Featherscape
patreon
Return to the Featherlands: Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2022-07-16 00:28:43 +0000 UTCThe charred stone towers of the Badland Castle leered over the wasteland atop which it ruled. The beastly spires stood as a monument for some and a watchful eye for others. For all, however, it was a symbol of hopelessness, a promise for the black rot that feasted on every last resilient shred of hope and joy. The outer walls wore deep scars from the great battle over which it was fought. Carcasses from both sides left the land fertile for thorny weeds and scavenging pests to flourish. The ground bled. The stones cried. The castle itself cried out over the land. For acres, the Badlands listened to its anguished song. It was a constant cry of victory and despair.
No dusty inch of the Badland Castle received a moment free from the echoing bellows of the souls it possessed. What those walls produced could barely be classified as laughter. Screams of agony. Desperate cries for mercy or miraculous intervention. Crackling howls of those minds and bodies long since broken. And yet, beneath it all was a suffering symphony of laughter. It was laughter void of glee, mirth, or euphoria. The laughter that echoed through those hallowed halls was nothing more than a vehicle for misery.
The inner walls saw minimal decoration to make the abode feel even remotely hospitable. Relics of a civil past still survived the ages. Statues of creatures taken from Featherland myth stood at many major junctions. Torn and burnt drapes shifted uncomfortably by the frail thread with which they still hung. Chains with cuffs lined the walls inside as a primitive yet accessible form of holding prisoners. Raging torches burned in their iron sleeves with fires that never seemed to die out. The odor of mold and mildew gave the air a bitter taste. Holes that served as windows to relieve the halls of stagnant musk were covered by jagged metal bars, a dismal reminder of the inescapable torments that awaited inside.
While many layering voices echoed through the castle at once, laughing and taunting, the loudest came from the Great Hall. A massive chamber in the center of the castle foundation, the Great Hall dwarfed the rest in both size and grandeur. Statues and reliefs along the walls depicted scenes of unimaginable tickle torture, many of which held the victims themselves trapped in a perpetual stasis enduring it all without end for the sake of decoration. Where a chaotic entanglement of webs and cocoons held above Queen Tickela’s prisoners and playthings, a towering ceiling hoisted high above the room, where a circular door hung with magically seals. Along the walls of the cylindrical alcove, iron bars led into cells where many prisoners were kept. Most of the cells were occupied with both a helpless captive and a grunt of the queen sent to keep them screaming with maddening tickles. Their laughs cast a haunting and endless melody of distress over the hall, directly above the queen’s royal throne.
The room was in high spirits by many of the Badland’s most notable tribes. Creatures and monsters from all over the land came to gather for a bountiful feast of food, drink, and entertainment. Captured Featherlanders and Overworld youth kept the beasts engaged in ruthless tickling activities. Forced to endure mind-breaking tickle treatments day after day, often for several days at a time, the castle was run by prisoners turned servants. They were kept in line by servant supervisors, often higher ranking Badland orcs and goblins. The captives were told where to go, what to do, when to eat, drink, and sleep. Their lives were dictated by the needs of the queen and her council. When not engaged in mandatory chores, they were sentenced to ruthless tickling regiments that kept their bodies broken and minds free of thought.
Several captives were trusted to make deliveries of nourishment or supplies for the guests crowding the Great Hall. Others were kept bound and screaming with laughter. With many competing tribes filling the room, several took it upon themselves to use such captives to demonstrate their cruelty which served as a status symbol. The Badland Harpies, lead by their skymother Gardia, brought forth a stripped elf hanging by his arms in a birdcage. Their feathers, enchanted and floating on their own, brushed him all over his body. They scaled his underarms, ears, navel, and in between his toes especially, never leaving his skin. The elf boy screamed as he laughed by the ticklish power the feathers had over him.
“Look at this one we caught climbing trees,” said Vivalia, a gray-feathered Harpy. “Boy’s been in there a week! Told us all where his brothers and sisters were after about an hour.”
“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” said Erosthe of the Badland Sirens. Long silver hair ran down her back, bare and slender. She stood next to her sisters and head mistress, Lyst, the most beautiful and enchanting of them all. Lyst said nothing, her eyes merely glancing around the room at all it had to offer her. Erosthe called over a servant from their cluster. “Come, six-one-seven.”
