The Ghostly Gala

The sound of Cressida’s footsteps echoed eerily against the stone walls, as music could be heard playing on the floor above. Princess Cressida of Rorewyn wasn’t sure what drew her to the basement of Adwode Manor, exactly, but she had a sudden urge to explore. Classes had started only a month ago, and she scarcely had any free time to take in her new surroundings. Cressida and her fellow schoolmates were something of a social experiment. Her father, King of Rorewyn, got together with a few rulers from surrounding kingdoms and they collectively decided to send their royal children to school together. The idea was to foster good will and rapport, in hopes their successors would ally themselves, and rule peacefully alongside one another. They settled on a location at a central point practically equidistant to the kingdoms involved. Thus, Adwode Manor Royal Academy was born. The building was old, almost ancient, and when renovations were completed, the students moved right in. There were currently eight of them, including Princess Cressida.

As Cressida wandered deeper into the basement, the ceiling began to tremble slightly, and she rolled her eyes in amusement. Her classmates had begun dancing, evidently. Above her in the ballroom, currently, a dance was taking place. Tonight was the Harvest Moon, and this was the first social event for the inaugural class of Adwode Manor. Her peers had dubbed the ball: The Ghostly Gala. Cressida did make an appearance at the gala earlier in the evening, but found the dance unbearably dull. Honestly, she hadn’t wanted to attend at all, but she did so on behest of her roomate, Neve. Neve dreamed up a “fantastic costume idea”. The pair of them would each be one half of a dragon. Cressida was hesitant, but took one look at Neve’s shining face, and didn’t have the heart to deny her request. As it turned out, Neve completely flaked on her, and made a grand enterance as a fairy queen instead. Now, she was stuck as the hind quarters of a dragon, while everyone raved about how lovely Neve looked in her costume. Insulted, and slightly humiliated, Cressida fled to the basement, her carefully sewn dragon tail flopping behind her.

Suddenly, Cressida walked face first into an old cobweb. As she actively blinked, and desperately tried to wipe away strands of the sticky gray silk, a large, hairy spider descended before her very eyes from a single thread. She backed away slowly. Even though Cressida had somewhat of a reputation as a tomboy, she drew the line at creepy, gross spiders.

“Boo!”

The princess shrieked at the loud unexpected voice, and spun around quickly. The length of her dragon’s tail whacked the indruder in the face.

“Alaric!”

“You know, I never pegged you as a girl afraid of itsy-bitsy spiders, Cress.”

Cressida glared at Alaric, seething.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like being the butt of anyone’s joke?” Alaric gestured to her dragon’s bottom, and slapped his knee.

“Now I see why those hailing from Daleswen are renowned for their unmatched wit.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a party! How’s about a smile, huh Cress?”

“I-da. Cress-i-da. Thank you.”

“Alright, alright,” Prince Alaric raised his hands in surrender, “Whatever you want. I saw you sneak down here, and thought I’d join you. Say, doesn’t your particular get up require a partner, or something?”

“Yep,” she answered plainly.

“I don’t recall seeing the front half of a dragon anywhere upstairs.”

“That’s because Neve didn’t hold up her end of the bargain. The costume was her idea, too.”

“Neve? She’s the girl from Olelan, right?”

“Yep.”

Cressida watched with some satisfaction, as Alaric awkwardly scratched at the straw sticking out from under his wide brimmed hat. He was masquerading as a scarecrow, after all.

“So... Watchya doin’?”

“Searching for Lady Priscilla, the legendary ghost of Adwode Manor,” the princess whispered jokingly.

“Oh, I know that old tale. Lady Priscilla hung herself when her knight in shining armor failed to return from battle.”

“A-huh. She hung herself right in this very basement,” she added in a spooky voice.

“Say, is it getting a whole lot colder down here?”

Cressida shrugged, “I guess, but it is a basement, of course.”

Suddenly, there was an ominous woosh, and the torches lining the stone walls went out simultaneously. They both jumped with a start.

“Drafty,” Alaric laughed nervously.

When before their eyes, a figure began materializing from out of thin air. The pale figure of a woman, draped in an old fashioned garment, drifted toward them. A noose was wound about her neck, and her head was cocked at a grotesque angle, as she stared at them with cold, black eyes that bore into their very souls.

“Have you seen my beloved? I’ve been awaiting his arrival for ages.” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Alright,” Alaric’s voice wavered, just a little, in fear, “Neat costume. Who’s in there?

Cora? Marcheline?”

“I am Lady Priscilla,” she answered, her head still bent sideways, unnaturally, “Have you seen my beloved?”

Then without warning, Lady Priscilla vanished as suddenly as she appeared, and all the torches were inexplicably reignited. Cressida and Alaric remained silently in the basement for some time. They blinked stupidly at each other, the only sound was that of their heavy breathing.

“So... You ready to get back to that party?” Alaric asked, finally.

“Yep.”

https://theprose.com/post/189210/lady-priscilla-of-adwode-manor