Completed The Dead Queen's Wedding

[Victoria O'Connor]

​

Greyrock castle was a heavy, unyielding structure. Thick square walls and stout towers stood tall against the purple eastern sky. The crash of the sea was a constant background, stretching infinite and cold behind the castle in a churning, velvet-black expanse. All was not darkness, however, for within the foreboding silhouette were spots of light. Windows, small and defensible, reflected the waning orange of dusk. They glittered like scattered, peering eyes, and were complimented by flickering torchlight in the castle courtyard, upon the parapets, and along either side of the main gate’s approach.

All was quiet until the sun dipped its final rays beneath the horizon.

The castle’s massive, dark doors opened as soon as the natural light left them. A sprawling red carpet had been laid from the doors and down the wide stone steps to the courtyard where the procession of carriages had formed.

A host of staff emerged simultaneously. Some were clearly human, others eerily pale, but all were finely dressed. They approached the carriages, offering assistance to guests while horses were lead to stables. There were guards placed, but not many. This was not an evening of violence, it was an evening of celebration.

Within the castle all the finery was on display. Every stone had been scoured and every portrait frame dusted and polished to a fine shine. Candelabras glinted off decorative suits of armor and large rugs, so fine it seemed a crime to step upon them, padded the hard floors. Servants moved gracefully to bring food and drink to guests, and the castle’s main foyer, entrance hall, and parlors had been made open to guests. The rooms beyond, and the upper levels, had been politely yet firmly barred.

Not a trace of silver was to be found anywhere.

All of this to dazzle guests. All of this to display the wealth and power that had been collected. All of this, for Lady Victoria O'Connor and her love Fallon, to be wed this night.

~*~

Victoria stood upstairs in her room, being positively swarmed by careful, gentle hands. Her handmaidens had fitted her to her wedding gown time and time again, but for the real event they had seemingly infinite adjustments to make. Despite the fuss, Victoria had to admit that the dress felt amazing, perfectly fit to her body and movements. As for how it looked, she would need to take her servants’ word for it – the mirror before her showed a dress floating independently and a single handmaiden attending it alongside two other floating outfits.

Fallon would no doubt tell her it was beautiful, but her betrothed had not yet seen it. The two of them had spent the night apart in the barest keeping of tradition. Victoria laughed quietly to herself. There was nothing traditional about this.

She wondered what the gathering guests made of the whole situation. The invitations had been rather open. While she had been excited to show her bonding to Fallon to the world, part of her wondered if she had perhaps been too generous. There were dangers with showing oneself too clearly.

A soft voice told her she was ready, forcing Victoria out of her thoughts. Her heart began beating, pumping the blood she had taken from a golden goblet before her dressing. It was time. After what felt like a lifetime with Fallon, after all the preparation, it was finally time. Were it anyone else, Victoria would have scoffed at the ridiculous pageantry of the whole affair.

She took a deep breath.

 

[Pim]

An hour before sunset, a much less prestigious arrival had occurred. Away from the glamour and finery of the castle’s main doors, in a narrow alley of the courtyard leading to a servant’s entrance, a rickety open-air wagon crammed full of bags and boxes of foodstuffs came to a halt.

Naturally, this side door had guards posted on the inside, one of whom presently engaged the leader of the oddball group escorting the cart. A thin, imperious-looking man introduced them as the caterers and handed over a letter from the chef who’d hired them. A chef who – upon hearing that the hired help had finally arrived – came out to reprimand him for being late.

“The doors open in an hour! You were supposed to be two hours early to get the hors d'oeuvres ready! Do you understand how important an event this is? How much of an honor it is for you to be here?” the middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and barely-greying hair berated him. He backpedaled towards an apology and an explanation about how they had been held up unduly in a small town of no consequence up the road.

---------​

“I can’t believe we’re cooking for a party of monsters! I don’t care how much we’re being paid. It won’t do us any good at all if they decide to make us the main course!” Gremory, the halfling sous-chef, grumbled smartly just out of the boss’s earshot. “At least they’re giving the ‘master of appetizers’ his comeuppance over there.