From the surrounding Sirens, a human woman stopped forward. She wore nothing, but her body was covered with glowing markings, mystical runes under the Siren’s control. Her eyes were vacant, her expression distraught and exhausted. She seemed frail and colorless beyond the radiant pink symbols all over her body. They covered all major areas: her armpits, belly, and feet, but no inch of her went free from their power. More were printed over her arms, legs, palms, and even her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Erosthe giggled and snapped her fingers. Instantly, the woman shrieked into a fit of laughter. The marks glowed brightly all over her. Each one of them left the woman in shrieking hysteria. She fell to the ground and shook, her body contorting in desperation to make the tickles stop. The Sirens laughed at her display.
“Look at this one dance for us,” Erosthe said. “Each time she passes out, she earns herself a new mark.” Erosthe and the rest of the Sirens left the girl writhing on the cold, stone floor, screaming with hysterical laughter.
The rest of the room seemed to be far too preoccupied with the entertainment provided by Queen Nysadia’s supply of torture and misery. Several imps were kept suspended by their tails and wings to be tickled by whomever while beastie boys and girls were confined to cages to be chosen for their own personal tickle tortures. They were pulled out, tormented for the delight of the merciless Badlanders, and thrown back in at will.
In the center of the room, however, one such captive seemed to get more attention than any other. A spindly, humanoid girl floated in the middle for all to see. Her screams of laughter were added to all the others, yet seemed to come much louder and with an especially anguished tone of helplessness. She was sickly frail, her figure little more than skin and bones. Her eyes wore a veil of having witnessed tortures of eternity, wide and glossy. Her head bore no hair. Her voice was shrill and broken as she laughed and screamed. Across her back, two massive scars laid parallel to one another. What was once there had been effectively torn from her body, leaving her just a broken husk of a girl. Husk was her title.
The other Badlanders watching laughed, barked words to encourage the Husk’s torture further, and threw scraps of bones and fruit cores at her chest. She wore nothing except tattered shreds of cloth across her chest and waist. Around her body, a green glow held her in a still position, with her arms and legs spread to give everyone a full view of her body. The magic that kept her captive kept her in her ticklish tomb. It floated up from below her, radiating from the carved, circular door beneath her feet. The door to the Aurium Pruritum was closed, yet the magic within it flowed through cracks in the stone floor surrounding it. It captured the Husk, trapping her in the endless ticklish madness of the pit attacking every single nerve in her body while leaving her visible for all to observe.
As her voice bellowed over all the others, it suddenly came to a stop. The green light dimmed. The magic seemed to retract from the figure, dropping the tired husk to the hard ground below. Her body hit with a hard thud. Her arms and legs shook, barely strong enough to brace her fall. Her mouth hung agape. She swallowed for pitiful catches of air. She managed to push herself to her hands and knees, crawling slowly to the amusement of the surrounding Badlanders watching. They continued to throw garbage and moldy food at her. The Husk stopped and held her stomach.
“Better get a move on if you don’t want it to catch ya again!” shouted a thick, warty Stone Dweller. The Husk eyed a moldy apple core that rolled in front of her. She pushed herself toward it. Drool fell from her mouth. With one exhausted push at a time, she pressed forward, eyeing the fuzzy brown and green core.
“Almost there!” said a Badland Fiend, silver horned and floating just above the ground. Just as the Husk was about to reach the food, the green glow from the pit appeared around her skin once again. It dragged her back to right above the door to the pit and raised her high into the air. The Husk let out an unintelligible cry before being forced back into a fit of endless laughter. Everyone spectating let out a rousing, guttural laugh.
“Haha, better luck next time!” said another Stone Dweller,
At the head of the room, the Badland Castle throne sat upon a tower of steps. It was black steel and still equipped with compartments to hold prisoners with their soles pointed upward at the armrests. Against the back of it, the severed black wings of Tickela, the previous Badland Queen, splayed outward. A large Featherland Amphithere rested behind the throne, a creature far larger than any other in the room. Its shimmering feathered wings rested over its long, serpent body. It observed the room closely with glowing purple eyes. Puffs of fumes burst every so often from the nostrils at the end of its snout filled with sword-like teeth. By the side of the throne, a feline beastie stood at attention, a long spear gripped firmly in his paws.
