As the revel began, debauchery was not sparse in any corner of the castle.

By the spiral staircase of thorns and glistening gold, a boy playing a lyre sloppily kissed a pixie. Her lips were smeared with the remnants of a honeyed kiss.

A group of elves, adorned in rings and lavish dresses, drank from glasses of cream as they laughed, danced, and reveled in craze.

And even those who were most composed during the day, took the night of celebration to kiss, and drink, and enjoy the mirth of the moon. All except one.

In the dim corner of the ball room, a girl with sharp teeth and a red cap to match her gown swayed in place, watching as everyone got further and further from reality.

Soon they’d be too drunk to notice her slip into the chambers, and steal back what once was hers.