the midnight ball |

The bodies swayed to the rhythm of the harmonious music. Smiles, laughter, dancing. The guests were all smiling, abundantly happy, under their masks, each and every one of them. Smiles, laughter, dancing. It was a testament to the hosts of this ball, to their diligence and their abilities, that the merriment and festivity was getting through to me. It called, sweetly, for me to join the revelry. To forget my troubles, for the night.

Smile, laugh, dance, the melody commanded.

It was 11:30.

The moon glowed faintly through the cascading stained glass panes, its light warping into an iridescent scarlet. I pulled my lips into a smile, careful to match the slow, eerie movements of the other guests. They would be fine in the morning. None of them had — or were — what I was looking for. The smiles, the glamor, the golden, gilded, glimmering facade; it was all just for show. The true dance, the reason I had come to this place at all — that was downstairs.

I circled the room slowly, clutching the mask to my face a little tighter. It had been fashioned by the best (and most beautiful) craftsperson I knew — it was gorgeous, although I would never admit it to Belle, who would gleefully hold it over my head for the rest of her life. But most importantly, weaved into the ink-black cloth were ribbons of mithril, pure and gleaming. Besides looking lovely, it held magic delightfully well — especially the simple shielding charm I had folded into the wiry blue strands. It wasn’t true invisibility, but it certainly helped me weave through the bewitched crowd much easier. With luck, no one would remember me being there at all.

11:40.

The time for the real party was drawing near. I wandered towards the stairs, slowly. Two tall, hulking guards stood on each side of the entrance, looking straight ahead with effortless dispassion. I walked past them. They didn’t blink.

The colorful world faded quickly behind me as I descended down the stairs, dissolving into darkness and filth. My dress brushed softly against the grimy stone stairs, getting rapidly soiled with the gore and dust and god-knows-what these people had dragged against their floors. Despite myself, I wrinkled my nose — the scent of death and rot clung to my hair; I was going to have to shear it all off when I was finished here.

There were far too many steps. Really, I understood the need for dramatic secrecy, but this was going too far. I’m going to have to climb all of these again going back up, I thought dismally with every step I took further into the dreadful abyss.

Finally, the stairs melded into marble floor, where a crowd had gathered. They were dressed like the folk upstairs, but they weren’t laughing, or smiling, or talking. They certainly weren’t dancing. A solemn silence settled into the room, interrupted only by the soft crackle of candles set into the walls. 11:50. The hour was approaching. The crowd bristled, their bloodlust suddenly heavy in my lungs, almost suffocating. I stood very still, my black dress blending in with theirs and my presence obscured by the mask. The party would start soon.

Finally, with a carnal howl, two men in robes dragged a person into the room. A child, stumbling, his tousled golden hair drenched in sweat and matted with grime. His little wings flapped anxiously as his terrified green eyes darted around the room.

Fae. A child of the fae. They had dared to abduct one of the fair folk, to sacrifice to their dark god. I couldn’t help but shake my head. This was going to get ugly.

The man at the front of the crowd sneered as the boy was dragged, wriggling and protesting, before him. His dark eyes were wild and delirious behind the mask, hideous laughter shattering the silence of the room. All eyes turned to him.

“A child of the light, plucked from his realm after the witching hour, on the night of a full moon.” he declared. Even his voice was ghastly, every word chillingly cold. There was no redemption for people like him. “ He will be the key that opens our passage to our Dark Lord, the sacrifice that placates His lust for slaughter. We will be rewarded with unimaginable power for this.”

The crowd roused at his words, chanting ancient spells — words that meant nothing on their lips. The fae child trembled, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t cry out, even as the room reached a feverish pitch. The man stepped forward with a wickedly ornate dagger.

12:00. It was time.

I roamed forward, almost lazily. They didn’t see me until the first “guest” fell to the floor with a choked gurgle, my silver blade between his third and fourth rib.

Their leader’s shock wore off quickly, as he beckoned for his armed guards to circle me. He still had an uncanny smile on his face. Five guards, not including the leader. I pulled the blade from the twitching body on the ground, rolling its hilt in the palm of my hands. I was going to have to fight, and it might get messy. Behind me, the little fae child didn’t make a sound.

