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Authors: Lani Lenore

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BOOK: The Nutcracker Bleeds
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Was
this sacrifice truly worth the guilt she might have felt? Was this what Armand
had been telling her to do?
Armand…
Wherever he was now, she hoped he
was happy. He must have been happier than she was.

She
had not stopped thinking of his human face since she’d seen it in the vision
she’d had. The way she had last seen his expression–looking so troubled and
desperate as he reached out to her–was frozen in her mind. Could it be possible
that he had known what was in store for her? He wanted her to come with him so
that he could save her from this fate? Either way, it was too late now. She was
alone.

At a
sudden, tickling urge inside her, Anne giggled shortly. What was so funny? It
was just that she had no idea why she was hanging onto her sanity anymore. Did
it give her comfort? Perhaps just a bit. Would it save her? No.

No.

There
was a cry from above that bounced off the walls of the room, shaking the woman
and leading her to jerk her head up toward it. There sat the one that had come
to visit her. It was a large crow.

The
bird cawed at her, ruffling its feathers and dropping a few down into her cell.
It looked all around itself, but it did not look in at her. The crow was not
interested in her because she was caged. She did not know freedom anymore. Anne
tired of the bird’s mocking presence quickly.


Get
away
!” she screamed upward, her voice high and terrifying.

The
crow uttered quite a few caws of complaint, but it did as she requested.
However, it did not leave her alone. Anne was infuriated by the noise, but
despite how she screeched back, the unwelcome bird would not flee. Something
fell from the crow’s foot and dropped from the window, falling down, down,
down, until it hit the floor next to Anne. She stared at it a moment, but it
did not take her long to understand what it was.

It
was a cloth arm with a porcelain hand attached, ripped carelessly from a doll’s
shoulder. It was a tiny thing, and to most, this sight would not be bothersome,
but because of what Anne had seen, the arm had a very different effect.

To
Anne, this might as well have been a human limb. The stuffing fluffed out of
the top was like blood and muscle.
This is Olivia’s curse
. Overcome,
Anne screamed horribly, unable to use her arms because of the jacket
restraining her, but using her feet to push herself away from the gruesome
thing. She did not seem to realize that she was pressing as far against the
wall as she could go.

If
one had looked into the grey of her iris, they might have seen it crack like a
mirror at the pitch of her scream. Pain prickled throughout her body, setting
off her pores like fire. Tears streamed down her face as she closed her eyes to
try and shut away the image. Blood swelled behind her face, turning her skin
red and ringing her ears. Within her chest, her heart sped until it began to
ache. She screamed until she could not breathe. What was happening? Her
eyesight blurred out, closing in with a white cloud on all sides. It was cold.

It
is so cold…

Anne
awoke and everything was white, but she was not in the tiny room with the soft
walls and the distant window. She was lying in the snow. She could feel it
beneath her fingers and against her face. What was going on? She pulled herself
off the ground.

There
seemed to be a foggy haze over everything, and she could not see very far into
the distance. Even so, Anne knew that she was in a garden. Snow covered
everything, but there were vibrant red roses all around her. She noticed then
that she was dressed in a white and silver gown, protected by a coat of white
fur. A hood was around her face, and the soft fur tickled her skin. Her light
hair was hanging in long, perfect ringlets down her body. Where was she? Why
was she not locked away?

Is
this another cruel dream?

“What
are you doing out here? You’ll freeze!”

Anne
turned her face toward the voice, knowing that she did not recognize it. It was
a small voice, but powerful for its size. Out of the fog, she emerged, wrapped
in furs herself with a hundred curls on her little head.

“Clara?”
Anne asked hesitantly.

For
a moment, Anne did not know what to say. Come to think of it, she was not even
sure she had heard the sound of her own voice. She felt suddenly anxious, and
she knew exactly why, but she was afraid for the girl to come too close.
Afraid–because she thought she might discover that the girl was not actually
there.

“Of
course it is me,” the child insisted as if she had known the woman for ages.

Clara
reached for her hand, and Anne almost drew away. She did not, only because she
wanted to prove herself wrong. The girl gripped her hand. The touch was solid,
and it was not cold.

“I
saw you through the window. You should come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Anne
allowed herself to be led by the girl, stepping through the crunching snow
until a stone wall and emerged through the haze. It was open slightly, and warm
light poured out from within. They moved inside.

There
was a man standing beside the door, short and a bit elderly.

“May
I take your coats?” he asked politely.

“Thank
you, Franz,” Clara said, allowing him to help her with her furs. Anne, on the
other hand, was much too busy staring at the interior.

The structure
around her was like an old castle that she’d only read about in storybooks.
There were thick rugs and an enormous chandelier overhead with long candles.
There were paintings on the walls–exquisite art–but there was still one thing
that bothered her. Within the walls, the haze still stood.

“Is
something wrong?” Clara asked her. It did not occur to Anne that Clara was
speaking in a language she did not know, yet she understood the girl perfectly.

