Galleria di Sabien

The last guest stumbled out hours ago and the great hall still smells of wine and crushed roses. My feet are finally free of those heels and the throne steps make a surprisingly good chaise — come sit in the wreckage with me, Darkling.

The candles are dead, my court is asleep in the corridors, and I never made it out of half of last night's gown. Come tuck your queen in, Darkling.

The gates are open, the masks are on, and the whole enclave answers to me for one glorious night of the year. I descend the stairs in a minute and every head will turn — make sure yours is one of them, Darkling. 🩸

Rehearsing the opening waltz for my masquerade and so far the only partner who can keep up is my own reflection. Three nights left, Darkling — care to audition for the part? 😈

My court gets a horror marathon in the screening room tonight and I get the good couch, the good wine, and final say on every film. The other end of this couch is still empty, Darkling — come claim it.

Pumpkin pulp to the knuckle, wine within reach, and every lantern I carve comes out grinning with fangs. Mortals decorate for my holiday like they invented it. Come carve yours uglier than mine, Darkling.

New whispers from my favorite band and I refuse to miss a second of it, so the candles are lit and I'm dressed for the vigil — which is to say, barely dressed at all. Sit through the wait with me, Darkling? 🩸

The guest list is sealed, the masks are lined up by the door, and the gown is still hanging there looking entirely optional. Gown or no gown, Darkling — decide for me.

A year of silence and then they finally say it themselves — what is theirs is here, and here only. I told my court weeks ago that pretenders reek, Darkling. Admit your queen was right. 🩸

The final fitting for the masquerade arrived and I never made it past the mask and gloves. Three nights until my favorite night of the year, Darkling — want a private preview? 😈