The room started to fall more quiet when a dark figure appeared in the doorway. The cries of laughter from the prisoners continued, though the taunting jeers of the other Badlanders came to a hard end. Everyone's attention seemed to gravitate to their newest visitor with quiet reverence. They all knew of what the new Badland Queen was capable and willing to do to exercise her power. A long black cloak poured down her back, seeming to fade into a misty shadow at the very bottom. She walked fearlessly into the room, the heels of her boot clicking against the stone floor. A green mist poured from her long, black fingernails as she walked. A black hood rose over her head to shift fluidly into a pointed crown. Her face hid a clean, stoic beauty beneath the shadows of the hood. Her hair hung straight and bright yellow from beneath the hood, where most of what anyone else could see were two glowing green eyes, beaming with the same sinister magic of the Aurium.
The visiting Badlanders backed away. Her servants avoided eye contact. Her prisoners seemed to shrivel and make themselves as invisible to her as possible. Nysadia walked up to the Husk, floating and screaming in the center of the room. With one wave of her hand, she extinguished the magic holding her and dropped the frail husk to the ground once more. The Husk looked up weakly, her eyes barely able to stay open or focused. She shivered, her broken body reaching up to Nysadia standing over her.
“A-ah… mmph… m-mm… ple….” The Husk stuttered mindlessly.
“Aww, what’s the matter?” Nysadia asked, her voice almost hissing with disgust. “Have you had enough already?” The Husk’s lips quivered as she struggled to verbalize, though she managed a small nod. Nysadia shook her head. “That’s too bad. Because I haven’t.”
Nysadia waved her hand again. The green arua appeared back around the Husk’s skin, rising her back into the air. She let out another miserable wail before succumbing to more maddening tickles reaching every inch of her body at once. Nysadia’s guests chuckled, watching her work. The queen smirked and turned around to address them.
“Oh, you all like that, huh?” Nysadia asked, her eyes still glowing with the bright green magic. “Merely amateur compared to what this one deserves, don’t you think?” Her voice resonated throughout the room. The others around the room snickered. They cheered her on, encouraging the girl’s torment. “Let’s see if I’m feeling any more merciful after, hmmm… ten years.”
Nysadia held her hand up to the girl. The Husk shrieked until her voice seemed to fall silent. The magic started seeping into her mind. Her body froze in place, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Her figure shifted slightly, yet remained perfectly within Nysadia’s control. The queen sneered at the girl, her eyes glowing brighter than before.
“One…” Nysadia said. Her magic left the girl suspended in a passage of time perceivable to her and her alone. “Two…” The Husk’s jaw hung open. Her chest and throat quivered as if surrendering to an endless stream of laughter, though she made no sound. “Three…” The onlookers watched on, most with morbid interest, though others with expressions of horror, Nysadia’s power proving too brutal for even them. Those that watched witnessed Nysadia’s magic slipping into her mind, slowing her perception of time down to agonizing extremes. “Four… Five… Six…” Nysadia teased her own senses by watching and feeling the girl squirm in her mystic binds. She giggled to herself at listening to her silent, hopeless cries. “Seven… Eight… Nine…” The glow around the Husk’s body grew brighter still. Her expression darkened into one of further distress, her mind breaking, reforming, and breaking again over and over as the years passed through. “Ten.”
Nysadia freed the Husk from the magical veil. She dropped the girl back onto the hard ground. The Husk could only wheeze painfully for air. Her eyes stayed rolled into the back of her head. Her body shivered though she was far too spent of energy to make a single move on her own. Nysadia stared down at her for a moment.
“Hm, no, don’t think so,” she said. Before the Husk could catch her breath, she was lifted back up into the air. The power from the pit cloaked her bare body again, trapping her back in her exposed cell of eternal tickling. The Badlanders watching laughed. Some shivered and backed away. Nysadia gave them all a slight grin.
"Make her forget what peace of mind feels like," said Desmond, head incarnate of the Badland Fiends. He, like most other Fiends, wore deep amethyst colored skin. His eyes shined a sparkling red. Large silver horns branched from his forehead. He wore a fine cherry velvet robe with a feather-tipped tail that circled around from underneath. His command was over all Badland Fiends, a race known for their trickery and absence of sympathy.
"Send her over our way sometime, Nysadia!" shouted the patriarch of the Stone Dwellers, Vincent. Her was a girthy beast, as impossibly round as he was tall. Powerful legs managed to hold out beneath an inflated gut. When he laughed, his whole body shook, as did any other bodies in his vicinity. His skin was pale and patchy and littered with hairy boils. He ruled over Badland orcs, goblins, trolls, and other mountainous beasts.
