TheMemoryQueen has stridden into the blizzard. | | Trespasser.
The palace was drifting atop of nebulous clouds, gleaming like a second sun set to rise. He wasn’t close enough to decipher the markings on some of the towers, but one spoke clearly, rising above all. Of course. This was the palace of the queen of tooth fairy armies. He could see the tiny fairies flitter from place to place, bustling to and fro, sailing on the wind, gripping little velvet satchels full of teeth. Their feathers radiated luminescence, becoming stars that swirl around the light palace. His eyes hoped for entrance, expecting each crystalline tower, every sunlit tile. Each element that the fairies devoted to their architecture, Jackson surveyed with dwindling optimism. This was blasphemy. There had bound to be clandestine entry somewhere. Maybe he could contrive as he went along. With a scarce vents of rapidity, and a few iced up, stupefied fairies, he’d slope within the fortress faultlessly.
It was almost mystic, childish, dumb, and utterly transcendent. The way he swooped in, little hands gripping and clawing, trying to fight their way, almost hopeful enough to stop him. These perished first. Adding to other hazy thoughts he flipped around his head was how her royal majesty felt. Rumors that these little doubles were a part of her. A thought that chilled his spine. What wonderful ways five second plans worked out. A weakened queen and her little troop of useless nothings. He felt utterly powerful. Godlike.
And yet, what a monster, for skin as pale as bones, eyes as blue as icebergs, and hair as ivory as freshly fallen snow. He stands like a dictator, smug and sadness all over, hidden in his eyes and under his pout. He gestures around, admiring the colors and the silhouettes. “Pity.” he murmurs, as his fingers slip below a box, collapsing it obscure. The gold beneath his eyes brightens. The buzz of the fairies revivifies, and a few stragglers border him, pipes of dissent. He silences them with shadows, feeling his own frost sprites twirl against the little faes. With each caress they bought, a new wave of pain arose their soft lips. “Adorable.” he let out a gust of mirth, his fingers grasping a little arm, watching dark and light creep up to her face, sealing off the puffs of breath she let out. “Poor baby Toothy, don’t you cry, momma’s not going to save you, not this time” he crooned unobtrusively as he cradled the fairy in his hands.
The others backed away in revulsion, for the queen was not in their midst. The imperial air of the citadel was emptied, wind dancing through the towers.
