A deadly pall hung about the celebrants. Though they circled the dance floor in perfect step, not a murmur or whisper could be heard; only the droning music played. Upon the stage, the sad musicians were themselves locked in a near rigor-mortis-like stability with only their fingers moving along the stops; they were as still as though a gun were to their heads and a voice had whispered, “No sudden moves.” That image is not so far from the reality. The king and queen lay dead beside their thrones, dead at the feet of the Spider Queen. None dared to look into her porcelain mask or glance up at the ebony hollows of her eyes; none but I. There is nothing but darkness there under her mask. She had woven her web, tangled us up like marionettes, but now she was done hiding in the shadows. She was tired of her toys.
Related:
Death of the Masked Queen
The Court of the Spider Queen
The Keeper
Willow’s House
The Doll
Tale Told 
2 Comments