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There is something beneath the floors of Angielle’s palace.
It’s whispered on the streets, by people who have never lived within the palace walls – never will; the people that have heard things that get taken out of context and are twisted to frighten. Perhaps in an effort to scare people about something other than the witch’s daughter.
Fear was so easily manipulated, so fragile yet powerful enough to start wars and mobs. How easily fear turns to anger. To genocide. How easily it turned into the slaughter of thousands of witches. Fear had done so much damage; caused so much turmoil.
So, the superstitious kind – the fearful kind – whisper above candles, prayers on their tongues.
“There is something in the palace.”
Something malicious, something hunting, something with snaked eyes and sharp fangs. Something was causing disappearances, strange circumstances and coincidence turning into a threat.
Because after all, only so much could be correlation.
The legends are always told quietly, almost as if they are afraid it will hear them: Something was walking through the halls, a door disappearing in the blink of an eye. The floor sounded hallow if you stomped on it, someone claimed to hear laughter from the floorboards of a closet.
Though there were stories that were more popular…
“A duke from a neighboring kingdom went to a ball and was never seen again!”
“A strange man talked to me from the shadows…”
The tales went on.
…How ludicrous.
For those walking the streets of Angielle – those who talk of it – the stories are fake. Old wives’ tales of ghosts and specters. Only a fool would believe! Hildyr was dead and gone, the palace was free and safe, just as the rest of Angielle was.
But for those inside the palace… for those who have lived within the walls, the tale goes another way.
They remember the screams of that young duke, echoing across the east halls in the dead of night. They searched for days to find him, discovering nothing but a single drop of blood and a handkerchief. They remember a palace maid rushing into the servant’s quarters, pale and shaking and re-counting of how she had been scared away from a door that vanished.
For those people, the legends aren’t legends. For those people it’s real – the thing inside the palace is real.
And whenever they look down at the cold floors, they shudder, wondering what lies below them.
There is something beneath the floors of Angielle’s palace.
And Mythros will be the one to free her. No matter the cost.
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