to chime midnight. Ella’s dress began to melt.

And all of the werefolk, one and all, began to fully shift.

Hold on a moment, you might be saying as you read. I thought you said they were partly shifted. And what about Peter? Didn’t he change at will just a few pages ago? To these claims, I would say you are correct. But I would also add this: that as midnight struck, the moon went from only mostly full to all full. And so, as the bestial sides of the were-attendees overtook them completely, all hell broke loose in the ballroom.

Fabric flew in a dozen direction. Werewolves, wereboars, and werebears stampeded across the black-and-white checkered floor. Vampires, hissing with anger, flew up into the air, and humans ran screaming from the chamber, pursued by a bevy of now-feral guests. The orchestra ceased playing with a twanging cacophony.

The small knot of people Ella had found herself in was severed by a charging werebull. Ella was knocked back, skidding across the floor on slightly damp shoes. Instead of trying to catch herself, however, she kept going. She darted through the crowd in desperation, heading for some door—any door. She had to get away from the King. She had to get away from all of this. She had made a mistake, and she meant to unmake it as quickly as she could.

Behind her, the King roared, “Stop her!” In the furious confusion of the ballroom, a few guards heeded him enough to chase after Ella as she slid and skidded through the chamber. The main doors were just ahead, crowded with escaping people. Ella was not sure she would be able to get there before someone caught her.

Then, she felt a hand upon her wrist. She glanced down.

There was no one there. But a hand she felt, nonetheless. And in her ear, a ghostly whisper.

This way.

The guards were closing in. Ella was far too frightened to consider the implications of an insubstantial voice speaking to her. She turned, allowing the feeling of fingers to guide her, and hurried along the wall of the ballroom. At one place, between a pair of mirrors, she felt the wall give way. She shoved it, harder, and a passage opened. She slipped through.

The door led to a spiral staircase—no doubt from one of the castle’s many towers. Not taking the time to close the entrance behind her, Ella raced down the stairs. The guards were not yet upon her, but they soon would be. She had no time to spare. She just needed to run a little faster, step a little lighter—

A massive CRACK echoed in the tower. Ella gasped, stumbling, as her foot—tenuously attached due to her earlier adventure at the witch’s house—came off from her leg entirely. She stumbled, tripping down the stairs, trying to regain her balance. But if you have ever tried to walk on a stub of bone in a dress made of ice (haven’t we all?), you will know how difficult this was. And Ella, having had quite a night already and not able to catch herself in time, tripped again. She lost her footing completely this time and tumbled, head over heels, down, down the long staircase of the tower towards the darkness waiting for her below.

Leaving shoe—and foot—behind.