“What are you scribbling there, Pim?”

The other halfling, slightly shorter than Gremory except for a soft frizz of hay-gold hair catching the ocean breeze, wasn’t paying much attention to his complaints. She was staring up at the dark parapets and walls of a mighty castle set afire by the setting sun, a small notebook cradled in one hand and a worn charcoal stick in the other.

“Castles are structures built for defense. Defense against armies of normal folk and siege weapons, right? So how well does a castle stand up to an army of vampires? Or werewolves? Giants? Dragons…?” she trailed off, considering a thousand different questions concerning castles built by non-humans.

Gremory glanced with dismay at the towering structure. “Stands up well enough, I suppose. Anyway, that’s none of our affair.” He glanced back at the bustle behind them. Servants had filed out of the kitchen to help bring in the foodstuffs and supplies.

“We’d best get to work or our employers will wring our necks. Or worse,” he said dismally and gave his distracted companion a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s time to bake some pies, Pim!”

The mention of pies finally broke through the imaginary castle building itself in Pim’s brain. She snapped her notebook shut, a slow grin spreading across her round, freckled face.

Baking pies was exactly what she came here to do.

 

[Konrad]

Konrad towered over the pair of guards who had greeted him. The two men, although vampires like him, seemed appalled by Konrad's countenance. One of them, a bald-headed youth barely over a century old, banged an armored fist against the unyielding surface of his breastplate and saluted Konrad. Perhaps the "young" man was looking to earn himself a favor from the older, more powerful vampire. Perhaps he was scared of Konrad. Maybe it was that fear and admiration had been married together for a common purpose. Only time would tell.

A gutteral laugh bubbled in the pit of Konrad's stomach until he yielded to its ascent, letting it pass through his gullet and flutter past his paper-thin lips. The sound cleaved the eerie atmosphere like the crack of a whip, stunning both other vampires, the older of whom grunted and shook his head.

"It is a fine night, isn't it, gentleman?" crooned the white-haired vampire, his glowing eyes flickering like candle-flames in the half-darkness of the early evening.

"I'd dare say so myself, sir," responded the youth with the shaved head.

"And you shall attend, shan't you?"

"No, sir. 'Tis a shame, really, but, we who've had the misfortune of being born amongst the lower ranks, are barred from participating. The best we can hope for are scraps of victuals from the big table."

Konrad nodded, drinking in the pair's mutual disappointment. The manner in which he held himself spoke of haughtiness and bravado, but his low, nearly inhuman voice reflected none of it.

"I see how it is."

Konrad sneered, his teeth flashing. Unlike the rest of them, he didn't have four neatly placed fangs with which to open the throat of his prey. Instead, his mouth stood packed full of gnarly, conical protrusions, not unlike those you'd expect to see on an angler fish.

Konrad clasped their pauldrons with his fingers, which each looked more like an eagle's talon than a human digit.

"I'll see what I can do for you boys. I imagine something can be arranged. A warm meal, perhaps."

And with that, he was gone, strolling past the pair of pleasantly surprised soldiers.

 

[Fallon]

Fallon had never considered that she would one day be wed. Never as a child, nor through first loves had she ever had any such fantasy for herself. Ever devoted to rising in her ranks and, once those ranks could be climbed no more, her full dedication had always been to her pack. Her pack, who were still in the Spine, entirely oblivious to how she had abandoned them for a creature they were born to hunt.

Her quicksilver eyes stared out across the darkening sky as she allowed herself just a few minutes of the guilt that so often threatened to splinter her mind. Tonight however, wouldn't be a night for dwelling on the past. The course of her life had shifted in the most antithetical way possible, and as much as she pined for the family she had known, there was no amount of remorse that could make her conjure even a kernel of regret for where she was right now.

