Chapter Text
“I am late.” The harsh whisper came out like a curse, striking at the peaceful calm of the forest. Shadows stretch in relief as the sun withdraws beyond the horizon. Black doppelgangers of trees and foliage grow into giants, melding and twisting to overtake their mirrors. A murmur of breeze sets the shapes dancing and twisting, but one moves independent of the wind. The form appears human, made of shadows so dense as to rebel against the light, standing firm and solid despite the last penetrating rays of evening sun.
“Can’t change that now.” The Shadow let's out a heavy breath before turning their back on the blazing horizon, creating a cacophony of crunching leaves beneath their boots. Luminous golden eyes give the Shadow a predatory aura as they stalk through the foliage. They move sinuously and with confidence, like a big cat hunting prey in the dwindling light. No path leads the Shadow, yet they stride through the thick undergrowth without hesitance. They stop at a seemingly impenetrable wall of vegetation made from reed vines covered in spear-like thorns. Reaching out with a hand made of darkest night, they gently prick their middle finger on the tip of one of the thorns. With their blood as an offering, a testament to their nature, the woody vines recede and condense, creating a narrow tunnel through which the Shadow proceeds.
Reaching the far side, the Shadow emerges into a dark grove. Ancient trees with trunks wider than roman columns grow tall, scarred with histories too old to remember. The canopy above is like a shield, blocking all sunlight from reaching the ground far below. The forest floor is covered in a carpet of thick, sound dampening moss. Cobbled paths meander, lined by dusky gardens that thrive despite the lack of light. Strange flowers and toadstools flourish, boasting hues of poisonous violet, unfathomably dark navy and vicious red. Blue orbs of light drift by, illuminating the grove while allowing shadows their depth and definition. Akin to stepping into a different world, the forest outside that was alight with greenery and autumn foliage set ablaze under the setting sun is quickly forgotten in this protected realm.
As the sun’s rays continue to slant and fade above the canopy, the Night Court awakens. The Shadow continues their quick stride as fae creatures emerge from under boulders and inside crevices, dropping from nests in the canopy and slithering from a murky stream that trickles along the eastern thorn wall. These are a strange folk, so many species and varying appearances. They are few and quiet in these early hours, but the unnatural movements and flashing eyes make them feel innumerable. Be contented to know that as the court awakens, it is a strange and unsettling sight. The folk of the night move with slumped shoulders, baring haggard visages. What few children that are present do not laugh or play, but cling to their elders, or hide within the shadows. But letting defenses lower upon entering the grove, assuming this was the court of peaceful creatures simply trying to eek out their survival under the day’s reign would be a grave mistake for any mortal. These were still fae, who delighted in mischiefs and games that are more often treacherous than not.
The Shadow weaves between cottages and homes built directly into the swollen trunks, disguised to be almost indistinguishable from the surroundings by the untrained eye. A mortal would quickly become lost among the floating lights and winding paths, turning corners that look both identical and foreign to the previous. The grove becomes more complex as the Shadow approaches its heart, more conspicuous homes crowding for space like a dense city center. What should be a small area enclosed within the thorn wall seems to continue far beyond physical limits. As the Shadow continues their rushed march, the night air begins to hum with an energized, electric. Eyes dart to the dark figure, too tentative to approach the surly creature but still curious. They skitter out of the path of the Shadow, giving them a wide berth, but remain alert and whisper amongst themselves after the dark figure has long passed. The Shadow ignores these glances as they reach a dome of yet more piercing vines that rise high enough to meet the canopy. They enter another tunnel and their form is quickly lost to the shadows.
They emerge into a clearing that holds a crowd of more strange creatures. Trees have been spelled to grow to create a roof of intricately interwoven branches enclosing the grand room below. An opening in the center allows a glimpse of the night sky, bathing the epicenter of the room in cold moonlight. A grinding rhythmic sound permeates the air, accompanied by a melodious violin and heavy drum beat to create a discordant music that sends the guests spinning in dance. Although the music maintains a low decibel, it gets into the blood, and quakes the ground. The throne room of the Night Court is an epicenter of frivolity and ecstasy on this brisk autumn night.
Fae converse and dance among the blue tinted lights that float along the edges of the clearing. Small creatures with wings like bats fly above, spinning in rapid and chaotic circles. Below, clouds of dark shadows move independent of the lighting, floating ethereally through open spaces. A man half the height of an adult mortal can be seen arguing heatedly with an exceptionally tall and broad creature with skin of onyx. The short creature has red nails extending from each fingertip like talons. Upon closer inspection, the nails are coated in a thick dark substance that drips onto the grass below. The giant stands three feet taller than any other creature present. Large leathery wings extend from his back, twitching irritably as the argument progresses.
On another side of the room, a group of four women are gathered. They appear to be related, with matching black hair and eyes, ash white skin, and limbs so long and slender they should not be able to support their bodies, bending strangely with too many joints. They whisper among themselves, their voices sounding like a caucus of jangling windchimes. The women send giddy glances toward a pair of black skeletal horses as they prance circles around one another. By watching the spaces between the guests closely, short creatures with skin of varying earth hues can be spotted. They vanish and reappear at random among the crowd, creating mischief and laughing wickedly as they play. Their skin is leathery and blistered, their smiles filled with crooked shark’s teeth. The other fae glance down at these creatures with benevolence, like amused guardians watching children as they play their troublesome games.
The point upon which the entire night spins is clear despite the chaotic crowd or bizarre fae, and the Shadow walks directly towards this epicenter. Upon a stump at least ten feet in diameter in the center of the clearing rests a throne made of thorned black roses intertwined among willow branches. Illuminated by the beam of silver moonlight from the skylight above sits the most breathtaking being imaginable. A woman that a mortal would guess to be in her early thirties, with dark skin, and features that spoke of fine sculpting and minute detail while being severe and strong. Her eyes appear black in the moonlight with strange milky shadows flitting in their depths. The only point of light in this beautiful, dark creature is her moonlight white hair that is plated intricately along her temples and down her back. This figure could only be the Night Queen.
