February 4, 2008

The Princess of Eight shifted her parasol ever so slightly, exposing a portion of her face. Under the shadow cast by her pastel-pink bonnet, a single shining iris caught the light, and her eye met those of the man across the room. Raising her left hand, she crooked a finger imperceptibly.

With a lurch, the man’s body responded. Abject terror came over his features, as he jerkily lifted one foot high in the air, moved it forward, and planted it on the ground in front of him. Then his back foot moved. His neck was rigid, but his eyes rolled down, trying to confirm with his sight what he knew to be true. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. Eventually it set in a rictus grin as he stopped concentrating on speech and instead tried to stop walking.

Body spasming, fighting control and panic in equal measures, he stepped across the threshold.

In an instant the mists were upon him, and he vanished from Grell’s sight. When they dispersed, all that remained was a red puddle on the floor.