Glory had never been given a place in the Necromancer's Keep, the crumbling remains of what must have been once a beautiful castle. With so much fallen into ruin, she had been hard pressed to find a place to call her own. But high above the kitchens there was a long abandoned old tower. No one needed it - Vixona only cared that she was there to serve when required.
Glory's Mistress sat all day before her mirror searching for her beauty and the Necromancer never came up from his underground laboratory. The tower was a place of respite for her. Her mistress' cast off gowns served as a bed and through the grate of the ancient fireplace she could still easily hear her Mistress' shrieked summons. She always felt a thrill as she gazed down at the world spread out below her window, and there was something comforting in how the wind swayed the precarious structure.
On rare nights she would lie awake listening to far off music that made her slow beating heart do a strange dance inside her. Her long fingers would tap out the rhythm, twirling and leaping. Her toes would curl and her muscles would tense in memories they didn't share with her mind.
Tonight was one of those restless, music haunted nights. Glory let her overlong limbs sprawl across the padding of rags. The dark wild music seemed closer than ever. Her heart pounded as though it would burst from her chest. She shut her eyes and rolled onto her side, hands over her ears to try and keep the sound out. Her cheek rubbed against the soft velvet of one of her mistress' old gowns and she shuddered as if in sudden pain.
Scrambling to her feet Glory ran to the window of her tower, not certain what she might do when she got there. She knew the view from her window well. Beyond the rolling grassy hills surrounding the Necromancer's Keep was a little cove of trees. It should have been too dark to see the trees but lights glittered through the leaves. Glory's heart lurched, and she leaned so far out the window only her toes were still on the smooth wood of the tower floor. She fell back inside with a thump, the wood shifting under her feet. Those feet began to move, driven by something too vague to even be called a memory. She ran through the keep and out to the overgrown garden, the reaching branches dotted with tiny new green leaves. She ran right to the wrought iron gate, and stopped just before she touched it.
She had never passed beyond the gate. But her feet kept trying to go forward and she could not stop them. Glory banged her whole body into the gate and it swung brokenly open.
She hissed at the touch of the iron. Her heart ached inside her, sending sharp pains to her fingers and toes. Glory lurched out of the garden and stumbled to her knees in the tall grass. It slid against her skin like delicate fingernails, the feeling was new, and still wildly familiar. Her skin prickled. She looked back at the wide open gate. Without a sound she turned and fled toward the music.
Glory needed to know what was making that music- it called to her bones, to her muscles, to her taut skin, and her aching back, the music called all of her to it.
So she ran light as a deer, quieter than the moon passing across the night sky. She ran, and leapt, and felt giddily that this was close to what the music demanded of her. Glory burst into the clearing suddenly, coming to a jerky stop.
The music paused and silence filled the stand of trees, as Glorybelle in a ragged old brocade gown found the fairies.
The silence stretched on and on as Glory drank in the sight around her, so many creatures with horns, or wings, or tails, or even hooves held positions of startled curiosity. They gathered in a great clearing below two huge trees with broad spreading branches, some even crouched in the trees to look down at her. Lanterns glimmered in the branches, wonderful multi-hued things, that made the lights of the Necromancer's Keep seem even more pallid. A throne of twisted wood, covered in furs, stood between the trees. Its white maned and antlered occupant shared a full cup with several jewel-toned bewinged beauties. He waved his hand without actually looking over. The music began again with a discordant squawk of strings. He didn't seem to realize why the music had stopped, but merely drained his cup to be filled again.
She hesitated on the edge of the clearing long enough for the dancers to begin dipping and circling again. Then she slipped among them performing each step and spin of the dance as if she was born dancing it. Every dip and twirl came as easy as walking with no hesitation from Glorybelle.
She all but forgot herself as she spun from partner to partner, each touch and every step more real than anything she could remember ever feeling in her dull existence. The music made the castle and its deathly silence feel like nothing more than a distant dream.
She hardly noticed when the occupant of the throne finally saw her. The cup dropped from his hand, the liquid a crimson stain on the white furs of the throne. His dark eyes sought hers but the dance was already carrying her away. The beat was in her blood and the music was all that mattered.
She was so caught up that when music slowed down and the partners stopped trading, her own feet nearly tripped her. Strong hands anchored her shoulders. The delicate chiming of bells filled her ears. Glory found herself face to face with the man who had been sitting on the throne, his eyes staring deep into hers. His hands slid down her arms to hold onto hers. His breath tickled against her face as he leaned down towards her, his white mane blocking out the bright lights and encasing her in darkness.
"And just what are you?" He murmured as she jumped backwards. He stepped towards her as she backed away. Glory skittered like a wild thing out of the circle of dancers, coming up against, startled face after startled inhuman face, until she reached the edge of the clearing and darkness. She fled back through the woods, back to the tall gate. The music was silenced behind her.