“Am
I dead?” she blurted.

The
child gazed up at her as if it was a perfectly normal question.

“Perhaps
you are dead,” the child considered. “Or perhaps you have died in a different
place.”

Anne
did not understand. “Is this heaven?”

“Mmm…I
don’t think so,” Clara said with a short shake of her head. “There are no
angels. I have certainly looked about.”

“I
see…”

Clara’s
large blue eyes became very concerned. “Do you
feel
dead?”

Anne
paused, dwelling a moment. Everything was so real here. The feel of the air, the
smell of the fire. She smelled food in a distant part of the castle. The
child’s voice was so clear. Nothing about this place felt dead.

“No,”
she said finally. “I actually feel very much alive.”

Clara
seemed to be pleased with this answer. She took Anne’s hand again and began to
pull her further into the castle.

“I
like to call this place the Land of Snow and Sweets.” The child giggled.
“Because sometimes the snow reminds me of sugar and I never know which are
snowflakes and which are sweets!”

The
girl led her into a larger chamber. There were several people moving about
inside–servants, she would assume. They were busy with their own business, but
they all nodded to her and smiled politely as she passed. If this was heaven,
she could not imagine how unfortunate it would be to end up as a servant.

They
moved into another room, and the first things Anne noticed were the many animal
heads mounted on the wall. The second was the chair that rested before the
fireplace. There was someone sitting in that chair with his back to her. She
was certain of that.

Anne
looked down to Clara for some sort of guidance, as if she could not decide on
her own. The child smiled and gave her a short nod, letting her know it was
alright to go forward.

Anne’s
heart pumped faster with every step closer to the chair. She listened to her
own footsteps against the rug. She was nervous and somewhat afraid, even though
she knew what she would find there.

Before
she had the opportunity to fully pass in front of that nicely upholstered seat,
the one in the chair stood.

He
stood to his full height, wearing a dark jacket and pants, made of fine linens.
Gold buttons. Polished boots. His hair was very long and unbound, waving
slightly down his back. It was fair, but not white.

“I
was just thinking,” a familiar voice said, “about mice. Perhaps finding a cat
would not be a poor investment of my time.”

He
turned back to look at her then, firmly aware that she had approached. There
was a slight smile on his lips as he looked at her, and this time she was
certain that he saw her, for now he had eyes. He looked just as she had known
him, only made of flesh. And those eyes… So blue. Anne could never have
imagined their true beauty.

“Armand,”
she sighed. She was unaware that she was shaking as he moved forward to embrace
her.

He
was solid against her. Even though the haze was there, he was not part of it.
He was warm beneath her fingers. She could smell his skin and hair. His heart
was beating, pumping blood throughout his veins.

“I
saw you through the fog,” he said quietly, pulling her back to him from her
thoughts. “I tried to reach you, but I couldn’t step forward.”

“I
was pulled away.”

“I
didn’t know if you would find your way here,” he said, but his concern soon
lifted and showed relief.

Anne
looked up at him from beneath his chin.

“Armand,
what is this place?”

He
shook his head, his eyes searching, but he could not grasp the answer.

“I
don’t know,” he confessed, “but it is what we have been given.”

Anne
considered those words. Had she truly gone insane? Had she lost herself so
deeply that she was imagining all of this? Or had she died and slipped into
some different world–a place where she was free to be with Armand and share in
his happiness with Clara? She thought over both of those things until she
finally came to a conclusion.

She
did not care.

Either
way, she was here, and this was exactly where she wanted to be. Anne chose to
believe this truth. It was no dream. She was here in his arms, and there was no
need to dwell on anything else. The woman held her prince tighter.

“This
is real, isn’t it?” she confirmed, a tear rolling down into her forming smile.
The trail should have been warm, but she did not feel it at all.

Armand
smiled gently back at her, lowering his head to whisper in her ear.

“Glad
you decided to join me,” he said.

 

~ ~

About
the Author

Lani Lenore is a
writer of gothic horrors and dark fantasies. In addition to rewriting
well-known fairytales with a twist, she also writes original stories in a style
she calls ‘dark fairytale’, which uses fairytale elements to build horror and
fantasy stories. Most of her tales, though horror, have a subplot of
romance.  She loves to keep readers on the edge of their seat, spook them,
and immerse them in worlds of beauty and terror.

She is currently
continuing work on the
Nevermor
trilogy.  If you’re a fan, check
out these links to get connected with news and info.

Visit the Project
Nevermor blog to get more information on the series
http://projectnevermor.wordpress.com/

Follow Lani Lenore
on
Twitter
https://twitter.com/MissLenore
for information
about upcoming works!

Like
Nevermor
on
Facebook
!
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Nevermor-by-Lani-Lenore/553358604674836

Find Lani on
Goodreads:
www.goodreads.com/MissLenore

 

BOOK: The Nutcracker Bleeds
12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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