We’re gonna ignore that it’s been like 6 years and we’re gonna pretend I’ve been posting.
This is a short story I submitted to a contest. I won it, and netted 50 bucks in the process. I also ended up redoing it as a comic, which I may post at a later date. Enjoy!
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The castle had always felt safe. In the 30 years the king had reigned, he had never felt threatened inside its walls. He had spent much time in it as a young man, before his father died, and it held many memories. Even the raid near two decades before hadn’t tainted the halls.
His favorite place was a long hall, full of stained glass windows that turned the stone walls into a rainbow of colors and shapes, depicting scenes from history and the Bible. It had only two doors, and no place to hide.
So when he felt eyes on him, he was set on edge when he saw no one down the long hall. The splashes of color that stretched in the evening sun were undisturbed.
He felt hair on the back of his neck bristle, and he hurried down the rest of the hall. But even as he fled, he felt the eyes follow him.
The evening stretched on, and the servants of the castle were all on edge as well. A few of the younger ones huddled together, barely noticing their king pass them. He caught whispers of ‘Samhain’, and his blood ran as cold as it did every year.
He turned a corner, and found himself in a hallway lit only by torches.
His neck prickled. He watched the torches flicker for minutes, waiting for an ethereal wind to blow them out. Just as he relaxed, the heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. The cast iron lock clicked shut. The torches remained lit, a clear path to freedom.
He didn’t look behind him, he ran for his life to the open door at the other end of the hall. His shoes caught on rough cobbles that appeared from nowhere. His long pointed toe caught on a root, and he fell into the mud.
The torches now sat on massive trees, older than the castle they sat below. But the door still sat at the end of the line.
He scrambled to his feet, uncaring of filth that marred his fine silks and satins. He ran like death followed him, he was nearly at the door, when he was yanked backwards.
His head rang. He opened his eyes to a familiar blade, glinting in torchlight that bounced off of stone. He looked up.
He knew the girl above him. Her tangled and wild red hair, and the raging fury of old gods in her eyes. She wielded her mother’s blade, in a near perfect recreation of how he’d captured her crown.
“Please- I don’t want to die, please!” He begged, even though he knew she would show no mercy.
The frozen iron blade pressed against his throat. “You beg me?” She laughed. “Please, my mother begged and you stole her kingdom, castle, and life.”
He closed his eyes, praying that he could be admitted to heaven despite his sins.
“Long live the Queen,” she said; he felt the cold bite of metal, then nothing at all.