“Let the festivities end with your satiation.” The vampire princess raised her left arm, and through some baffling sorcery, a regal chalice was suddenly raised aloft, cradled in her palm. She then languidly raised her other arm above the presented container. A flash of red followed. A vicious cut like a gash tore through her wrist (again with no discernible cause) and released a great deal of blood into the cup, filling it to the brim without a drop gone to waste.

  The Count made an effort to break out into another wrathful frenzy, but his mantle transformed back into Vivian and his spear back into Silas. The two servants held their lord back, their combined strength only enough to secure him because of his erratic state.

  “Please forgive us, mistress. We have only just regained our senses,” Silas reported sternly, his pale face grim.

  “It is true, Lady Millarca. We were lost in the tide of blood… lost to the contemptible curse.” Vivian struggled against Julius’s squirming, but still she managed to keep his fury at bay.

  “I do not care for your excuses. Silas, tilt my father’s head up and hold open his jaw.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He did as he was told.

  Millarca took a few slow paces toward her father, then, upon reaching where he struggled, poured the contents of the chalice into his open mouth. The crimson lifeblood, imbued with a special characteristic, sloshed around, dyed his fangs red, then spiraled down into his body and was immediately absorbed by the undead creature.

  The beast that was the Count was released. Suddenly, he doubled over as if he was experiencing grueling pain. His back heaved, his nails like claws dug into the wooden floor, and he screamed once more like the madman he was only a couple minutes prior. Finally, he grew very quiet and came to his feet wobbly and confused.

  “Father? Are you sane now? I do not wish to hurt you… though, if I am forced to-”

  “There will be no need.” The Count of the Crimson Castle had regained his lost enthusiasm and had come back to himself. His red eyes shone not with thirst in them, but with joy. “Thank you, daughter. I have returned.”

  The desert land materialized from Ma’at’s mind had mostly faded away. Sand lingered here and there, but the woman had gone back to normal. She was human. The umbral jackal, the weaponized memories, the lonely dunes… they all vanished like windswept footprints. Burned away by Camelia’s comforting warmth. Her magic.

  Count Julius smiled in spite of recent events. “It is said that magic is a reflection of one’s soul, is it not? This warmth…” He felt the wisps heating his ice-cold skin. Such powerful heat, the heat of magic honed over many years, was the only source of warmth a being such as he could ever hope to feel. Though he had lost his humanity long ago, it was magic that could still ignite his senses after his mortal life had ended. “...is pleasant, to be sure.”

  “What… happened?” Ma’at’s head laid in Camelia’s lap. She had only just stirred awake after the immense strain her body had undergone.

  “Don’t move,” the witch warned. “Right now, you need rest.”

  Faint memories flickered at the back of her mind. What had just transpired seemed like a far-off dream. Another illusion of the Reliquary Room. But neither was the case. The realization that those memories were indeed reality gradually came to her. “So… all of that really happened. You’re… really here.” A familiar warmth radiated from the woman looking down at her. Not only did it slowly heal her wounds and bind them, it also brought tears to her eyes. It was a feeling she had longed for for so, so long now. Ever since they had left on bad terms.

  “I’m sorry, Ma’at. I’m sorry for the things I said. I’m sorry for leaving in the end. I hadn’t considered for one second your feelings… all I cared about was my vision. My plan. I’m no witch nor a mage. I’m an idiot.” The Witch of Warmth smiled meekly. She lowered her head, her hat blocking her face.

  “No… I’m to blame for everything. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” She closed her eyes, recalling Grin’s demise. “For all my wailing, I still couldn’t save him. I may not be directly responsible for his death, but I still broke my promise. I couldn’t protect him.”

  The Count appeared at her side. The Aspect, the heart of a fallen star, sat glowing in vibrant, dazzling colors next to his feet. Pausing briefly, he knelt down and picked up the sphere. “There is a reason, dear guests, that this place is off-limits. It is dangerous. And there are things… objects in this world not meant for mortal comprehension. Who told you to enter this place, and how?”

  “It was Beatrice,” Sato cut in. “She opened the door for us.”

  “She used Grin,” Ma’at continued. “That’s right. He must have been the key. She once told me that the door could only be opened in lieu of great suffering.”