"I personally could watch her suffer until the end of time," said another slimy voice from high above the room. Scaling down the wall with two of her sisters was Deborah, Hive Queen of the Badland Entys. With eight spindly legs clicking down the wall, Deborah herself was a Spinnerette, an arachnid creature with the upper body features of a human woman. Her arms and fingers were long, made for climbing surfaces and hunting prey in tight passages. Age had granted her and her sisters strength, intelligence, and experience. She commanded the Badland's insecteous beasts.
"Your patience will soon be rewarded," Nysadia said, addressing all of her Badland audience. "The final stages of the Aurium Absorption are finally beginning. Your eternal paradise will be built upon the shattering of the Featherlands and the suffering of all those who defy us.” Nysadia slammed her boot against the ground. A burst of the pit’s magic flowed out of it, pushing to the edges of the circular door underneath. Upon reaching it, the cracks in the stone around the door illuminated. The breaking and cracking of the foundation sounded over everything else. The stone started to crumble around the door. The cracks splintered out farther. The ground shifted. The pull of the pit’s abysmal vortex gave faint grasps of all those within reach. The magic within continued to shine through the new, thicker slits made in the floor. The hungry pit groaned and wailed with the cries of the souls trapped inside. The Badlanders looked down, watching as the maw of the Aurium expanded outward, the breaks in the stone gnashing like teeth.
“Absolute control,” Nysadia mumbled to herself. “So very near.” As the magic beneath the ground began to fade, Nysadia stood up straight. A sinister grin came over her slender, blood-tinted lips. She stood in the center of the room, turning to indulge in the theatrics of having everyone’s complete attention.
“Now then,” Nysadia spoke louder. “I trust you have all heeded my orders to withhold the expansion of your domains. I will not tolerate discourse between tribes. Your last queen, that foolish, hedonist witch, conducted herself far too cavalier. She was a child at play. She was no queen. And she pays dearly for her crimes to this throne, to this world, I assure you!” The crowd gave half-hearted cheers, some raising their weapons as a salute. The feline beastie standing by the throne stayed at attention, keeping his eyes on everyone and his mind on Nysadia’s order.
“Skewer the witch!” shouted a Fiend by the side of her head incarnate.
“Show no mercy!” added a mature addition to the Siren council.
“Curse Tickela’s reign!” said a Stone Dweller, holding up a large club.
“Spurn that witch’s name from your mouth, fool!” Nysadia shouted. She pointed to the small, hunched transgressor with one flaming green finger. “I shall not have that horrid crone’s moniker uttered in this castle!” The small troll limped back, bowing and muttering. “The next mouth I hear spit those wretched sounds will never know another second rest again, mark my words!” Her voice boomed. The Badlanders spectating and rousing the room fell deathly still. Nysadia’s burning eyes scanned over each one of them. Every major tribe of the Badlands had come with their leaders. They stood at attention while still passing each other cynical, toying glances to assert their prideful dispositions.
“Now then,” Nysadia broke through the timid silence, “Badland territory continues to stretch through the carcass of the once libertine Featherlands. We will keep pushing strongholds through those areas until we have snuffed out and captured all those that intend to defy us.”
“If I may, my Queen,” said Desmond, stepping forward. “I move to split the fallen fairy groves to the Entys, the Harpies, and of course, the Fiend tribes.”
“Absolutely not!” Gardia shouted, thrusting one wing out toward the Enty representatives. “We will not share any territory with those vile pests that should belong entirely to the Harpies.”
“‘Pests’, you say?” Deborah snapped. A girl bearing the winds and stinger of a wasp began to hover above her Spinnerette leader. She eyed down the Harpies, ready to defend her Hive Queen. Deborah raised one hand to quell her offense. “We outnumber any tribe here. If there’s land to claim, it should be ours!”
“Were neither of you listening to what the Queen just said?” Lyst said, her voice mature and cold. She sat back atop her seat, long legs pouring from a dress that shined in the fire light.
“It is simply a merger of the new proposed territory between those of us that have the least,” Desmond explained. “All of our numbers grow, but the torchlands for Fiends remain stagnant. We are a civil lot, I assure you. I suggest we come together and…”
“You’d burn it down and you know it,” Gardia said. “We’ve all seen what you kind does to hospitable space, Desmond. I wouldn’t want to put my people’s livelihoods in such a risky environment and I can’t imagine any of the others would either.”