That the two should have been sworn enemies was engrained deeply in Fallon's nature, but deeper still was whatever force that caused her nothing but agony at the thought of being without Her. Fallon had forsaken everything she had known to dedicate her life to her Queen, and she knew that had it been her heart on a plate that Victoria had wanted, she'd have given it freely. It wasn't a bond she understood nor cared to, nor was it important who was hurt in the collision. All that mattered was Her.

Fallon's discomfort grew with every moment that passed without Victoria in her presence, like it was some biological need to know She was safe. She was close enough, she knew, for the discomfort had not become the dreaded ache that had gnawed at her whenever they ventured too far apart. Victoria was at home here, and there should have been little to worry about surrounding Her safety - but there were many who had not taken lightly to the insult that was Fallon's presence here, let alone her intention to wed their Mistress. Some had been more vocal about it than others, and those others had kept their opinions to themselves after examples had been made.

From the window, the wolf watched the flickering glow of carriage light as guests arrived one by one. Of course, Fallon knew none of them, but she understood Victoria's ways and tried not to let the thought of countless glares upon her back unnerve her. Not that Fallon was easily unnerved, but being a lone wolf in a coven of vampires had taken some metaphorical brass balls as it was, let alone inviting more in.

"Lady Fallon.. Are you ready?" a meek human girl who had helped arrange her hair into some semblance of order, asked from the doorway.

"I am." She was. The sharp points of her canines were visible as she smiled. All guilt for those far and mistrust for those near were discounted instantly, and Gods help any who dared set so much as a toe in her way.

 

[Varo]

"I'm afraid I'm taken, my Lady, but I would very gladly bring you a drink." Varo told the extremely buxom woman with oddly pronounced teeth. His smile warm enough to match the suns rays as he took half a step back. "What will you have? Champagne? Bourbon? The servers really do seem to have it all. The lovely couple didn't seem to spare any expense at all..."

The woman swept forward, seeming to float more than step as she closed the small distance between the two of them.

"Oh, I think I prefer a more...crimson variety of drink."​

That was a weird thing to say, but then again everyone he'd met at this wedding so far had been a little bit weird. So far he'd mostly taken that down to them being nobles. Those with money and wealth generally tended to have a bit more...eccentricity, particularly humans. One time he had stolen his way into a party where they'd served food on people.

Weirdos. "Ah. Well, I'm sure I can find you some...cranberry juice."

Varo said with a brief smile as he suddenly slipped away from the woman's grasp.

"Be right back!" He said chirpily, having absolutely no intention of seeing the woman ever again.

Having broken away from his would be boudoir mistress Varo ran his hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh of relief as his eyes flickered about the room. Ever since he'd managed to squeeze his way into this party things had been becoming stranger and stranger.

Though he'd promised Colette that his life of crime was older, the young Face had somehow stumbled upon an invitation to this shindig in the manor house of a Local Lord in Alliria. It had seemed the perfect opportunity, after all who doesn't love a free meal and a good time at a wedding? Wasn't like he would rob the place blind.

He'd made a promise!

 

[Mephistopheles]

With the evening's prelude in full swing, the castle was the liveliest it had been in decades. Servers wove in between guests with quiet dignity to offer appetizing morsels. Some offerings were more macabre than others, but the waiters seemed to know whom to offer which items. For example, no sooner had Varo escaped the allures of an undead temptress was she offered an ornate porcelain cup of deep, red refreshment. She snatched it, and imbibed it hastily while she leered after the young man.

A black cat wound itself around the legs of the guests, stepping silently with soft paws and hidden claws. It looked and listened for any signs of discord with its pointed ears on a swivel.

It was not what Mephistopheles had been tasked to do, this evening. He had not been tasked with anything officially, and security was already being managed by Serafina's severe hand. Even so, the spymaster found it difficult to relax with so many unknowns entering their lair.

In a smoky swirl the cat rose to stand as a tall, elegant elven man. His voice was as impassionate as his face when he spoke to Saoirse Rose whom he had risen beside, saying only: "Just over half the guests are here. It will be difficult to observe them all."