  Julius’s flowing brown hair glistened in the azure orb’s light. “I see. So she made a grand display of killing your ally in order to push open the door to the Reliquary Room. There are a myriad of ways to open it, though that would be the simplest. Tell me, Swordstress of Ironside, what did the room show you?”

  “Father, this is not the time.” Millarca bared her fangs. “The illum witch approaches.”

  True to her claim, the illum woman of short stature wrapped in chained tomes walked out from the darkness and into the autumnal light shining down from above.

  “Ah, the tragedian. I did not think you would show your face after such a display of rudeness.”

  Ilzif the Scourge chuckled dryly. Her sunken eyes were just as cloudy as ever, though she still appeared youthful in every other aspect. “I have grown tired of tragedy. Most of the nobles are dead and the Eternal Procession is lost to these winding, maddening corridors.”

  “Then, do you concede?” A devilish smirk found itself creasing his lips. “Will you finally cease this violent charade?”

  “I shall. I have lost this game… and you have won, ultimately. I had not expected you to come to your senses so quickly.”

  Julius raised an eyebrow. “So it was you who sent me into a blood-crazed stupor?”

  Ilzif cackled, her messy white hair still hanging like creeping tendrils over her face. “That, lord, is the true mystery. Garris verra muvar. I did no such thing. I had planned to, of course, but what I wished to inflict upon you came before I made the move to do so. A vexing conundrum.”

  “I don’t understand. Wasn’t it due to her spell?” Sato pondered.

  “I think I may have the answer to that,” Tien spoke up. One of her pocketed hands slipped out to reveal a still heart. “Following his death, I poked around in Bifrons’s residual energy. From what I’ve learned of magic and Paracosms within the past few months, I was able to extract a memory from his lingering echo. Before leaving the Great Room, before the massacre, he had secretly placed a few of his playing cards in the pockets of other guests. He waited until the right moment, then triggered them, killing those people outright as the tournament was being conducted.”

  “But I thought everyone was in the Great Room during the tournament?” Sato replied, her head aching as she tried to remember.

  Tien shook her head. “No. There were a few people who didn’t care to watch and stayed downstairs. I remember specifically making a note of that in my head. Seeing as how we’ve been upstairs this entire time, we haven’t been able to check if those people are still alive or not. Either way, even if we did check, Bifrons likely thought we’d assume they’d been killed off by the Eternal Procession anyway.”

  “So he killed the people who stayed downstairs? What does that have to do with the Count going crazy?”

  As if in answer, Julius began chuckling to himself. It started at a low rumble, but soon grew in volume until he became nigh hysterical.

  “My lord, are you feeling well? What is the matter?” Silas asked him, genuinely worried for his master.

  The Count wiped tears from his shining red eyes. He coughed and came back to himself, regaining his kingly composure. “I see! That man… he truly was a devil in disguise. Though, I suppose it was no disguise. He was dressed as one, after all!” He laughed some more. “I see, I see. The timing was everything. If he had killed them too early, I could have held back my instincts. If he had killed them too late, his plan would have crashed and burned.”

  “Remember when Ilzif expanded the magic circle to include everyone in the arena at once?” Tien asked, pointing Sato to the correct logical conclusion.

  “Yes,” Sato said. “But if he killed those people after they were included, how is that any different from the Procession killing everyone else?”

  “There’s still something you don’t understand,” Tien explained. “They were killed before Ilzif expanded the arena. That’s the key.”

  “So they were outside the arena? But…” It was then that an important warning from the Count replayed inside her mind. It was something incredibly meaningful yet easily forgettable.

  “Oh, yes! This is the most important rule: there is to be no blood spilled outside of the crest and the circle surrounding it. Is that perfectly clear? Failure to adhere to this rule will result in an… unfavorable fate befalling you.”

  “Then,” Sato thought aloud, “the magic circle wasn’t what we thought it was. It had some other purpose besides magically establishing the rules of the tournament.”

  Ma’at tried to get to her feet but failed. Wrapping an arm around Camelia’s shoulder, she hoisted herself up and spoke, her voice hoarse and raspy. “The answer lies in the castle itself. The Crimson Castle is your Paracosm, isn’t it?” She turned to the Count.

