Faetality |✓|

Chapter Eleven, Part One - Monsters Within

Chapter Eleven

Monsters Within

The butterflies disappeared where they came; I was still screaming when the two suit of armor appeared to drag me away. 

I felt their cold metal hands grip me by the upper arms, ruthlessly beginning to drag me away towards the throne. Meanwhile, Titania merrily called for her guests to feast, and a select few stepped forth from the crowd. From that distance their faces had begun to blur – I was unable to individualize them except by their outfits. But I could still see that their mouths were stretched impossibly wide with long, red tongues flicking between teeth that were suddenly the size and shape of large, jagged stones. I watched them descend on the dead creature's body, ripping aside what remained of its already tattered robes in an effort to feast upon the torn flesh beneath. Its raven-colored blood already stained the hall floor in streaks and puddles, but more of it was sent flying through the air as the Fae tore into its meat. I saw bits of flesh and organs rising and falling, and wished for my eyes to melt.

            Instead of going up the stairs of the throne, the suits of armor pull me around its side, revealing a hidden doorway made of a dark brown wood. It's opened and I'm thrown inside the room, almost falling to my feet but managing to somehow stay balanced. The door is slammed shut, and with a renewed scream, I fling myself against it and grab the handles, but it doesn't move. In a fury, I ripped off the white gloves and tried again, only to jerk myself from it.

            With another cry of pain and horror, I stare down at the broken, hissing skin of my hands and forearms. The skin is red and angry in some areas, as if I've just been badly burned.

            "I wouldn't do that again if I were you," said a quiet voice behind me. Quivering, I turn to confront the owner of the voice. "The door's made of rowan and iron. Many of the doors in the castle are."

            A young boy, looking no more than twelve, stood beside a small table laden with food and drink. Behind him blue flames roared in a fireplace, casting light and warmth about the room. From the low ceiling, another glass chandelier hung above the table – the same small, yellow lights bouncing around inside them. With a shudder, I wondered if they weren't alive.

            Saying nothing still, I watched the boy pick up a large, crystal pitcher of ambrosia, filling a small matching glass. He crossed the room, averting his eyes as he timidly approached. At once, I knew I had nothing to fear from him.

            "Here," he said quietly, finally daring to look me in the eye. "Drink this – it'll heal you,"

            He brought the glass up to my lips, and I drank unabashedly, gulping down great swigs until the entire glass was drained. When I had finished, he removed the glass and I looked down at my hands seeing that indeed, I was healed.

            "Thank you," I said, gratefully looking down at the boy – he was several inches shorter than me.

            His long brown hair fell into his hazel eyes like a mop, and a light spattering of freckles ran across his small, tan nose. Wearing a dark suit and tie with accompanying white gloves, I realized that he dressed in the form of a waiter.

            "Hi, I'm Tasmyn," I said. "What's your name?"

            "Rettrick," he said quietly, turning red and looking down.

            "Well, Rettrick, you look a little young to be here alone. Where are your parents?"

            "Actually, I'm thirty-three," he replied with a small, sad smile. "And I haven't had parents in quite some time..."