girls in dresses made of bone
♕
A raven’s piercing cry echoed through the starless night, and Messalina shivered despite the strange balminess of the air. It was deep into autumn, yet the day had been stiflingly warm. Messa’s brow creased when she remembered how the roses on her mantle had drooped, despite being picked that very morning. Is it childish to believe in omens?
Omen or no, she should not have ventured into the woods so late in the night. “A fool’s errand,” she murmured, stepping carefully around a blackened stump. A fool as the Champion of wisdom. She smiled at the thought, a little bitterly.
They had extinguished the fire weeks ago. Yet, the stench of burning still clung to the bark of the trees, dulling the scent of all other things. The wildfire had devastated more than just the land. More than once had the girl stumbled upon the remains of animals who had perished in the fury of the flames, the reek of rot concealed beneath a layer of ash. A charred wing, a crumbling skull.
Once, she had discovered the body of a fawn folded beneath the hollow of a twisted oak, its waxy eyes great black holes. She had buried it in a grassy clearing and placed a white rose over the freshly turned earth. Then, cheeks hot with disgust and shame, she’d fled all the way back to the castle gardens and emptied the contents of her stomach into an abandoned flowerpot.
A breath of cold wind gusted through the leaves, rattling them like teeth. Messalina inhaled once — then again, sharper. It was only a trace, but there was no mistake. Her eyes flashed like chips of ice when she turned towards the gust. This is the smell of…
The deeper she crept through the forest, the stronger the stench became. Branches grabbed at her braids like claws. The night grew eerily silent, and every fiber of her being screamed for her to turn back. But Messalina gathered her courage, heart thudding quick as a bird’s, and pushed onwards.
Past the tree line, past the blackberry bushes. Fear stopped her. Fear drove her. Thorns tore at Messa's skin, gashes opening like mouths, but she felt no pain. Blood dribbled down her leg, leaving a trail of crimson.
She emerged on the banks of the river. There — across the shore.
The stench of decay wrapped ice-cold fingers around Messalina’s throat and squeezed. Blood. It is all —
The breath died deep within her lungs. She could not move, could not cry out. She could do nothing but stare, numb with horror, at the two swelling, desecrated bodies splayed along the riverbank like broken dolls.
A cackle resounded through the clearing. Messalina’s eyes, ocean dark, blackened with revulsion as a vulture, naked head slick with blood, smiled grotesquely at her once before returning vigorously to its meal.
She wanted to look away, gods, she wanted to look away, but the girl’s gaze remained locked on the smear of entrails and blood and — worst of all — their horrible, horrible stares. Glassy with fresh death. Wide with belated fear.
“Moore. Casper.” Her voice shook when she said their names. Even from across the shore, even with their bodies in pieces… the moonlight illuminated them enough. She knew them. Pages in King Somnus’ court. Kind and wise and loyal. Moore and Casper. And now they were dead.
The crashing of hooves through the underbrush plucked Messalina out of her shock. Fear chased her heart as her breath broke in pants and heavy gasps, and she scrambled back from the shore, folded herself into the shadow of a tree. Whatever killed them, it must still be here.
Nearer it came, nearer. Until a colt stepped into the bloodstained clearing, only to be trailed moments after by a red stallion. Both strangers, not of her court. Who are they? Why are they here? She did not think to ask the same of herself.
The newcomers did not look capable of murder — whatever had done it, it could be nothing short of a beast — yet, she could not bring herself to move. Silently, Messa willed for her limbs to stop trembling, willed for them not to spot her. The river was little more than a trickle — nothing but silence and leaves and darkness separated her from them.
Like the fawn she had found in the hollow, Messalina folded herself smaller and smaller into the dark. The world spun. Suddenly she was a filly again, shivering and left for dead in the vicious winter storm. Her dam, frozen besides her, not stirring no matter how hard she shook her. Eyes as black as holes.
Stop. She bit down on her lips and counted her breaths until they were even again. You are not a child anymore. She raised her head to dare a glance at the colt and stallion; she would not reveal herself until she was certain they were no more suspicious than she.
It was not the girl’s first encounter with death. She had just not known it to be so cruel.
@any | "speaks" | notes: -dies-
