The Sovereign

We pass through ever-rising badlands. As we emerge from a high pass, we are greeted with a startling sight. From the summit of the cliffs above, a lordly palace surveys the landscape, its towers stretched high unto the darkening sky. Against the dusk, its windows glimmer with brilliant coloured lights; the sounds of merrymaking drift towards us. Someone is home.

To sleep in such a sumptuous place, with such a vista! We cannot resist the opportunity. Climbing the well-paved path, we enter through the gates to find ourselves interlopers at a great ball. Nobles in lavish gowns flit through glittering halls, while servants offer us canapés on silver platters. But none speak to us, their lips sealed by some otherworldly power.

At last, we come to the palace’s central courtyard. There, on a throne of glass, sits a terrifying queen. Clad in a dress and mask of purest gold, she greets us civilly. “You walk in my court, and so you must know that I am dead. This ball is a gathering of ghosts, this palace a tomb for fools. You see, though I was queen, I lived a life of great solitude — solitude not of the body, but of the mind. It was at this ball that I grew so bored, I had all of my subjects killed. I died with them that night. Little did I know that my death would trap me here, at this terrible ball, for the rest of eternity.”

The skin of her neck stretches tight; she is smiling beneath the mask. “But you… you bring new blood, new life to this party. Play a game with me! Or I shall sate my boredom by having you killed.”