In one hand she holds a delicate wineglass, half filled with crimson wine. She takes small sips and gazes out upon her gathered denizens. She occasionally smiles as she notes the raucous frivolity among her fae. When the argument between the dwarf and the giant increases in volume, she smiles widely and laughs. As the tension rises, she leans forward in her seat, resting her elbow on her knee and chin in her hand as if she were listening to the discourse despite it being across the room, more than forty feet of noise some fae separating her from the pair. The giant grips the small creature around the collar and raises him up to face level. As the pair glare, the dwarf spits in the behemoth’s face. The giant growls and bares his fangs, but somewhere the growl turns into a deep chuckle. Gently setting the dwarf back on his feet, the giant pats the small man on the back and gestures to a table of refreshments. As the pair walks off amicably, the Night Queen slumps back in her chair, disappointment evident on her elegant face.
As the Shadow mounts the dais, the Queen’s pouting face breaks into a smug smile. Soaking in the dark figure, appraising their form, she speaks in a voice comparable to honey. “At last. Am I to assume it went well?” The Shadow nods and takes up their position to the right of the Queen, standing with their hands clasped behind their back, golden eyes flashing over the gathered crowd.
Few fae take note of the Shadow’s presence on the dais as they stand beside the beloved Queen, but their presence does seem to add a string of tension to the air. Their body is rigid, a barely contained threat. With limbs both slim and strong, their pose is suggestively feline. Looking closely at their dark features, the Shadow is more bored than alert. Not a single fae present possesses similar features to this dark creature, who is barely there, but also too present to ignore. The Shadow does not react to the interactions below them, but glances reactively to the Night Queen whenever she shifts. This was the Queen’s right hand, her lethal assassin. As the Night Queen surveys her court with growing boredom, a slight twitch of her right index finger seems to be the only signal the Shadow needs to bend their ear and listen to their reagent.
After receiving instructions, the Shadow lithely jumps off the dais and into the crowd. They approach the giant and dwarf who had argued previously. The pair tenses at the Shadow’s appearance at their side. The giant is the first to relax, listening to the Shadow and then smiling up at the Night Queen. He stalks out of the clearing while the smaller fae remains, frowning up at the dark figure. With a resistant sigh, the short fae lumbers off into the crowd and begins corralling the guests away from the area directly in front of the Queen. The giant returns shortly with three similarly formed but smaller beasts in tow, with skin of varied grey hues. They assemble behind the giant as he bows to the Queen before backing out of the space. They look to each other tensely and then up to the Queen on her raised seat. She gives a curt nod and violence erupts. The creatures tussle and grapple, occasionally taking flight to slam back down and tear at one another with teeth and claw. Jarring echoes of stone grinding against stone pierce the air as the grey fae clash. It melds with the twisted orchestra, still playing their discordant tune. The Queen claps and smiles at the scene unfolding before her, laughing when red blood blossoms against the combatants’ skin. Distracted fae quickly surrender to the enticing display, crowding around the melee as it intensifies.
By the end of the vicious fight, two grey fae lay unconscious and bloody on the grass beside the steps carved into the large stump. Only one remains standing, panting and wiping blood from his nose. One of his wings now hangs limply, broken off in a jagged tear, and he grimaces as he brings the appendages back to rest against his body. The Queen nods her approval but does not grant a reward or speak to the young victor. The fae seems pleased though and quickly leaves the cleared space, not glancing back to the injured bodies left in his wake. With hands raised palm up, the Queen offers her permission to the gathered fae and the crowd descends upon the fallen forms in a hungry frenzy.
To the left of the Queen, chained to her throne of willow and roses lays a haggard woman. Wearing a formless ragged smock dress, she kneels slumped against the thorns as if they could not prick her skin, and looks down at the bloody scene with evident disdain. She holds herself with the haughtiness of a person who was once beautiful, powerful, and feared. But she is now a fallen beauty. Any child could identify this woman as the evil witch from a story book. Sores fester on the ashen skin of her hands and face. Her hair is wispy and thin, bleached white with age. Yet her eyes remain sharp and alert despite her considerable age. Only as a faint breeze blows her thin hair is there any indication that she is not mortal. Pointed ears are revealed, sparkling with topaz and amber earrings. Such elegance made a sad contrast to the rest of her withered and decaying form.
When the Shadow climbs back on the dais, passing the crippled woman to stand on the Queen’s right side again, the woman lifts her lips from her teeth in a snarl. The Shadow glances down at the old woman and grants a rare, smug smile, teeth flashing in the moonlight against their midnight face. The Queen ignores this exchange, still entranced by the melee below.
As quiet as the page of a book turned, a dart is let fly through the crowd of gathered fae.
The Shadow moves instantly, blocking the dart's path from their monarch. With a shriek of wild laughter to the left of the Queen, the gathered creatures begin to pause in their frivolity and feasting as it becomes evident the dart has found its intended target.
The laughter from the haggard creature next to the Queen subsides into choked gasps as her throat swells shut. The dart, fletched in emerald green feathers and dripping a putrid white substance, protrudes from her withered neck as she gasps her last breaths.
"You are all fools! They will find her. The hunt.... begins.... tonight." The clearing then falls under a heavy silence.
With bated breath the Night Court waits to react, waits for their Queen's guidance. The Queen, at first shocked, quickly hardens her features and turns to her right hand. "She will be with her guardian. Find them before the sun rises." Without a nod or any brave knightly words, the Shadow stalks off of the pedestal and is quickly absorbed into the night.