  Julius’s eyes flashed and he nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. ‘Home is where the heart is’, as they say. This castle is my Inner World. The source of my power.”

  “If this place is your Paracosm, then what’s stopping you in devouring anything that enters it? Especially when, let’s say, that person is already dead and can’t put up a fight. The castle itself could drain them of their blood with no issue, just as you can. It is a part of you, after all. So what other purpose did the magic circle have? People didn’t have to specifically die within it in order to be consumed. Why, then, have the rule pertaining to people dying outside the arena?”

  “It seems you already have the answer you seek.”

  Ma’at looked at Millarca for a second, then turned away. “The truth is that you barely require blood in order to live. Your Paracosm must absorb many who end up crossing the threshold on accident, wandering into the woods. But your daughter Millarca doesn’t have that convenience. She needs blood in some other way.” Her hazel eyes, once dull and entranced by the orb, shone with ferocity and warmth again. “The magic circle was specifically for quenching Millarca’s thirst. That means… that only the people who died downstairs before the circle expanded were consumed by you.”

  Sato gasped. She finally understood.

  “A ravenous thirst threatened to consume me at that moment. All at once, after Ilzif’s betrayal, I felt a sickly sweet taste flood my mouth. Now I know its source. Those downstairs had been killed at that exact moment before… and had slowly sunk into the castle floor to be consumed. Just then, at the height of the creeping ecstasy of which I tried so hard to suppress, her nose bled. It was a pitiful amount; at any other time, it would have had no effect on me. But the massacre around me, just the sight of it, also fueled my desire. When I managed to avert my eyes, to gaze into the face of the witch who deigned to harm me, a beautiful bloody stream carrying pure emotion dripped down her pallid visage. I was suddenly brought to a time long past. A time when I had gone to visit the tribes of anisai hidden beside the Bloodspike Rapids. Oh, how the blood flowed! A river of blood! I can remember it now and distinctly; that sickly sweet aroma permeated every ounce of my body. I bathed in it, I inhaled it, I drank from it. The memory in conjunction with everything else pushed me over the edge. I was lost to the curse. I was lost in that serene memory.”

  “That dolt tried to get you to murder me? He has sorely underestimated a witch. Find him for me, if you please. Before I leave, I’d like to murder him.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I told you,” Tien reminded her harshly. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

  “Yiht. I can still sense his presence.” Ilzif waited for the Count’s omniscient eye to find her prey. As long as he was still inside the Crimson Castle, he could easily be located by the vampire.

  “Hmm… I do not see him anywhere. Perhaps he already fled?”

  As if on queue, like a thespian proudly announcing himself before appearing on stage, Tien’s case began shaking violently. She held on for dear life until it ripped itself from her hands and fell onto the floorboards. Suddenly, it unlocked and swung open. A man in a red and black suit came flying out of it, landing painfully on his buttocks.

  “H-How did you get in there!?” Tien exclaimed.

  Getting to his feet and rubbing his sore rear-end, the man known as Bifrons, still donning the awful devil mask, began laughing to himself. It was an annoying, sneering laugh full of disdain for everyone in the room. “Wouldn’t you like to know! Heheheh!”

  “Yeah, I would! Marchosias didn’t drag you in… he only ate your goons.”

  “And… this!” he hollered, revealing a card from his pocket. It was a queen of hearts, the same one he had thrown into Tien’s case seemingly by accident. “All of my cards have special properties, dearie. The queen of hearts contains the power to grow a new body for myself. In short, I revived inside your suitcase!”

  “You’re a madman,” she retorted. “Time may move differently in there, but you’d still grow hungry.” A sour expression contorted her features. “What did you eat in there? You better have not eaten the grilled gargofin I was saving!”

  Bifrons did not answer her, instead cackling like a psychopath. It was unknown what length of time he had spent in the case mentally, but it was obvious he had been alone in the void far longer than any human should ever experience.

  “I’ll kill you!” Tien opened her mouth to call for Marchosias, but something about the man stopped her.

  This whole time, the devil hadn’t been facing them as he spoke. He had been jabbering senselessly as if he had planned everything he said beforehand. He didn’t look into their eyes nor did he acknowledge others in the room. He simply repeated phrases meant for Tien, meant to anger her.