“Our civility is conditional, lark,” Desmond said, smoke starting to rise from his horns. “I also propose you don’t make an enemy of us.”
“What are you all gripin’ about?” Vincent lashed out. “Just share the putrid lot!”
“In the interest of fairness, the fairy groves are better suited for the Entys and the Harpies,” Lyst suggested.
“Watch your tongue, harlot,” Desmond said, his tongue lashing at the siren head mistress. “I was prepared to compromise, but I will not do so at the expense of my people’s well being.”
“And we will not be sharing a single canopy with those parasites,” Gardia said.
“We’ll be happy to find you all a nice, snug web to stay in,” Deborah remarked.
A thunderous roar bellowed over the hall. The sound dropped all within it. The Badlanders slammed their hands against their ears as the Amphithere from behind the throne reared its head and let out a booming, reverbant call that shook the stone tower above. Dust and stone chips of stone came raining down upon all of them. Nysadia stood in the center, untouched and unfazed. Her cloak and hair wafted to the mighty cry of her draconic beast. The roar ceased. The room was left in near silence save for the endless ticklish torturing befalling the numerous castle servants and traveling entertainers. When the last of the roar’s echoes faded, Nysadia spoke once more.
“Did I not make myself clear?” the Badland Queen asked with a fuming snarl. “There will be no discourse between tribes! If that persists to be a problem, I will personally see to it that everyone in your tribe is reduced to petty minstrels in my court. You and your kin will have no reign and no land with which to call home. You’ll wish that I extinguished your kind completely from this world!” She paused to let her words resonate, the echoes reverbing the words in their heads. “My say is final. You will accept my orders or you will…”
Nysadia stopped once more when she noticed three beasts enter the room at once. Everyone turned their attention to the intruders. They were three of Nysadia’s shades, shadowy creatures that served the queen directly. The center of the shades began reforming its body. It stood from traveling on all fours to standing upright. Its soulless eyes, long snout, and gnashing teeth pulled back into a humanoid face. Its body remained dark and mysterious, standing like a woman at attention. The shade named Malis had bright yellow eyes and thin lips. Her facial features were basic and uniform with the others. The remaining two, Bianca and Jaslyn, reshaped as well. They each stood at attention and bowed their heads for Nysadia.
“M-my queen,” Malis said. Her voice was fair and feminine. It boasted hints at a distinct personality where the invariable forms they took did not. She stepped forward, keeping her head bowed. “Apologies for interrupting your council. I-I assure you, we would not have if it was not for urgent matters.”
“What is it?” Nysadia asked. The shades all lifted their heads.
“M-my queen, we observed…” said Jaslyn. She paused, looking to the others.
“Yes?” Nysadia said, impatiently. “Do you intend to waste my time?”
“No, my queen!” the shades all said.
“My queen, we regret to inform you…” Bianca started, shaking as she fought to get out the words.
“The Featherland Queen, your majesty,” Malis continued. “She’s returned.” An eerie breeze came over the chamber. The Badland leaders, which had recently been overly vocal and opinionated, fell silent. They all looked back at the shades with uneasy disbelief. The feline beastie by the throne seemed to step forward, listening closely.
“Are you certain?” Leon, the beastie advisor finally spoke in his low, gravely tone. “The Featherland Queen?” The shades themselves shifted at the shift in the room’s energy.
“Y-yes,” Bianca said. Nysadia stood motionless. His eyes wide, yet vacant, staring down at the ground. “She came through a gate made by the sorcerer named Paul. Leon turned to the queen for a response. Nysadia turned around, away from prying eyes. Her hands shook. Her throat quivered. The mystic green light of the pit’s magic faded from her eyes. A ghastly expression came over her face, drained of color.
“Si… Sil…” she mumbled. Nysadia gnashed her teeth. She gripped the sides of her head, bending over and clenching in pain. Her body shook and twisted. She winced through long grunts. When she finally opened her eyes, the green light had returned. Nysadia stood up straight. The pain in her face had vanished. It was replaced by a small, deviant grin. She turned to face the shades once more.
“The Featherland Queen, you say?” Nysadia asked. “She’s returned?”
“Y-yes, your highness,” said Malis.
“After we went through so much trouble keeping her out of our hair, our dear Queen Silvia has finally returned,” Nysadia announced loudly. “Well, this is excellent news indeed. As a delightful little cherry on top, our sweet little Queen Silvia of the Featherlands can personally witness the complete ruin of her delightful little world of fairies and wishes. Oh, this is wonderful news indeed. So where is she?” The shades all looked at each other.
