A Tumultuous Title of Titular Travesty

“Stop!” Cathy promptly demanded, stiffly extending two small hands, palms forward, before her face. Fearing where the situation was steadily progressing, the young princess had shut her eyes somewhere during the conversation, but her troubles would not vanish simply by not acknowledging what was certainly unfolding in front of her. After gathering the brief silence as caught attention, Cathy continued her appeal, all the while tentatively opening one eye, then the other. “I know you two are fond of each other, but...” She individually locked eyes with Prince Keith, the vampire clad in everything from a vintage duster coat to traditional men's heels, and the comparatively under-dressed M. C. to emphasize her seriousness. “Please do not forget that you are in my room.”

Anywhere else in her little cottage, out of her range of vision and hearing, was tolerable, so Cathy understandably needed to remind the couple to be mindful of their conduct. Although young, she was not completely oblivious; the one in question was Keith, her older brother, after all. Blatant displays of passion pouring around her was plainly unpalatable, and, as much as she adored M. C. like her own sister, Cathy did not wish to view the rising affections between her two favorite people become too risque to ignore.

Changing the subject to avoid further discomfort, the girl turned their attention to the peculiar sight from not a few minutes prior – a mysterious figure, which was not a figment of her imagination, looming beyond the web-framed window. After her immediate accusation that the perpetrator was none other than the cynical prince himself, Keith coolly denied any such involvement, much to Cathy's disbelief. However, if he was not the not the shadow, not vampire... Shoulders quivered in the moderately heated room, and the child consciously shook her head. Her sibling thought that she was too old to be making up such fantastical excuses, regardless of the annual occasion, but Cathy knew what she saw. Something dreadful had come from the abandoned tower.

For the sake of the Halloween season, M. C. painted Cathy's face the following evening, adding an apparent contrast from her natural cheekbones and sharpening the highlights of her nose create a more sprite-like complexion – a countenance of cruel beauty to challenge girl's usual charming, delicate features. “This way, all the actual ghosts and goblins and–” M. C. chuckled, lending a fleeting glance at Keith, “–vampires will flee in terror, or, at the very least, believe that you are one of their own, so you can rest tonight with ease.” Cathy gladly donned the guise, as she had heard of old lore that children are snatched away by unseen, wicked creatures to be devoured and replaced by enchanted thatch. She cringed at the thought of being left without this bit of assurance, recalling the times before M. C. arrived at Liberty Manse. I'll be alone, again, sighed the golden child. Alone.

Lord Michel had personally invited the aristocrats and celebrities of the six-nation alliance – Oriens, Altaria, Charles, Dres Van, Philip, and, naturally, Liberty – for the annual masquerade ball at Nobel Michel Castle. Cathy, however, was not invited to the night's private gathering because of her age, but the young princess dreamed of participating one day, fitted in a fabulous disguise to trick even her parents. As a night of general repose and gayety, with the major members of the crown away, the staff would reasonably not wish to spend their time with uninteresting little her. She, however, delighted in the idle thought that at least Alan, the other young royal of lesser years, would likely be put to sleep, while she had free reign over her nightly schedule.

Bidding leave of the modestly masked couple, though Keith was in his usual princely regalia and M. C. was swathed in a splendid, flowing crimson skirt, the girl then paced around her decorated room to decide on the evening's solo activities. Reading? Television? Normally, Cathy would take a stroll around the darkened garden tiers as the midnight princess, but she was too frightened to go outside that particular night, her mind replaying the sight of the previous day's lurking marauder. Thus, she spent the uneventful hours to her own devices within walls, finding herself glancing at the window, through which the light of dusk fled completely, and shivering each and every time.

Although it was already two hours until midnight, the girl felt acutely alert, her toes stiff and cold even under her batty toe socks. Watching the clock strike the hour, Cathy recognized that the costume parade had begun, the television program reflecting the various macabre floats and performances that she was personally missing.

Just as she was hoping that she was in the midst of the festivities, her emergency cell phone vibrated on the low, pumpkin-covered coffee table, ringing a bland tune that she sparsely heard, as emergencies were only one in few. Only a handful of people knew the number – her parents, Their Majesties the King and Queen, Keith, Luke, and M. C.. Oh, how she hoped that her brother was calling her to tell her goodnight, and, by default, M. C. would be with him to do the same. However, this was the emergency line, and she supposed that it was rather excessive to be using the line for that.

Rubbing the tips of her suddenly chilly fingers together, Cathy slid off the recliner and neared the shaking phone to read the Caller ID. It was Luke, who rarely called unless something was prudent. Frowning, Cathy bit her lower lip with anticipation. Did something happen? Is anyone hurt? As questions welled up inside her, she knew she had to pick up the phone, lest miss the news.