  After cackling some more, he spun on his heels and looked into a corner of the room that was vacant. No one was standing there, yet he jabbered on anyway. “Who is that!? You’re a damn lying sparkfly! Don’t you dare say that! I’ve got half a mind to fill you with aces, lad.”

  Everyone stared at the odd display with half-open mouths, confused.

  “Look at his eyes,” Sato spotted. “He’s gone insane.”

  Ma’at put a hand up to her mouth and whispered to her ally. A suspicion that had been lurking at the back of her mind had now made its way to her lips. “Tien, did we end up keeping the hypnophage in your case?”

  Tien pinched her chin and thought long and hard. “Now that you mention it, I think we did throw it in there, yeah. Why?”

  Bifrons let out an ear-piercing scream and flopped onto the floor again. He scratched at his limbs obsessively as if a swarm of insects were crawling all over him. “S-S-Spiders! Spiders! Spiders everywhere! Run! Ack! Ack! Agghhhhh!”

  “Oh…”

  “Cease your screeching, worm.” The chains around Ilzif’s body jangled and rang. A strange, foreboding energy pervaded the room until a revolting crunching noise ripped through the air. Bifrons’s head was crushed by an immense force, his skull reduced to shards of bone left within the fleshy, popped balloon that once was his head. The screaming stopped altogether. “None may cross me and live, kaltrix. Now, I must be off.”

  “Off? You wish to leave before the grand reveal? The mortals do not know of the Masquerade’s true nature yet.” Disappointment dripped from Julius’s words.

  “I have grown bored. Boredom does not suit Ilzif the Scourge. You, mevrai.” She looked at Ma’at, though more accurately, she looked down at her as if looking at an ant on the ground. “Take a witch’s advice with suspicion, but take a mooncursed snake’s with even more so. Do not listen to the Black Moon. Do not follow its blighted path. The sister of darkness waits like a black widow even now, in the corner of the room… watching. Waiting. Do not allow her to control your fate. If there is any belief mankind and witches share, it is that we must forge our own paths devoid of the guidance of beings both veiled in dark and light.” She took one last look at Julius and Millarca, then exited the room through a pathway tinged in blinding orange luminance.

  “You’re just letting her go?” Ma’at admonished the Count. “She killed all of your guests! She ruined everything! She could’ve killed us!”

  Julius gave Millarca and Camelia a knowing look. Then, gazing at Ma’at, a tinge of sorrow seemed to dye his eyes a darker shade of red. “Come with me. I will show you the truth.”

  With the song of the Reliquary Room still echoing in her heart, Ma’at, supported by Camelia, left with the others. They soon found themselves back in the castle. They were at the open door of the Great Room. It overlooked the stairs leading to the hall that would eventually lead to the entrance and outside.

  “The truth, dear guests, is that the only ones capable of attaining their desire would be those that sought the Roseblood Heart itself. Not only that, but those who never had to be touched by its immense power.”

  “And what is the Roseblood Heart? We’ve been down nearly every hall, through every door in the castle at this point.” Tien sighed. “We never found anything like it.”

  “Your coworker did, in fact, find it.” He motioned to Ma’at.

  “Me? I never found anything. Even while I was trapped in that hellhole.”

  “The Reliquary Room warps and changes to torment the first one who enters it. Though, it is the one place the Heart cannot reach, so normally I would not have hidden it there. But… it hid itself there of its own volition.”

  “Hid itself? How?”

  “The Roseblood Heart is a living being. My own flesh and blood. My daughter, Millarca von Lothaire.”

  Millarca bowed as if meeting them for the first time.

  “She, like my servants, is an object imbued with my heart and soul. My love has been poured into them. Though, a greater amount forms Millarca and grants her special properties. One could even say that she is a personification of my heart. She is as much a daughter to me as a real daughter could be. My loneliness led me to create them. She is my masterpiece.” He reached for one of her hands and kissed it gently. “She has the power to draw out one’s desires and to grant them. It would seem she chose you, Sirithisian. I know not why. It was her decision alone, but I stand by it. Without her, you would have been lost to the Reliquary Room’s torment forevermore.”

  “Hehehe. Lucky you.”

