The Dead Man’s Palace
VI
Havana’s quiet but terrifying routine was over.
As soon as she woke that final morning,
greeted by the once-corpse man,
the bright but silent palace was filled with life.
The front door echoed open and voices
rose to their location on the second floor.
The man seemed unconcerned at the invasion.
The excited twittering drew near,
steps heading straight to their occupied room.
Havana was still woozy with blood loss,
her vision swaying as people began to enter
-servants and nobles clustered together-
and sinking into a submissive bow,
knees touching the reflective floor
and heads lower than their spines.
The man expressed no pleasure
from their biddable postures,
sparing them only a quick glance
and a dismissive nod.
‘My future bride needs rest,
and I want the wedding preparations
to begin immediately.’
He’d been staring at Havana,
a hungry glint in his eyes
that made her step away.
A sudden thought darkened his features,
searching through the assembled devotees.
‘Where’s the witch? Where’s Lidea?’
Havana was insistently led to
a large bedchamber, already occupied
with a heavy portion of food,
both cold and hot, raw and cooked.
She found herself staring at a bloody steak
with longing before self-repulsion
pulled her away.
The iron smell was enticing her
like an intoxicating flower.
She ignored it and collapsed on the
freshly made-up bed, too weak
to blanch at her impropriety.
When she became aware again
her mouth was filled with the now-cold steak,
blood dripping down her chin
and staining her skin.
She paused in horror, but after
a few moments her eyes drooped with resignation
as she continued to tear into the meat.
When she next woke the food carnage
she’d left had been removed.
A maid stood waiting, her smile firm
despite the blood coating Havana and the bed.
‘The bath is ready for you, my lady.’
Havana’s mind was clearer now,
but a lack of conviction made her follow.
How would she begin to explain she was a slave?
Hadn’t they noticed her appearance?
They entered a wood-panelled room
where a full-length iron bath waited.
She stripped without any prompting,
colouring the water red as soon as she
sank into it. She froze again,
memories surfacing of the past week.
The maid scrubbed at Havana’s skin, humming.
They dressed her in a beautiful yellow gown
that made her feel stiff with shame.
She had never even touched material so fine before
and now it clung to her skin,
exposing her as deceitful.
But still she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
‘His Majesty wishes to see you.’
Dread and fear was there,
but a wave of longing and excitement
also entered her, footsteps
no longer reluctant as she was
led to the ground floor.
The throne floor was grand,
white like the rest of the palace,
its bright reflective floor hurting Havana’s eyes.
Tapestries different shades of red
decorated the walls, proudly displaying
the same family crest.
A white ankh.
The corpse man sat on a white throne,
now wearing a white suit and a red cape,
a crown resting naturally on his head.
‘Ah, my saviour,’ he cooed,
making Havana’s mind melt into confusion again,
‘I hope you feel recovered.’
He stepped down from his throne,
waving a hand, a motion that had every servant
and guard scatter from the room.
‘Our wedding will be soon,
your reward for feeding me your magic
for fifteen months, and your life for a week.
You are a delightful surprise, my love,
I have never tasted such energy.’
He cupped Havana’s face in his hands,
breathing in deeply with his mouth
pressed against her neck.
‘Perhaps I was too greedy,
I can’t sense it in you anymore.’
He withdrew a little, bringing his own
wrist to his mouth and biting down.
The copper tang made Havana’s mouth water.
The man laughed, amused but tender.
‘Oh yes, my eager darling,
it’s my turn to share.
I can’t have a weak wife at my side.’
Havana wasn’t sure if she
grabbed his wrist or he lifted it to her mouth,
but she couldn’t deny the eagerness.
She sucked at it, drawing out every
drop of blood she could.
A strength and confidence she’d
never experienced flooded through her
with every swallow, washing away
the obedient, meek slave girl
with no name.
At his tugging she let go,
still high on power to be too greedy.
‘Ah yes, I forgot. The servants found
a woman sleeping in a room upstairs.
Pretty, but looking half-starved.
Who is she?’
The euphoria snapped away
as Havana gasped, horror and shame
resurfacing, making her remember.
Miss Cecilia! How could I forget?
She looked up at the man,
seeing the terrifying creature instead
of being drunk on his beauty and blood.
What have I become?
‘She’s no one.’ Havana spoke,
voice sounding confident, eyes challenging.
‘Just a slave I bought, who did
nothing but sleep.’
Her fate was sealed now,
she was already part-monster,
but she would protect Miss Cecilia,
no matter what it took.
Scribbled Thoughts 