“Luke! What has happened?” she hurriedly queried, holding the phone steadily to her ear with both hands.

“I apologize for calling so late, Princess Cathy,” uttered the rust-haired butler without missing a beat. “Prince Keith and M. C. might be headed back to the manse, though I am honestly unsure. He is not answering his cell phone... If you happen to see him, if you don't mind, could you please tell Prince Keith to return to the parade?”

Cathy released a tiny breath of relief. It was just Keith being his usual mischievous self, not caring that he had abandoned Luke and escaped, but public duties were certainly important. Furthermore, pressure on Luke for having “lost” a prince in the height of the event was likely very high. The butler must have only called Cathy because her brother would be careful to avoid the guards and other personnel at the estate, if he truly were to appear.

“Alright, I understand, Luke.”

Voice noticeably weary, the butler uttered his dearest thanks. “Good night, Milady.”

“Have a good night, too.” She vaguely imagined him striking a slight bow of regret before disconnecting, and bounding off in several directions to locate Keith. Chances were, though, if Prince Keith was anywhere with M. C., they would surely want to remain hidden.

As if the human contact refreshed her, Cathy found herself straying towards the window, which was somewhat difficult to peer through, given the cloak of darkness over the environment. Crickets chirped their cacophonous autumn odes from the unknown, oddly louder than the television, and the usual beats of insects assaulting the doors and lower windows prickled her heightened attention.

CRE–EAK. Something massive slammed shut in the distance. Having tensed at the distinct noise, Cathy recollected herself and incrementally closed in on the clear glass, cupped her hands against the cold pane, and squinted. Her adjusting eyes panned along the landscape, almost unfamiliar under moonlight, when they fell on a faintly pulsating glow that emulated from the high window of the vacant tower. She gulped with a dry mouth. If she could see a light from her cottage, the apparitions knew she was there. Thinking that a gruesome visage would descend upon the other side of her window, she swiftly withdrew and flicked off the lights, scrambling to click off the television. Rigid and upright, pressed against the textured wall beneath the window sill, Cathy stared forward with wide eyes, the sheer number of pumpkin shapes strewn across the floor appearing like severed heads in the dim room. Her breath was labored, heart pounding erratically in her chest from the moment's action, and she clenched the embroidered hem of her gown.

Ah, I mustn't be scared! she psyched herself, spontaneously slapping both cheeks between her icy hands. I'm too old for that! I should check that light out. Yes – that's what I'll do. Face my fears. It is probably only... No. I know what I saw. Who – what was inhabiting the presumed empty tower? She had heard that vicious spectres claimed neglected spaces, harnessing the errant leftover malice from less fortunate days. The land, especially the estate, had its loaded share of travesties before the current Kingdom of Liberty established its independence and overall position of peace. For the sake of her home, she had to investigate. Her first real duty as princess.

In her fuzzy slippers, although rather unpractical for the outdoors, Cathy firmly stepped through the threshold of her chalet. She had armed herself with a flashlight, for monsters are surely scared of bright lights. Acknowledging the single lit jack-o-lantern that had been wordlessly guarding her door with a glare, she knew that she was now traversing into perilous territory.

The princess stalked through the gloom toward the strobe light, as though it were a beacon for the lost. Deviating from the ground's garden path, every crunch beneath her feet sent panic through her nerves. The overcast sky whisked away the waning moon, just as Cathy reached the foot of the erect tower. Her gaze stretched up the limestone veneer to gauge the distance from her to the lit room, but it appeared nauseatingly higher than she assumed, for the tower seemed to bend over her head in a taunt. The child furrowed her brows at the illusion, almost regretting her incredulous notion that reaching the top would be the easy part, but she held on to the remaining threads of will to continue. Slowly, trying with all her wits to keep the squeaks of the rusted joints at a minimum, Cathy opened the already unlocked wood and iron door and conscientiously crept inside, padding lightly to avoid detection. If she were not careful, fiends would find her before long. Maybe they knew she had arrived. As she tiptoed along the rough, granite floor, keeping to the edge of the wall while cutting light through the darkness, she heard a strangely mechanical SNAP overhead. Reacting quickly, Cathy threw the light towards the dusty ceiling, catching glimpse of a winged creature swoop past the webbed chandelier at the center of the foyer. She nearly lost her footing from her stifled freight, thankful to keep her balance against the fortified wall.