“You dare interrupt a sacrifice to the Dark Lord, stupid girl? Do you know what He will do to you for your insolence?” The leader cried out, closing in on me. “Kill her, and let the sacrifice continue!”

I finally let myself grin, taking in each movement, stance, and tremor. The guard on my right lunged forward on that order, dragging his sword from its sheath with an ear-splitting screech. “You misunderstand,” I say, as his iron shatters against my shoulder — it’s hardly fair: after all, the mortals don’t see the veined, pulsing obsidian skin through my glamour. “The sacrifice will continue. But it’s not fae blood that the Dark Lord will savor tonight.”

The next man to jump at me I caught by the throat, lifting him off his feet. The sound of another sword breaking against my skin rings through the room — these men just don’t learn. I met the gaze of the man thrashing in my grasp, muttering a short incantation — just a simple incendiary spell. The man shrieked like a child as the blood began to boil through my fingers, and the embers crept down his face and robes. I let go of him and let him squirm on the floor. The flames wouldn’t go out until his heart stopped.

I couldn’t help the soft laughter that wrenched itself from my throat then, as the thrill and heat of magic roared through my veins. It whispered to me, like it did, a hundred years ago. What a fool I was for ever letting this go! I carved through the remaining guards in a silent waltz, igniting their writhing bodies as they fell.

Smile, laugh, dance.

The stench of burning flesh had long buried that of rot and decay. By the time the cinders had sizzled out in the ash and bleach-white bones of what were once men, I turned to the leader.

The room was silent, once more. The crowd stood, mesmerized. I knew that they wanted to run. I wouldn’t let them, not until I was ready to hunt them down, anyway. The leader had backed into a wall, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps, robes drenched in sweat. “I— I am a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. He will protect me. You would do well not to incur his wrath—” His pleas broke off into anguished cry as my blade slid easily into his stomach. Grappling at the blade, he tried to remove it but could not match my strength. He didn’t deserve a quick death. He would not get one.

“No, you are a liar. A charlatan, a madman. Dressing up in robes and pretending to serve a power you don’t comprehend.” I leaned close and snarled into his throat. Fear dripped down his legs. “You hurt the defenseless — this child, the guests upstairs — and think that in doing so you will satisfy your god. You mortals know nothing of the art of Midnight. Of sacrifice.”

“You’re a demon,” he hissed through scarlet stained teeth.

“And you’re a damn fool,” I threw my head back in a howl of laughter. “I’m worse than that, little one. My name is Ceryli,” I paused to savor the way the man’s eyes bulged as he recognized the name, “the Dark Lord you so revere.”

The power of the sacrifices that now lay smouldering on the floor pumped exhilaratingly through my heart, pulsing under my skin. I looked around at the horrified “guests” around the room, frozen in place by the trance I had cast the second the first man had leapt at me. I couldn’t have these people — would it really be fair to call them human? — running around while I had my fun. Threads of lingering human empathy ripped themselves to shreds in an attempt to stay my hand. I could hear nothing but the hot, rhythmic throbbing of bloodlust. “So, who wants to serve the Dark Lord next?”

At my feet, the dying man convulsed. The blade buried in him whispered softly to me, magic crackling at my fingertips. It wanted more. I wanted more.

The little fae boy met my gaze, eyes wide and wet and intelligent. There was innocence in them, still, despite everything.

At once, the smell of charred flesh made me feel sick. What would Belle think of me? Bile rose in my throat, hot and acrid. This is why I stopped. I couldn’t let her see me like this. Couldn't drag her into the Midnight scene. Numbly, I waved the trance from the trembling crowd. As soon as they could move their legs again, they cleared out of the room with hideous screams, trampling each other in their frenzied desperation.

I tore the blade from the man, dredging the life his shaking body. He slumped, lifeless, joining the flame-licked bodies of his guards. Forcing my hand to steady itself, I slid the mask off of my face, letting it clatter on the stone tiles. As though it wasn’t stifling enough that I had to wear a glamour every day; as though the sight of my true skin wouldn’t break any mortal mind. The room was empty, now, and I turned to the fae boy.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, brusquely. My dealings with children were minimal, which I had no qualms about. Could fae children this young even speak yet? A few seconds of silence pass, and I decided that they, in fact, could not. I strode over to the stone wall with the least chains and manacles nailed into it, and began weaving my sigils on its surface. The fae child watched me, silently.