A waiter passed him by, knowing better than to offer anything. A second black cat, this one much less concerned with the guests than it was with sniffing out scraps, kept to the waiter's heels.

 

[Saoirse Rose]

Saoirse had been working for over a month to prove that she wanted to be here and she was sorry for trying to kill Mephistopheles. He, on the other hand, had taken full advantage of this new dynamic to boss her around more than he already did. She was one hundred percent sure the spymaster enjoyed it a little too much. She was determined though. She liked it here. She liked her new life. She liked Fallon and Victoria. She liked Mephistopheles. Damn feelings ruining her perfect record.

The swirling mist only received a sidelong glance from her as her eyes continued to scan the room.

"Just over half the guests are here. It will be difficult to observe them all."

"That is why there is actual security, Mephistopheles," the blonde vampire replied with a small smile. "What exactly do you want me to do tonight?"

Saoirse was hoping that he would say to enjoy herself and stay alert but she knew that would be too easy.

 

[Konrad]

Konrad admired the room's tasteful furnishings as he surveyed it with eyes that looked like two pieces of hard glass stuck in the sockets. The interior of the castle did not correspond to its featureless, desolate façade. The fortification, built from grey stone, blended in perfectly with the dreary paysage around it. The idea that a vampire's wedding would take place in such a setting made Konrad chuckle to himself. He was nonetheless greatly bemused by the presence of non-vampires, for he was well aware of his kind's intense suspicion or downright xenophobia towards outsiders.

Konrad motioned to one of the waiters. No sooner than he did this did a young woman with stygian-colored hair make her way over to him. She stood beside Konrad, her head barely clearing his chest, and handed him one of the gilded goblets from her tray.

While taking not-so-subtle glances at the woman's magnificent cleavage, Konrad received the gift with a demure smile that only hinted at his horrifying rictus.

He wrapped his fingers around the metal frame, feeling its coolness flow into his lips as he pressed the rim of the cup against them. Konrad quickly drained the goblet before using a magenta-colored napkin to dab his besmeared lips.

The woman giggled faintly in response to his antics, before retrieving the now empty goblet and turning away from Konrad. He watched her leave and disappear amidst the writhing mass of bodies that was the crowd. The whole room seethed with barely contained energy. Tensions rose and fell, and Konrad could all but hear the throb of precious lifeblood humming against his sensitive eardrums.

He stepped forward, meaning to relocate himself to the center of the room, but in doing so he successfully bumped into someone. Konrad swore softly, his brow creased in contemplation as his steely gaze searched for the person he had the displeasure of colliding with.

 

[Pim]

The kitchen staff and the caterers hadn’t hit it off particularly well in the beginning. A couple of people had tripped over Gremory in a rush, the head caterer and the head chef had a divisive argument over the layout of appetizers, and one of the servants had suffered a little fright when Pim’s oven wriggled free of the wagon and come trotting over to the halfling’s side like a loyal hound.

“I always bring my own oven,” Pim had told the guards. It had taken some convincing to get them to allow her oven into the kitchen, although she couldn’t imagine how a sentient oven the size of a large dog would pose a threat to anyone.

Yet things had more-or-less settled into the usual bustle of a busy kitchen. Servants carried trays of wine-filled goblets, goblets of what looked like wine but wasn’t, and varieties of tiny foodstuffs to and fro. A variety of sweet and savory tartlets were organized in rows on one of the preparation stations. Pim was standing behind them, busily rolling out another crust in the gradually shrinking area of open table space, her hands and apron dusted with flour. Gremory came around to inspect the treats and add the finishing garnishes as he deemed appropriate.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Why can’t you just make tarts tonight?” he asked, staring at two pies set in front of the tartlets, still steaming from the oven.

Pim shrugged and wiped the back of one arm across her nose, leaving a small white spot of flour there. “Tarts are just conceited pies. What’s wrong with a slice of humble pie?”