  The voice came from a dark figure in Ma’at’s periphery. Terror gripped her, but still she looked over at it. It was a woman in a black dress. A large, musclebound man wielding a greatsword stood behind her as a loyal guard.

  “Why the mean look? Have I offended you?” That same perplexing smile warped her lips.

  “Why!?” Her wounds ached. She wasn’t on death’s door anymore, but her wounds weren’t fully healed yet. She wobbled and fell back onto Camelia for support. “Urgh… why did you kill him? Just to open the door? And you come back here smiling? And you ask me why I’m so angry?” Delusions entered her mind like visions in rippling water. Scenes of her ripping Beatrice apart. Cutting her arms off. Plunging her blades into her chest. Cutting her head clean off. She wasn’t inherently a vengeful person, but the prospect invaded every corner of her mind.

  “Hehe,” Beatrice giggled. Her black eyes reflected no light. They were two impossibly dark shadows, even in the dusky red light of the atrium. “There was no other path to take. If you were to be set upon the right path, to find your dearest Camelia after a harrowing transformation, to find the Roseblood Heart, a great sacrifice had to be made. You understand, don’t you? The scythe-bearer was destined to be a pawn, the reality of which he deeply loathed. His light-bound soul was the key to making this path possible.”

  Ma’at recalled Ilzif’s words. She couldn’t accept the girl’s excuses so lightly. Even without the witch’s warning, she knew she couldn’t. Even if her words were true. “Liar! You just cemented his fears! You used him! You used him as if he meant nothing!”

  “In the grand scheme of things, he did mean nothing. He was a stepping stone. Your dream has come true, hasn’t it? What’s the matter? You’ve been reunited with the Witch of Warmth. Is he not a fitting cost to attain that?”

  Ma’at lunged forward, despair and anger pulling her limbs. She lashed out with her broken blades, but they were stopped by Noth’s towering weapon. Even noctite, when damaged, cannot cut through something equal to a titanic slab of metal ore. She didn’t have the energy to get around it and fight, either. She could do nothing but pointlessly slash at the Frostlander’s guarding sword.

  Beatrice put a hand to her mouth and yawned. Still, her face showed no visible emotion. “As the Scarlet Masquerade comes to a close, I too will take my leave. It was very fun to see your heart and mind exposed, Ma’at. I hope to see you all again. Farewell.” The girl and the northerner promptly left. They descended the stairs, walked down the great hall, and eventually made their way back through the woodland.

  Solemn silence was all that was left in the wake of the Masquerade’s oblivion. Countless corpses dotted the floor and hung from banisters. Blood splattered the walls. Broken and shattered weaponry were left abandoned by their owners. Not even the fireworks nor the piano sounded to lessen the horror. The vampire pianist was slain, and the plumes of multicolored explosions had ceased at the massacre’s climax. The only thing hanging in the night sky was the great crimson moon. The blood moon.

  “Ma’at,” Camelia chimed. “You two. There is one crucial bit of information that changes a great deal.”

  Julius smiled. “Yes. Though your friend… Grin was his name? Though his life has expired, his soul lost… he and that devil are the only ones doomed to soar amongst the Blissful Sleep. And those murdered before the tournament. Do you understand what I’m saying? Those who are absorbed by Millarca are not truly gone. They are… stored… yes, just like how you store objects within your case.” He gazed at Tien. “I do not truly wish harm upon humans. I devour them when I must, but I never indulge in overabundance. Millarca, too. She has only feasted upon a few noblefolk this night. The others are left in suspension, a kind of purgatory. If the victor wishes, we can reassemble and release them.”

  Tears welled up in Ma’at’s eyes. It was a blessing if it were true. But, there was another layer of tragedy in it as well. Julius had foreseen it. Though most of the other passengers could return, Grin was truly gone. He had truly died. “Yes, of course. Release as many as you can.”

  “Especially since… well, if we returned to the airship as the only survivors, we might be locked up for a long time.” Tien joked, but it was the truth. They could very well be branded as murderers. Even if the pilot had knowledge of the Masquerade’s dangers, the reality had to be that only a few were devoured during each event. Otherwise, why would so many noblefolk willingly risk their lives for such meager rewards? Perhaps the Roseblood Heart’s blessing was worth it, but it was an awfully large gamble all the same.

