The noble, mighty kingdom of Eldomor was alight with unbridled revelry.
Everyn Galdrion, the eldest child of the royal family, would ascend the throne today. The Rite of Ascension, as the Eldomir call it, would anoint the brave young prince as their future king, and this momentous day was nothing short of a grand festival.
Laughter echoed through brightly painted walls of the city—banners of crimson and gold danced in the air and hearts swelled with loud, undulated pride. The Royal palace opened its grand doors to its people with wide, welcoming arms. Regal families from faraway lands crossed seas to witness the beloved prince carry the heavy crown of duty. It was a declaration of quiet power; the continuity of the mighty lineage of the pure-blooded Galdrions.
The collective and loud merry, however, remained hesitant to step its shiny shoes into the west. Wedged between the palace walls and the eastern lands, stood a lone, greying tower.
Mirah Galdrion sat by the window, legs dangling in the air as she stared at the bridge of the castle swirling with boisterous citizens.
Too many people, she thought. Too. Many.
"Your Highness,'' a voice addressed, stern with caution.
Mirah slowly smiled but she didn't turn.
"Say, Marie," she started, gathering her long, silky black hair over her shoulder.
"How many of them would die by my hands today, you think?"
Silence ensued. Heavy. Piercing. But not unfamiliar. There was always an air of quiet malice surrounding the young princess. Everybody knew Mirah Galdrion had the tongue of a morose serpent, but very few saw the desperate eyes that shone behind it.
One of them was her high lady.
"It is dangerous, your highness," Marie said slowly. "I advise you to step down immediately."
Mariah looked down at the twenty-something drop. And she saw it. Blood. Broken skull. Disformed body. Splattered brain. But—
"It won't kill me, Marie." She smiled, with the heart of a decaying corpse.
"You know it won't.''
"Mirah. Galdrion. Step. Down.''
And she finally turned, still smiling.
Marie stood a few feet away. Her hair was slicked back into a tight bun. Her wrinkled hand tightly gripped the fabric of her long skirt as she frowned at the young princess with a stern, unwavering gaze.
Mirah eyed the other sleeve of her lady's gown—a limp, phantom arm that was kissed with emptiness—and smiled.
"That was brave of you, Marie."
Marie's crowfeet gaze grew deeper. "I need to be brave if I have to serve you, your highness."
Mirah would think of it as a low jab if it was uttered by anyone else. But her high lady's light, airy tone made her chuckle. She slowly placed her feet on the ground and walked towards her dressing table.
Marie clapped twice and a group of servants stepped in—hesitant and scared. Mirah coughed when one slowly reached out to touch her hair and watched in amusement as the servant jumped back and fervently prayed to the Gods.
She turned to a straight-backed Marie.
"Do I have to go?''
Marie stood behind her and began gently combing through her long, raven hair.
"Are you asking me if the second eldest Galdrion should be present at her own brother's ascension?''
Mirah gazed at her reflection. Her cobalt grey eyes seemed dull. And lifeless. Her heart thundered inside her ribs but a ghoul stared back in the mirror. It has been a long time since she has felt alive, after all.
"No one wants me there."
It was a statement, as though it was harshly carved onto a rock. The air grew thick with tension. The servants, recognizing it, trembled with uncertainty. Fear, as you know it, fed on the nagging possibility of an impending tragedy. And Mirah has been a source of it all her life.
Marie, unfazed, began applying a balm across her cheek.
"A Galdrion serves Eldomor, Mirah. It runs in your bloodline. You will always be a Galdrion, whether you believe it or not. And you must attend the Royal Ascension, not as Mirah but as the child of the Royal family."
"The Royal family has abandoned me, Marie. And so has Eldomor."
Marie caught her gaze in the mirror.
"Everyn would want his sister there."
She grew quiet at that. The Royal family and the entire kingdom of Eldomor might have turned their backs on her, but not Everyn.
Never Everyn.
She stared at the shiny red gown neatly folded on her bed.
It was the crimson stain of blood splattered on the moonlit marble floor fifteen years ago.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
"Out, servants. I shall be present in five."
The servants scurried out hurriedly, thanking the Gods. Marie threw a glance and a smirk over her shoulder before leaving and shutting the doors behind her.
When the first Royal Bell rang, Mirah Galdrion had stepped into her red, flowing armour and stood in front of the mirror.
When the last Royal bell rang, Mirah Galdrion, in all her blood-red glory, stood behind the royal ballroom doors with unwavering stealth and valour.
Eighty hostile royal guards stood behind her—not to protect her, no. But to protect the people behind the doors they stood in front of.
After all, the Beast of Eldomor was making an appearance after a long time.