Since nothing had come for her life, yet, she assumed that the earlier being was just an ordinary animal – a bat, perhaps – and not a familiar or other dæmon. A good sign, the girl noted for her own benefit to dissuade herself from fleeing. Consequentially, though, paranoia spread through her veins, when even the tiniest click of her footsteps alerted her. While the air was neither musty, nor stale, Cathy's senses further derived dangerous vibes from her surroundings. She could not help but hastily rub her arm with her free hand, as though trying to use the heat of friction to tame the rising bumps along her skin. Being one of the original buildings of the estate, the stone slabs did not provide enough insulation from the outdoor chill, and Cathy was forced to nestle into her own golden locks, like a chick in its own down feathers, to retain her warmth. Had the tower had a belfry to perform actual tasks of service, conditions possibly would never have been neglected and left for the shades. Cathy would have been safe in her room, rather than daring the night with her impulses, but she rose with each step of the spiraling stone staircase, grasping her only source of light with bloodless fingers.

“...Ahh!” a piercing cry filled the tower.

Cathy instantly stilled, holding her already shallow breath until her head began to spin with a wave of lightheadedness. A victim. Blood retreated from her face. The drawn-out groaning persisted, feminine and delirious, echoing through the corridor like an accursed bean sidhe. If torture was waiting for her, Cathy, for the nth time, briefly considered pivoting on her toe to leave.

“Mmnnn... aah, ahh...!” echoed the noise that reverberated in her ears. The girl nearly resorted to curling into a tight ball, tightly closing her eyes and plugging her ears on the step, but the fear that the darkness would strike and consume her the moment she give in played with her mind. Already, she could feel tiny pricks flick across her skin, imagining beady-eyed moths climbing into her sleeves. She flapped her arms for a moment, before flashing the light at her wrists.

Nothing.

Still wary, she pointed the beam toward the walls and floor around her, the floor's slight remaining waxed sheen causing her to flinch. But she was near – near the additional light from the tower's apex, which began to mix with that of her own light. Taking a chance, Cathy flicked off the flashlight and used the growing orange glow before her to illuminate the rest of her way up the steep stairs. Malicious shadows rose and fell across the curving, ochre-tinted walls. Cathy's pulse pounding in her ears, she entered the space of the tower's source of eerie luminance. Dozens of crudely carved pumpkins sneered at her from the circle, pale flames flickering from their open tops. Their collective heat warded off some of the midnight autumnal bite, which entered from the vast eastern window.

Zoning in, at the center of the room was the beast – a vampire, the vampire that Cathy had witnessed the other evening, and he had pinned down his live meal on a lone, lavish bed of blue velvet. With intense gyrations of his body, the monster was ravenously eating someone, baring down on the fair, fragile neck of the wailing woman with power between his jaws. His prey screamed in agony once, desperately scratching at his clothed back. The moans intensified, until they hitched and subsided. The woman's ghastly pale arms fell limply to the bed.

The vampire killed her!! Cathy's mind shrieked, sending a bout of adrenaline crashing through her head. Her muscles spasmed, forcing the girl to release her grip on the flashlight. As if time were making a mockery of her, she watched it slowly fall to the ground, and it noisily clattered on the masonry, before rolling in an arc and stopping against the nearby wall.

The form stilled over the fallen body, at last noticing Cathy's intrusion. Her eyes frantically flew around the room for protection, but she instead sighted a puddle of crimson contrasting against the dark stone slabs. Blood. Death was sinking into her, and she fell backwards, legs trembling under the tresses of her sleeping gown. She remained absolutely quiet from that point, and heard the monster audibly gasp.

“C-Cathy?!” exclaimed the vampire, his low and husky voice oddly familiar. “Close your eyes!” he barked in ordered, clear with exasperation. Responding automatically, the girl flinched her eyes shut.

Cathy then paused, her mouth gradually turning into a frown of confusion. Wait, that voice... Almost reluctant to make another sound, she choked out a single word. “...Brother?” She hesitantly opened her eyes, allowing reason to clear her head and sight.

The caped figure was indeed her older brother, and he still wore the faux fangs she had seen him wear earlier. Focusing more, beneath her brother was undoubtedly not a dead body, either, as she recognized a slim, bare foot, obviously not belonging to Keith, recoil from under the broad, dark cape. Retaking the scene, the blood she saw earlier was not even blood – it was a dress.

Realization dawned upon the girl, as her blue orbs grew as round as possible. Cathy's cheeks grew inflamed to the point that even the edges of her eyes burned, morphing the formerly chilling atmosphere into a sweltering oven. She rolled to her knees, ignoring the points of pain along her skin that would turn into bruises, and scrambled to her feet. Without so much as a word, she scampered back the way she came, her slippers loudly slapping the grey slabs as she escaped.

Requesting Keith to return to the parade was furthest from the girl's mind, the mortifying ordeal invading in her head like a plague, and she hightailed it back to her cottage in the gardens, using only the sliver of the smirking silver moon to light the way.