Into the palace of the wicked

The cold white creatures circle round the carriage like sharks as the palace approaches, looming into dizzying heights. The boxes shudder as the horses heave themselves across a bridge, and I peer down cautiously into the water. My reflection stares back at me, my expression stiff, my face hardened. Did I always look so cold-blooded? I couldn't remember. Some of the vampires stop to stare at me fervidly, their eyes lingering over my chest, the niceness of my clothes, the dark freckle below my left eye. Their eyes glimmer black to red, shining with a greedy wanton. I gulp. A vampire may not be openly permitted to kill an elf, but there are many other things they could do to one. The thought alone is enough to send my body into a fresh wave of convulsing shudders. Faintly, I wonder if they can make out the pounding of my heart in my chest. It beats inside me like a bird in a cage, struggling to get free. Maybe that's what I am now, I wonder darkly. A bird in a cage surrounded by starving cats.

The Palace looms into view: huge, five stories high in places, its white walls overrun with honeysuckle that cling to it like a spider clutching to its web. The walls are like white alabaster, perfect and smooth, a faultless copy of the creatures who live in it. Grey turrets jut from the roof, threatening spears of dark slate. The arching windows are as much obscured by vines as they are the dimness of the light, overrun so greatly that it seems a wonder to me that the plant life hadn't made it inside the Palace already. My eyes strain against the whiteness of its walls, so bright that it is beginning to make my head feel muzzy. The vampires seem to blur into it, disappearing from one ivy covered patch to the next, fleeting and untroubled, the exact opposite of myself. The pendant jolts heavily against my chest like some haunting reminder of what I have to come. The more I look at it, the more I see a prison.

We duck under another gate, and enter the palace grounds- an array of lavish gardens of roses and lilies and stretches of green lawns where elves are parking carriages under canopies to transport their things later. Creatures with pale, elongated limbs, wide, staring eyes and dressed in navy suits assign room keys to each carriage that comes past. I quickly lean over the side of the carriage to take mine- a small golden key with the engraving of a lion on it, delicate enough to sit comfortably in the palm of my hand. Stowing it away in a tiny red box, I direct the horses to the nearest canopy, pulling on the reins for them to stop with a stiff tug. They grunt, but do nothing else. The whites of their eyes are showing, their movement is jittery, as if even they too can feel something is wrong with the place.

Brushing myself down, I check that my sword is secure, and clutch the locket protectively to my chest, before jumping out the carriage, wobbling a little as I hit the ground. I will find the room in the palace later, I remind myself, right now I have bigger intentions at hand. Ithuriel follows at my heels with a little yip, his antennae glowing, curious. The courtyard seems to be dominated by elves, I notice discerningly, as I fumble unchain the horses from the carriage to let them graze aimlessly over the grass. I see elven women flaunting bright dresses which are stark against their surroundings, talking in little huddled groups and giggling, hoping to impress a lone vampire as he walks by. Some manage it, too. They flirt, batting their eyelids, swaying their hips in the brazen manner that elves do, unashamed and unafraid of the consequences. Vampires watch them with lust-filled, hungry eyes, looking like they'd quite happily take a bite out of the necks that flash temptingly, emblazoned with gold necklaces that might look even better painted with thick, crimson blood. I roll my eyes. At the entrance of the palace, a huge arching door whose wooden limbs have been pushed wide open, vampire ladies recline under lace umbrellas, some in gowns that trail down in thick, billowing layers of fabric, some wearing very little at all, and yet all the same, even against the splendid beautiful of the elven ladies, they are in another world altogether. Their faces are subdued, a mask of unmoving cold ice, dotted with two blood red eyes. One of them, a light blue skinned vampire in a red and black patterned kimono, turns to look at me, her gaze sending chills down my spine, causing my bones to quake. Her lips pull down in disapproval, and she pushes her navy hair behind her horns and turns away as quickly as she looked, resuming a conversation with a slender vampire next to her. Well that was rude, I think, but it occurs to me that I expect no less.

"Come on, Ithuriel," I whisper, starting towards the palace, my feet bounding beneath me. "I'm going to see if I can catch a glimpse of the princes, find what we are dealing with. You go scout, I will meet you back at the carriage at dusk to find our room," Ithuriel nods, his little head bobbing up and down.

Okay. Good luck. I return his nod. Good luck.

I shuffle to hastily push up one of the straps of my dress, no longer feeling the cold from the grim washed out greys that pour from the sky, yet the openness of my body startles me all the same, to the point where I realise I am not entirely comfortable in my own skin. My boots are heavy as I walk, flattening the grass beneath my feet, little golden sparks trailing in my wake. I am surprised to find myself glad for the strange luminescence of the light that streaks through the air. It makes it a lot harder to focus on things, giving everything a slightly blurred and tainted appearance, like a wet brush smearing a painting, including the faint glow that encloses itself around my body. Much easier to hide in. Ithuriel walks confidently ahead of me, like a guard dog, the hairs on the end of his tail bristling, the ferns on his back raised in alarm. The closer I get to the castle walls, the sweeter it smells. It almost seems sickening, garish, but tempting all the same to the point I can't pull myself away, drawing me in, the same way people are drawn to the scent of freshly baked goods, or the crisp coldness of a winter's morning. The beds of dark flowers omit a sickly sweet aroma which fogs my mind, so I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay focused. I knew the vampires were going to be dangerous, but I wasn't prepared to deal with the castle too. The terrifying, horrific thought that even after everything I still might not be prepared settles oppressively on my mind, and fills me with a fear that settles deep in the pits of my stomach. Desperately, I try and brush those thoughts aside. I have bigger things to deal with. The elves watch me as I stride past, falling deathly silent, as though they sense the mass of my power bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. I hold back a wild grin. I am a mask, a fresh slate of information that nobody knew; I could be anything, or anyone, and no-one would be any the wiser. The thought sends a rush of exhilaration through me. It is an odd feeling, to be both anybody and nobody at the same time, to have a blank canvas laid out in front of me, and to be able to paint it in whatever colours I desire. For the first time in years, I feel powerful.