Chapter Four
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Red“Scratch that drink,” I hissed to Linka.
There was something manic about the whirling, twirling madness in the throne room. They seemed oblivious to the fact they looked like abominations. Gone was the snowflake elegance, the feeling of delicate myth, in its place, crimson hysteria.
Linka's fingers tightened their grip in my own. I realised I was not the only one appalled by our view.
The throne room doors closed behind us with a thud audible even through the badly played Strauss.
“Aurora!” hailed Serena. She beckoned to her daughter with one blood-dripping finger, and by association ourselves.
“They could have at least got changed,” I whispered into Linka's ear. She did not reply. I couldn't say I blamed her.
We weaved our way through the turbulent throng until
