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45 | A LITTLE WICKED
ON the Western border of the beloved Auradon sits a little old-fashioned town. Ghostburg was a misty place that rarely saw sunshine and was constantly clouded by a thick fog. It was a good length from the capitol and was mostly forgotten by many of the Auradon folk.
By technicality, this town would fall under the reign of Winter's Keep, an area which then fell under the hands of the Arendellian Kingdom. But because it was part of Winter's Keep, they would answer to King Frost and Queen Elsa—the Winterland spirits.
However, Ghostburg was true to its name in the sense that it was practically a ghost town. Barely anyone other than locals visited and for good reason, it was also the way the townsfolk liked it. They enjoyed their privacy from the outside lands.
It was the beginning of a cold and dewy morning, the sun barely beginning to peek over the crest of the Northern mountains. The town was just waking up, workers for small taverns arriving at their jobs, the roosters howling to the winds, and the eery fog getting even thicker as morning arrived.
On the outskirts of the town; however, was an oddity. A visitor.
The sound of a horse's hooves clicking on the cobblestone could just barely be heard in the silence. A large spotted steed, the color of a reverse dalmatian with feathered white hair at the ends of its strong legs was riding into town. Its thicket of a tail swung as it walked, and its rider was even more peculiar.
The figure of a female sat on top, a long and dark hood covering her facial features. Her clothes were black as her hood, her boots edged at the top with shimmering rhinestones. Long and pale fingers grasped the reigns of the horse, leading him toward the town.
The horse and rider were quick to pass by a faded wooden sign—the words "ɢʜᴏsᴛʙᴜʀɢ" written in all white paint. It was an entirely odd situation, an odd town being invaded by a peculiar and mysterious rider. And it could just barely be considered the morning.
As the rider officially enters the town, the click-clacking of the horse's hooves echoed louder over the cobblestone bridge they passed over to the town square. Ghostburg could be mistaken for a town stuck in the Victorian age if it was not for the small group of modern and well-dressed girls messing around by the fountain in the Townsquare.
Just one glimpse at the girls, and one could tell that they were not human. No, not at all. In fact, one girl with black hair and hot pink highlights was most obviously a vampire. Her dainty figure was pale and her fangs protruded from her gums heavily, but she was alluring nonetheless.
The next was much taller, her figure lean and strong. Her dark skin almost appeared to be covered in fur, but the rider could not be sure. She had a very thick and long mane of curls, and pointy ears just barely burst from the tops of her hair. Her eyes glimmered mischievously as she laughed loudly at something the vampire said. This werewolf girl was otherwordly.