Gremory sighed as he gingerly arranged tiny mint leaves and sliced almonds on top of the tartlets. “Pim, this is a wedding.”

“Which, as I recall, is a celebration. Who doesn’t want pie at a celebration? I could even make a stack of pies taller than that cake over there!”

The sous-chef glanced out of the corner of his eye to the extravagant wedding cake, built as much to dazzle the guests’ eyes as to stun their taste buds. Then to one of the refilling stations, where a servant was pouring a sanguine liquid from a colored glass bottle into the goblets on his tray.

“These folk don’t want pie.” He said flatly and turned back to her table, eyeing the pies that shared a similar hue.

“What sort of pies are these anyway? Raspberry?”

“They’re blood pies. Lamb’s blood, specifically. Some beets for added color, flour, fat-”

“Bloo-” the sous-chef caught himself before he shouted it across the whole kitchen. “Well that explains the odd smell over here. But why?”

Pim gave him a skeptical stare, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“We’re supposed to be making the food for the, erm,‘traditional’ guests. You know, folk who eat real food. What makes you think a vampire would even eat a pie? They drink blood!”

“But could they eat other things, if they wanted to? They have other teeth besides fangs, don’t they? Why is that?”

Gremory was rubbing his forehead, which had developed a peculiar pressure, as it often did when trying to have any normal discussion with Pim.

“Please…just… stick to the tartlets. No experiments tonight, understand?”

Pim stared at him blankly. Then nodded, slowly, when it became clear he wasn’t going away until she agreed.

The baker glanced at the two pies sitting forlornly on the table. A soft groan, like heating metal in a cold room, issued from the oven behind her.

“Why, you’re right Smokey. No good idea has been without its critics.”

She turned towards the oven, which seemed – for something with eyes that were merely metal embellishments on an iron casing – to be watching her eagerly. Another pie steamed gently behind the oven’s elaborate grate. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ll be right back. Be a good boy, now, and remember to let the pie out when it’s ready. A burned pie is a bad pie, yeah?”

The oven stood up a little higher on its four forged legs and made another metallic groan, somewhat reminiscent of the squeaking of a knight’s armor when standing at attention.

Pim removed her apron and baker’s hat and glanced around the kitchen. Gremory had moved on to manage the sauces, and the boss was assembling skewered meats on tiny pedestals. She patted her trouser pocket to make sure her precious notebook and charcoal stick were still there. Taking one of the empty trays sitting on the table next to her, she arranged one of the experimental pies into thin slices before ducking into the main hall behind one of the tallfolk.

The opulence of the guests and the décor was of little relevance to the halfling as she looked around for her first taster.

 

[Eris Wisteria]

Many different bodies, both warm and dead cold, mingled together as they waited for tonight's main course. Their growing appetites made them a little more impatient than usual for the ceremony to advance forward. Which of course was to be expected, when the crowd was eager to behold the two who desired to go against their nature's instinct of being archnemesis.

This was quickly demonstrated as the red-haired lass witnessed a blood maven that seemed tempted to sharpen her fangs on an obviously uninterested copper stranger.

Eris wondered to herself, as to how long it would take for something to happen. It was like dangling a wounded mouse in front of two starved predators to see who would pounce first, and if the other would try to intervene.

Which was all the reason that Eris herself decided to entertain her curiosity by attending. The thrill of waiting to see how the ceremony would play out and lacing herself amongst it was almost worth being the odd one out. As she was neither vampire or werewolf.

Well. . that and she also wanted to enjoy all the finery that was to offer. This monstrous castle must have been the first of its kind that she's been able to witness from the inside.

Soon, Eris moseyed her way to one of the dishes that presented many different varieties of finger foods and foodstuffs. Her eyes scanned over the different morsels, stirring clear of anything that looked as if it would still move or twitch if she dared to touch it.

