Pushing through the mist, I sauntered into the ballroom; my finery somewhat unrefined, my gait swaying with a slight hitch. I’d often heard tell of Madam de Vere’s elaborate soirées, but had no opportunity to attend—until now. One was not welcome at an after-life party without the requisite stilled breath, else those without take it from you.
I’d imagined a grand reception; privileges granted a seer of my strength and heritage. Surely they’d know I was coming. After all, the world’s loss was the losts’ gain…or so I deluded myself.
Many gathered to greet me, my Great-gran the first. Her eyes bore through me as they drew from head to toe. She pulled me into her chilled embrace, ripped the Cameo from my bosom. I stared in shock. For the lack of life left in me, I couldn’t fathom a reason for the hostility. Her alabaster countenance held the kind gaze I remembered from my youth, but her actions belied the placid façade.
Enamored with her reclaimed broach, she turned away, both distracted and disinterested. A ghoul leaned toward her ear, but before he could speak, she waved a dismissive hand.
“Nonna…” I croaked, distress broadcasting from my entire being.
She pivoted toward me, the semblance of her gentler nature gone. In its place a mask of pain, anguish, and anger. She jerked forward with a ghastly trill. The others took her cue, and descended.
∼ Nina D’Arcangela
© Copyright Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 