wotd. i

Prelude

The night was pitch black, so dark that it seemed as if trying to seep into the candlelit room through the window, bleeding from behind the heavy crimson drapes to eat away at the edges of the velvet.

That was the first sight that came into view, blinked into focus by a woman who knew she ought to be more alert, but was slower than she would be getting there.

oh maiden with a basket,

a pretty basket.

She blinked again. The last she could remember was that she had been in the forest, just south of the village. Following a trail a few weeks old, through bogland and mildew, but certain to lead her to what she was searching for.

There was a slow drip, a gentle cadence, coming from somewhere. Almost lulling her back into unconsciousness, except her instinct was slowly recovering from the head trauma, and it was screaming at her to run.

I want to ask about your house

I want to be told your name

Besides the generous number of candles that seemed to gleam from every glossy wooden surface, the room was rather nondescript. What was most alarming was that she was in it, as she slowly and suddenly became aware of that fact, staring into the abyss of piercing eyes, miraculously devoid of any light at all.

Before her was the demon.

“Emperor Yūryaku,” the demon narrated, as though lost in thought, “he was great, in his time. I’ve rather come to respect him a lot through my readings, there shouldn’t be a man anywhere who considers himself having of civility, that has not a penchant for poetry.”

Amelia instinctively drew away, meaning to protect herself and find a weapon; but, shackles rattled on the bedposts, bit at her wrist. She was chained. The thing sat beside her, one leg resting upon the duvet, peering down at her.

“Your name?”

Her heart stumbled in her chest, the cold sweat on her forehead unbidden, but Ameila looked at it challengingly, hardening her jaw.

After a breath, the voice continued: “But he was, after all, just a man. And as with all men, they become. . . irreconcilable, when faced with a woman who can arrest his attentions.”

It began to lean over her. Immediately, Amelia brought her knee up with all her strength, towards his neck, his jugular, letting out a determined grunt. The demon moved, effortlessly, catching her leg, digging in his claws without breaking the skin before forcing it back flat against the sheets.

The other hand, cold and soft, came to rest on her cheek. The look in its eyes was not disturbed, or irritated, at the interruption. Instead, Amelia found, was a sort of clinical interest.

“Unlike the Emperor Yūryaku, there aren’t a plethora of things I don’t know. For instance, I know why you are here,” it said, trailing its hand to her neck, resting it there. “I know the Citadel loves their little missions and their little secrets and their little. . . well, lives, I suppose.” There was no pressure behind it, yet she could hardly breathe.

“I know I’ve never seen you before, which means I don’t know where you come from. And I rather want to. It’s intriguing, this acquaintance of ours.”

Its mouth tilted in a smile, exposing a single, innocuous fang.

“Our emperor found such a woman, once, of such intrigue. He wrote her a poem. You’ve heard some of it, would you like to hear the rest?” Relishing its own somber mystique, it recited the old meter:

in this sky filling land

it is I, who rules everyone

it is I

who rules everything.

and so, I think

you will tell me where you live

what you are called!

Slowly, the demon removed its hands from her. Amelia felt a cold phantom remain, its frightful tendrils creeping into her mind like a midnight fog. “Now, let us try again. And a last time, for fair warning,” it said, inclining its head with the polite promise of a threat. “Your name.”

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hello everyone! i’ve been wanting to add short stories (or, perhaps, flash fiction) to my repertoire for a while now. Waltz of the Damned is a continuation of an old series, which follows the nearly chronological adventures of one Amelia van Reichter, vampyre hunter.