“O-oh, your highness,” Jaslyn started, “we merely witnessed her return. After which, we came here to inform you.”
“W-we thought you would like to know first,” Bianca added. Nysadia looked between each of them.
“Ah, so you saw her return… and then left without capturing her?” Nysadia asked. The color started to drain from their faces.
“W-well, your highness, we thought it w-would have been better if-” Malis started before being cut short. Nysadia raised her hand. Her fingers burned with a green flame, her eyes glowing with the same shade as the tortuous magic from within the pit. All three shades screamed as they each glowed. The aura around them swallowed their bodies until their forms inside turned into shapes of green mist. The faintest elements of laughter broke through each of their screams. They floated up into the air. They twisted and struggled. They cried out, their voices quickly breaking into absolute agony. As the magic around them reduced each shade to beings of pure energy, Nysadia flung her hand toward the door to the pit. The three writhing, screaming beings of light shot toward it, seeping through the cracks to get devoured completely by the hungry, tickling abyss.
Another silence fell over the room. The space which once held the screams of Nysadia’s scouts was then only an airy void with nothing more in that world than their ghostly echoes. Nysadia’s eyes narrowed. Her lips twitched. She straightened herself out and turned.
“May this be a reminder to you all on what happens to those that fail me,” Nysadia said. The tribe leaders and their kin watched on intently. “I have waited… too long to allow failure in my court. I will not tolerate incompetence. I will not tolerate resistance. I will not tolerate anything that may undermine the Absorption!” Nysadia calmed herself. She passed by beneath the Husk. She waved her hand and the girl fell, free from her mystic binds, once again. She wheezed and spit up. The Husk hobbled weakly on her hands and knees. Nysadia made her way up to her throne. She sat and looked over the watchful eyes in the room.
“So here is what’s going to happen,” Nysadia continued. “I must not have that petulant child interfering with my plans! I thought keeping her sealed off from the Featherlands would do just that, but it seems as though she’s found her way back. As such, I would like the Featherland Queen Silvia brought to me personally. I must have her in my possession to make sure she does not cause any trouble on her own. The first tribe to bring her to me alive, I will give complete dominion over the fairy groves and any of its vermin still hiding beneath the surface.” The Badlanders perked up. Several leaders looked back at Nysadia curiously while others snickered among their kind. Nysadia smirked, leaning back in her seat. “That is my order. Now go!”
In an instant, the council Badlanders scrambled for the door. Roars and grunts and battle cries sounded out through the halls. The Fiends slipped into the shadows where they vanished from the room. The Harpies took to the sky, flying upward toward the door atop the tower ceiling. The rest poured out of the room, chattering and challenging each other. They pulled with them their servants and trophies. Their footsteps stormed through the corridors beyond the throne room, bursting forward toward the castle gates. Nysadia watched them all leave before calling over two of her own servants, a human boy and a female canine beastie.
“You two, take this worthless beast to her cell,” Nysadia said, gesturing toward the Husk. They bowed and hurried to fulfill the order, picking the Husk’s body and dragging her out of the room.
“My queen, surely you don’t need so many to go capture one human girl,” Leon said, standing next to her. Nysadia stroked his furry arm with her long, boney fingers.
“You can’t be too careful with who you trust, Leo,” Nysadia said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that.” Nysadia snapped her fingers and raised her hand. The Amphithere behind the throne raised its head once against. It pushed its gargantuan body up by its wings and began to flap. “Be a good boy and find her for momma, Laughiathan. Bring her back here to me. And if you see anyone going against my wishes, or if anyone she’s traveling with gives you any trouble, I give you permission to devour them.” The giant, winged serpent roared again and shot off into the air. Its body slithered upward toward the ceiling door, bursting into the tainted Badland sky. Nysadia’s hair and cloak flapped in the wind her pet left behind. She watched it soar away with pride. “So majestic."
“Your majesty, what do you intend to do to the Featherland Queen once you've captured her?" Leon asked. Nysadia paused and smirked. Her fingers stroked the side of his arm. The silence left over from the sudden emptying of her chamber allowed her to hear the chorus of wailing laughter coming from deep within the castle. She looked around the empty chamber as the Husk was dragged around the corner. Sparkles ignited from the green fumes of her eyes.
"The same thing we did to the fairy,” said Nysadia.
