Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Night is deepening quickly, and as the moon rises I note that it does not have a comforting silvery glow. Instead, it rises close, and deep red. Feral red. Blood red. The blood moon rises, and with it the world is transformed.
I am no longer alone.
The villagers have fled, but in their place rise skeletal beasts animated by forces of darkness. No flesh clings to their pristine white bones, no nerves give them feeling. They are made simply to commit acts of dark destruction.
Surely King Charming will save me now. Surely.
“Charming!” I call out his name, gripping the hilt of the sword with two white-knuckled hands.
He does not come, and I am forced to swing at whatever it is before me. It is not the skeleton of a man or an animal. It is the bones of a beast that has never been given the benefit of skin.
I make contact with the creature and it turns to a rattling pile almost instantly, giving me no resistance. I laugh in surprise. I had imagined it would be a much stronger foe.
Almost immediately, it begins to reform itself, the toe bone connecting to the foot bone, and so on until within a minute the beast is back and begging to be knocked down again. I do so with a hearty swing and an aggressive grunt. In spite of my horror at seeing it reform, it is very satisfying to knock it down.
This has to be the worst wedding of all time. Not only am I not actually married, but my husband-to-be has entirely disappeared, all the guests have fled in horror, a dragon is presumably laying siege to the venue, and instead of walking back down the aisle while people hurl rice at us, I am standing by myself amid horrors of the undead kind.
I have to start thinking about retreat. Night has fallen, the ravens are calling, and if I do not get out of this unholy pergola chapel, there’s a decent chance that something even worse than all the terrible things that have already happened, will happen.
Hoofbeats in the distance herald the arrival of a belated hero, and not quite husband. I am relieved to see Charming cutting a swath through the growing skeletal army of outlandish beasts, but with a growing edge of where the hell have you been. I am starting to notice a pattern of dragons appearing, and King Charming being absolutely fucking nowhere of any real use. I used to date a guy like that in high school, he was always around until you needed him, and then you had absolutely no chance of finding him.
I do not have time to consider this pattern more deeply, because the skeletal creatures are preparing a fresh wave of lumbering attacks. I almost get the impression they are not trying to hurt me so much as they are attempting to keep me in place. I must do battle in the ruins of my wedding, the once gaily pinned taffeta bows and silk streamers now looking more like unrolled toilet paper blowing in a foul wind.
I swing Dragonslayer in an arc around my head and revel in the clattering of bones. I should be mourning my wedding day, but I am beginning to feel an entirely different set of emotions. I am starting to feel strong, and capable. I am starting to feel powerful. This sword has to be magic, like everything else. But unlike everything else, it has not turned to shit. It gleams brightly, the blade is true, and it protects me at what might be the moment of my greatest vulnerability.
I do not know how long I fight the creatures. It might be minutes, or perhaps hours. The night feels more complete and dense somehow, darkness seeking to seep in and wrap itself thickly about every inch of light. But I remain illuminated and so do the bones.
Finally, I hear hoofbeats, familiar ones at that. I never imagined I would know a beast by the rhythm of its steps, but it would appear I have learned the sound of Charming’s unicorn…
But when I look in the direction of the hoofbeats, I do not see a bright unicorn. I see instead a black mount with fire in its eyes, and flames flashing from its feet. It whinnies, and the sound is reminiscent of the rending of worlds. It, too, is horned, but it does not have one fine, regal horn in the center of its head. Instead it has two curved horns rising like a ram’s do from under its ears.
It is being ridden by a green alien man whose scaled body is barely clad in the remains of marital vestments. Whatever happened to Charming, it was messy, and seems to have involved a fair bit of flame. He looks good with soot smeared across his face and torso. He must have attempted to grapple with the dragon, but I see no blood on him, either his, or the dragon’s, so I can only assume that the troublesome beast has once again escaped justice.