Marionette by Antonia Rachel Ward

Author:Antonia Rachel Ward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotic horror, dark fantasy, folktale, séance, possession, occult horror
Publisher: S.D. Vassallo
Published: 2022-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The whole of Paris knew the Comte du Sevigny threw a ball like no other. That night’s gathering, in the Comte’s chateau just outside the city, was a masquerade themed around the Roman festival of Saturnalia, thrown for the Comte’s birthday. The Lord of Misrule, the invitations explained, would preside over an evening of debauchery, and all must do as he directed, on pain of death.

Knowing all the ladies of Paris would be there, decked in their finest frills and flounces, Cece decided to cut as striking a figure as possible. She wanted every head turned in her direction—especially that of the Comte himself. With the help of Monsieur Rossignol, she procured a costume she was sure would guarantee her the attention she craved. A simple, flowing gown in pure white, draped to show off her figure. Her hair was curled in delicate ringlets, and her only jewelry was the ruby choker. Tucked into a garter accessible through a slit in her gown was the dagger Rossignol had given her, matching rubies glinting in its hilt.

“Do me proud, my dear Selena,” he whispered, as they ascended the steps of Sevigny’s chateau.

Fiery torches burned on either side of the open doorway, and from inside echoed raucous laughter. The Lord of Misrule was already making the most of his birthday celebrations, and as Rossignol and Cece entered he was careening drunkenly around the ballroom in his Satyr costume, groping at any ladies unlucky enough to pass him by. Around the room stood gold-painted human ‘statues’ in various states of undress. Servants wove between the guests, carrying jugs of red wine and trays overflowing with exotic fruit.

Seeing Rossignol, Sevigny blundered over to shake his hand. The Comte wore papier-mâché goat horns on either side of his head, and brown trousers made of horsehair. A thin linen shirt barely covered the expanse of his belly. Beady black eyes regarded Rossignol with thinly veiled dislike.

“A surprise to see you here, old friend! What a pleasure. And with my little ingénue on your arm, too.” He kissed Cece on both cheeks, leaning in to mutter, “I heard you made quite the sensation at the Palais last night with your little... improvisation, Mademoiselle. A shame I wasn’t there to see it.”

Cece curtsied, forcing herself not to back away from his overpowering smell of sweat and wine. “I hope you approve, sir.”

“Approve?! Ticket sales are booming, my dear. There hasn’t been a dancer more popular since my wife was alive.”

As he spoke of his wife, he glanced at Rossignol, his eyes hardening.

“Perhaps I might take little Cecile off your hands for a while, Monsieur,” he said. “You do the rest of us a terrible disservice by keeping her all to yourself.”

Rossignol took a step back. “Please, be my guest. I’m sure Mademoiselle Dulac would be honored to accompany you.”

Cece didn’t need to force a smile. The thought of destroying this piece of human filth gave her a powerful thrill, and as Sevigny led her onto the dancefloor, her delight was unfeigned.

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