Luckily, whoever organized the appetizers was merciful enough to provide some fruits and cheese for the ones that didn't acquire the taste for crimson ichor.

Eris plucked a grape from one of the dishes as one of the waiters tilted a tray into her direction. The metal tray was topped with crystalized glasses of thick crimson, and for a moment, Eris couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her. That was until the fragrance of plum wine drew her in and she realized that she had mistaken its contents.

The temptation hit and she received one of the glasses.

​

 

[Victoria O'Connor]

Victoria was legitimately trembling. She glared at her hands, held in front of her face like flimsy rushes in the wind. Be still, she commanded, but neither her fingers nor her knees obeyed. Her heart rate had risen and she could feel her veins pressing against the dress’ tight embrace.

Frustrated with her own body, the vampire followed the guiding hands of her lady’s maid. If I falter, she had commanded the night before, you must push me onward. She had warned the woman, a slight and grey-skinned vampire, that she may not be entirely herself this evening. She had even gone so far as to instruct the woman to make sure she walked the aisle… even if that meant disobeying a panicked Lady O’Connor.

Victoria did not see a need for that now, she could hardly wait to enter that hall and wed the woman who had so wholly transformed her life… or death, whichever was most accurate. At the same time she was terrified, terrified of seeing her. Not for fear of Fallon, but for what she herself might do. In a very rare circumstance, Victoria had no idea how she would react to seeing her bride. Would she freeze on the spot, would she forsake decorum and run to her immediately? Would she lose the ability to speak and be reduced to a flustered puddle in front of her entire guestlist?

Quiet! she yelled at her own thoughts. She had to be a queen tonight. She had to be in control.



Downstairs the large wooden doors to the grand hall slowly opened. A gentle candlelight came from within, reflecting the twilight stars outside the tall windows. The heavy crimson drapes had been pulled back to reveal the deepening purple sky, and rows of chairs had been set with their backs to the western bank of windows.

The center of the hall had been laid end to end with a plush red and gold carpet. At its center, backed by the rising eastern moon, were two thrones. One was well-known to the coven’s members - a dark and ornately carved chair of ebonwood, with sturdy arms and a straight back that ended in a tall pointed arch. It had been set with thick cushions of scarlet. The seat next to it was new, and the pale birchwood shimmered beneath the chandeliers. Its legs were formed as the roots of mighty trees which twisted into an elegant bark-etched seat and vined arms. The curving wood wrapped itself around a striking slab of moon-hued marble that served as the chair’s back, the top of which had been expertly chiseled to evoke a scene of mountains. It had been laid with cushions of pastel green and hues of leaves.

Music swelled to usher the guests within. Beautiful strings and flutes floated above conversation and encouraged those present to finish their drinks and find their seats.

 

[Fallon]

Fallon had never worn anything quite so fine in her life, and the seamstress and handmaidens seemed to have rather enjoyed dressing her up for the occasion. She was a simple creature who had spent her life in the wilds, where leathers and furs were all that she had ever worn. The gown made for her now was silken, and she rather enjoyed the way it caressed her skin as she walked down the staircase to the foyer. Even in the depths of winter, Fallon enjoyed the feel of air on her skin and the ground under her feet, and so her arms and her back were bare, and against all insistence on propriety, her feet too, remained bare.



The ladies who accompanied her looked pleased with themselves as they made their final adjustments, and Fallon drew a slow breath as she watched the doors, waiting impatiently for them to be opened. She could hear the guests as they took their seats, the fusion of their various scents a confusing assault on her senses. She would not look at them. They were not here for her. They were here for Victoria, or for the gossip and scandal..

"Where is she?.." she murmured with the first knot of nerves in the pit of her stomach as she waited...

 

[Varo]

Varo had decided not to go back to the woman he'd promised that drink to, instead occupying his time speaking with some of the other guests. "Yes, Yes I do agree. I think this 'Van Hellsing' character sounds utterly obsessed with you, Count."