  ***

  After the finale, most of those who perished during the massacre were brought back from the brink of death. Nothing in Count Julius’s castle could truly die without his permission as long as they had been devoured by the Roseblood Heart. It was, in every sense of the term, another world with its own set of rules and limitations.

  The passengers, dazed and disoriented, made their way back to the waiting airship. Back to the Cloudstriker. Members of the Eternal Procession and the Frostlanders were seemingly abandoned by their leaders. Even so, they made plans to find them again in one way or another.

  “Farewell, humans. Though this Masquerade did not go to plan, I hope you come back again!” Julius laughed joyfully. No matter how much they tried, the Vroque women could not tell if he was being serious or not.

  “What do I tell the Writer? The Roseblood Heart isn’t something we can bring back with us. Unless…?”

  Millarca did not laugh, but she did faintly smile. “I am blood-bound; my place is here, always. But my blessing will forever linger in your heart, Swordstress. Perhaps that is what he desired for you. Perhaps something similar to Beatrice Blackthorn. It may not be my place, but it seems to me that their goals were not all that different.”

  Ma’at fell silent, the vampire’s words sinking deep into her psyche.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll allow me to have the Aspect, dear Julius?” Camelia made puppy eyes at her relation, urging him to hand it over.

  “It is not to be held by mortals, as I’ve said. I do not even like to hold it. Starkin deserve to float among the reflections, unhindered. They dwell in possibility, a farer house than prose. It is cruel to force dimensions upon the limitless. However, may I ask with what intention you desired it so?”

  “No,” the witch replied bluntly. “There are more fallen stars out there. I can find another.”

  “I see.” Julius nodded, then added: “I do not care what you seek out there. But keep in mind: should you return to my castle without an invitation once more, I will not hesitate to duel you without the theatrics.”

  “Oh, so that was all a show, huh? You were acting?” Sato asked in earnest.

  “Acting requires one to inhabit the emotions of the scene,” Julius responded. “Though she may truly be related to me, I did not know at the time.”

  “So part of it was staged?” Tien asked.

  “It was not staged. It was simply a fitting start to a wonderful night of festivities. She invaded my home, so I used the incident to enthrall my guests. Was that so wrong of me?”

  “In short, he knew me beforehand. He just didn’t know I was family nor did he realize my true intentions. From the beginning, I was only hired to make the fireworks.”

  They all chuckled. It was a good laugh to have before saying goodbye.

  “Be safe on your travels,” Julius wished.

  “Safe travels,” Millarca repeated lazily.

  Waving goodbye, Ma’at, Sato, Tien and Camelia followed the passengers back through the gnarled woods. They retraced their steps, making sure not to get lost a second time. Soon enough, the Cloudstriker came into view in all of its glory.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Ma’at asked the witch. The future was uncertain. A deep regret, her inability to save Grin, was carved into her. Though they hadn’t known him long, though he was technically their enemy, they had grown to understand him. They had learned of his past, and had the ability to help. Now, he was gone… but his woes were not. “We’ve still got a couple of stops left, but once we make it back to Reville… I’m going to free Grin’s brother from his debt with everything we earned there. It’s the least we can do for him. Once we do that, I’m sure he can rest in peace.”

  Camelia smiled. Her beautiful, ruby lips gleamed in the moonlight.

  Having left the Count’s world, the moon was no longer drowned in scarlet color. It was a bright, pale full moon. Crooked tree limbs hung in front of it, creating eerie hands like shadow puppets. A classic Aaskiminuvien sight.

  “That’s nice,” she finally said. “You’ve changed… a lot. For the better, mind. You may not be the same Swordstress of Ironside I once knew, but where you’ve lost your edge, you’ve gained a certain… warmth.” She adjusted her big, scarlet hat as the wind brushed it. The trees around them creaked. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to follow you all. I think it’s time we did some catching up.”

  “Hmph. I’d like that, too. While we relax, I can tell you about the time I ran into Draig.”

  “You met up with Draig!? Start from the beginning! How is he? I haven’t seen him in ages…”

  Their voices faded out of earshot as they made their way onto the airship, their colorful conversation continuing on and on long into the night.

  Thus, the Scarlet Masquerade came to a close.