“Thank you,” he finally says. I stop, mid-drawing. “For saving me.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “and for not eating me, Miss Dark Lord.”

Covered in filth and blood, I wasn’t in much of a mood for mirth and levity, but I had to bite back a genuine snicker at that. 

“I feed off depravity, hatred, and greed. Sins, if I may. You have none; it wouldn't have been much of a meal,” I said, turning back to the wall. I didn’t have any of my tomes with me, but I knew each symbol in my mind's eye — as complicated as this spell was. “I grant- I used to grant favors to the mortals. No better way to feed off their damnation than to give them everything they could ever want, and watch them flounder.”

I didn’t expect the fae child to understand, but it was pleasant to talk to someone about these things, after living among the mortals for years. Belle was lovely — for a human, but she would never understand. Even after our years of courtship, I was terrified that she would shatter, if I showed her who I truly was.

“So you eat bad people?” The fae child prompted, sidling closer towards me with caution.

This time, I don’t stop the chuckle from escaping my lips. “In a way,” I replied. As the sigils on the wall charged with glimmering energy, I turned to him. He was standing at my feet, looking up  at me dolefully.

“What is it, fae?”

“My name is Pix,” he bristled indignantly, “and I was just... looking. What are you drawing?”

“You’ll see,” I said, much too tired to explain the logistics behind portal creation. “Turn around, Pix.” He fidgeted for a few seconds before obeying. I had very little in the way of protective magic — hurting things, I could understand easily, healing... not so much — but I did my best to sheathe his torn wings in a thin barrier. It would protect them until his natural healing could take effect. Behind me, the wall flared to life, a portal unfolding over the stone bricks.

“A door to Alfheimr,” I gestured. He didn’t move. I took his hesitation as shock. “What, did you think I would leave you here?”

“Thank you,” he said, again. I waved it off, herding him towards the door gingerly. Before he stepped through, he looked at me. “Are you coming too?”

“I would never be welcome in the realm of the fae,” I assured him. He paused, thoughtfully, brow wrinkled in displeasure. “Now go, before the portal closes. Stay in the mortal realm too long and you might pick up some bad habits, then I would really have to eat you.”

He shook his head earnestly, standing in the portal frame. The light from Alfheimr framed his cheeks in a gentle glow. “When I grow up, I’ll catch lots of bad guys for you to eat, Miss Dark Lord.”

Amusement bubbled in my throat. “If you’re ever in trouble, Pix, just call for Ceryli,” I told him. He smiled, the golden light a halo framing his bright grin. Before I closed the portal, he waved at me.

I waved back.

​
 

The cottage I share with Belle is empty, when I return. She's up surprisingly early. Perhaps she'd gone down to the river for a walk. It's for the better — I wouldn't quite have known how to explain the blood and charred clothing, anyway. I've run out of lies.

Perhaps it would be best if I don't tell another. I let myself indulge in the notion of telling her, of showing her who I truly am and baring my soul to her. Perhaps she won't shatter. Perhaps she won't run. Perhaps she'll stay in love with me, still.

Perhaps it's time I told her.

​

I pace the little cottage, wondering how I'll do it. I imagine how she'll react — her lovely lips parting in surprise, blue eyes widening. It’ll take more than that to scare me, she might say. I'll always love you, Cery. Shivers run down my spine, a strange sort of breathless elation gathering in my lungs.

Children aren't as bad as I had thought, either — Pix had been surprisingly insightful. The child of a demon (for lack of better human words) and a mortal might not mature at the same rate. No one knows, it's never been done before. I'm not even sure if it's possible, but it's something I can't wait to explore. I would have to talk to Belle about that, too.

The excitement that seeps through my veins almost match the strength of my magic. Impatiently, I settle into our bed, waiting for Belle to come home.

I don't see the holy cross hacked into the back of our cottage. Don't read the notice pinned on our door that a witch suspected of dabbling in the dark arts had been captured. That she'd be burned alive in the clearing in the woods. I never get to tell them they had the wrong woman, that it should have been me. 

​

I wait for Belle, fingers drumming an eager rhythm into the windowsill.

Behind the miles of trees outside our cottage, a thin wisp of smoke curls into the sky. The horizon glows softly, a blazing orange seeping into the treetops and the heavens.