The man in front of him nodded. His rather regal appearance marking him as a member of the upper-class. The sort of folk Varo was real used to duping.

"I know some people who mi-" Before Varo could finish his sentence the music began to swell slightly, and the ushers began to urge people towards the main chamber. Quickly the Lycan tipped back his glass, downing the last of his prosecco. "We'll talk after the main event, yeah?"

A nod came from the other man, and quickly Varo departed his company.

Along with the throng of other guests the young half-elf made his way into the Grand Hall. He found a seat, planting himself between a stunningly beautiful woman and a troll of a man. Both of whom looked rather pale, though he didn't mention that to either of them.

Instead he simply offered them a charming smile. "Exciting isn't it?"

Varo whispered to the woman besides him, whose only response was to stare at him like one might a very expensive steak.

 

[Victoria O'Connor]

The ethereal strings quieted slowly, prompting the last guests to take their seats. The murmur of conversation followed the musical cue and dwindled to match the silence. An air of apprehension held for a moment, and then Fallon entered.

Elegant, powerful, beautiful. Even the most resistant to the women's union could not deny that Fallon was utterly entrancing. She was a living paradox, a wild and untamed creature wrapped in silk, at least this is how she appeared to Victoria, though the red vampire had not shown herself yet.

At the far end of the hall, opposite Fallon, a scarlet mist began to pool. It floated in from unseen crevices and coalesced into a rising swirl until it took the shape of a woman, blood-red and ghostly. Victoria's features hardened out of the fog and there she stood, tall and proud and fully stunned by her bride across the room.

It had been her idea of a grand entrance, and it had been adequately gaudy for an undead soiree, though its impact had been somewhat lessened when her prideful expression cracked into awe. She had not seen Fallon for a full night and day, and she had never seen the garou dressed like this.

Victoria's own attire was extravagant. Her dress was white at her shoulders, but it appeared as though it had been dipped in blood, becoming ever more reddened as the eye traced downwards to the nearly-black edges of her train. Detailed lace furled out at her shoulders and down her arms, a rigid corset held her torso with embroidered flower petals, and her skirts billowed to the floor so that she appeared to float forwards.

The music resuming was the only thing to bring her out of her trance. While the strings sprang to life in a beautiful minor key, she moved down the carpet towards the thrones. She wanted to sprint, but she savored the anticipation of coming nearer and nearer to Fallon.

She couldn't speak when she reached the center, so she simply extended a pale, cold hand for Fallon to take. The music stopped.

~*~

A low murmur had taken some of the guests. Had Victoria not been so distracted by her partner she would have been satisfied with the activity. Whatever qualities Fallon had found in her to love, Victoria was suitably vain for her station. Talk, gossip, call it what you will - it was all attention.

Beautiful gowns... odd style

...No it's "gay-roo." Are they all that pretty?​

I hope this is quick, I want more of those pies...​

 

[Mephistopheles]

"Stay alert," he answered Saoirse, and moved through to the grand hall after the other guests. He could not help but take quick note of all the windows, the nooks and hiding spots in the ceiling, the small hidden doorways for the servants... all of them security points and none of them his concern tonight. Not officially.

He took a seat rear-center, staring back at the two empty thrones. The dark one was familiar. The light one had only been completed a week prior. The craftsman had been lucky that her work was satisfactory, having come so close to her deadline.

Mephistopheles allowed himself a long look at Fallon as she entered. His respect for his Lady had prevented him from interacting directly with the wolf, but he remained curious. It was uncommon for him to be unfamiliar with something. After a few lifetimes of information hoarding he thought himself learned on most things, but these "garou" had not appeared in his books. The best "source" he could find had been a children's tale from one of the small clans of the Spine. If not for a few key passages, it would have been indistinguishable from lycanthrope fables. He still did not know what they truly were... and he was too smart to ask his Lady.

Victoria's appearance was flashy, even for her, but Mephistopheles thought it fitting. He kept his pointed ears tuned to the side conversations.