Tales of the Night Tide (3)
Inspired by Weird Tales
The Lady Marquesa
A glorious blue moon floated in the night sky, joined with thousands of gem-like stars glistening in orbit. Their celestial divinity is reflected in the running waterways below. Nearly 300 nobility and aristocratic patrons gathered in a large, well-lit patio. In the distance, an enormous mansion of Mediterranean design stood. Every guest was physically appealing, well-dressed, and simply beautiful. They laughed, danced, and spoke for a time before a loud tapping of glass could be heard.
"Loyal retainers! Esteemed guests! Dear friends." A man spoke in a thick French accent. His curly hair is a stylish, organized mess. "...I present before you our most loving, beautiful, and generous patron, The Lady Marquesa!" he informed, as his outstretched arm gestured in the direction of a set of stairs leading down the vast patio. The guests applauded passionately at the sight of a young woman walking down a slight set of stairs, her thick curly hair held up with a large thornless rose and covered by a black silk net that hung down the back of her hair past her neck. Her dress was black, hugged her curves, and left her shoulders bare. Red frills looped at an angle, from her left hip down to her right knee. The angle exposed her leggings from her left side from her knee down.
She extended her left hand out to her side at a slight upwards angle. The Frenchman took her hand, kissed it gently, and escorted her down the remaining stairs to a large private dining table that overlooked the rest. The Frenchman spoke again. "Guests! It is my honored pleasure and sheer joy to announce to all of you..." He was quiet for a moment, looking endearingly at the Marquesa, as she returned the look. Turning his attention back to the audience, he continued, "...Lady Marquesa and I...are to be wed!"
The crowd cheered wildly, whistling and clapping. A distant voice shouting, "You lucky swine!" The Frenchman continued on for a moment, stating that the wedding would take place in the next few nights and that all guests were welcome. He seated his mistress at their private dining table, accompanied by at least a dozen others, all congratulating the couple.
"At this grand evening, Moi Cherie... I took the liberty of ordering your favorite tonight," said the Frenchman, his charming smile barely hiding behind his interlocked hands resting in front of his face. The dish arrived almost the instant he mentioned it. With a flutter of her long lashes, she squinched her face a bit in a flirtatious way towards him as she raised her wine glass to her lips, taking a small sip. She suddenly paused mid-drink, her facial expression displaying confusion.
"Is something the matter, Moi Cherie?" The Frenchman asked, as his intended put a napkin up to her mouth, clearly spitting something into it. Her eyes widened in terror as she inspected the object, a fat, squirming, half-eaten maggot. In a panic, she threw the napkin onto the table, onto what she could now see was a butchered human body resting on a large, dark silver serving plate.
Its arms and lower torso severed clean off, midsection sliced open like a Christmas ham. Its eyes dilated as it stared at her, coughing up droplets of blood as it gasped for air. The Marquesa's chair fell back as she shot up in horror. "Moi Cherie?!" The Frenchman began as he stood up. It was then she noticed him, his eyes! An animalistic and orange, his teeth razor sharp. The others who were seated rose as well, asking her in gentle voices, "What is wrong?" They too, bearing similar features. Glowing orange eyes and fangs. Their plates filled with fresh meat, dripping drops of thick, syrupy red.
"She is having another attack; quick, her medication!" The Frenchman demanded as he forced her back into the chair. Several of the guests are surrounding the Marquesa, looking on in concern. The Marquesa tried to resist, but she was not strong enough to break the hold of all those holding her down. "Moi Cherie," the Frenchman said to her, his expression slowly fading from concern, becoming a sinisterly wicked grin. As did those who surrounded her, "...drink this." He said coyly. His fingers applied pressure to her neck, causing her mouth to rest open.
Continuing to struggle and fight, she watched in sheer terror as her 'intended' poured a large glass filled with thick red wine into her mouth.