Moth Wings and Midnight Charms

By Sophia Rogan

The night had just ended from the annual third harvest event of the year. Samhain was not a festive event like the other two harvests; it was an ending to the year, a time of mourning, when magic strikes a thin line between the membranes of the world of the living and the world of the dead. 

Fire crackled and swayed, drifting smoke into the night sky. The only sound beyond the flame were the whispers and chatters of men huddled around the golden warmth, telling haunted stories. The healer had grown all too familiar with these evenings since her first night in the camps a month ago. Her patients, with careful patience and medicine, had grown strong again. She would leave at dawn. 

“Althea,” called a man’s voice, followed by the heavy crunching of dirt and rock beneath his tacky leather boots. He approached her by her tent, where she sat outside to observe the night with a steaming tea mug in her hands.

“Evening, Mister Ellsworth.” Althea set down her tea. “What can I do for you?” 

“There’s a man – a traveler – who wishes to speak with you alone by the thicket towards the lake.” He nervously glanced around them, as if someone would overhear his next words. “I don’t trust the look of him. I can gather some men to come with you.” 

Gracefully jumping to her feet, the healer strung a bow over her side and shook her head. The men and families here had grown to care for her as though she were one of them. She’d saved countless of their children and women from a growing sickness on this side of the country, and when she refused to be paid for her services, they treated her as a daughter amongst their people. She refused to let any of them risk themselves on her behalf.

“I’ll handle it myself.” Althea touched a hand to his shoulder. “Could you go to check on the Thatcher family for me until I return?”  

When Ellsworth nodded and turned on his heel, she began her way out of the camp towards the lake. 

On the sandy waterbank, far from the fires that illuminated the camps, Althea unstrung her bow from her shoulders and searched the darkness for the man who had summoned her out. Her name was a known one amongst the continent, and she would be unsurprised if someone had found her here in hopes for her medicinal services, but she couldn’t be too safe. Especially tonight, with the veil between the dead and living worlds so weak.

The snap of a twig whirled Althea towards the thick woods that neighbored the lake. An arrow was docked and drawn, pointed directly into the darkness of the forest beneath the trees. Two inhuman eyes were peering back out at her. 

She released the bowstring, and the point of her arrow cracked into the wood of a tree. The gaze vanished. 

Muttering a curse under her breath, she turned back towards the lake, only to collide with a large figure. The metallic smell of ancient magic filled her senses. She looked above her to see a looming, inhuman man covered in a cloak made of black feathers staring at her with beady eyes. 

Althea reached for her side pocket, where she kept her dagger sheathed. Before she could unveil her hidden weapon, the tall creature had lifted up a fine letter with a spider-like hand to her nose. She looked towards the letter, admiring its jasmine-scented paper and the stunning tyrian-purple wax seal with the crest of a raven. She gingerly took it from the bony fingers that offered it to her, careful not to break the wax crest as she opened the message.

“You are invited to the Ball of Undead,” she read aloud, to no one in particular. “A night of peace, joy, and fine dining. Use a name and mask of preference until the moon’s highest hour. From nine to midnight. Meet at the bed of the Great Lake for your escort.”

Althea finished the letter and peered back up at her monstrous postman. “I think you meant to give this to someone else.” 

With a low growl, it lowered its hand and began its way into the forest, ignoring the healer’s reply. He returned to the shadows, underneath the thick canopy of trees, leaving Althea alone to consider the letter in her hands. 

She only had several minutes before the given time. Whoever extended the mysterious invitation clearly had no mindfulness to her schedule, either. 

The curiosity eating away at her, Althea continued on her path towards the lake, invitation in hand. The sky had grown pitch black and glittered with starlight, yet the dull lights from a faraway city to her north and the four looming camps to her south had blurred away the beauty. Althea looked to the ever-dancing waters and examined the path ahead. No sign of a party.

Magic wafted through the air, and the scent of the familiar jasmine oils. She lifted her head towards the lake, where another one of those strange, tall men was lazily paddling a wooden boat towards the sandy bank, groaning tiredly as it did so. Althea approached her ride. 

It made room for her on the boat and grumbled quietly as if in greeting, and she sat herself on the other side, hands in her lap. 

The thing began to row the way back, clearly in no conversing mood. Althea settled herself in her seat and began to examine the creative carvings on the boat’s exterior, running a fingertip through the wooden crevices. She hadn’t noticed the gateway the boat had flowed through, the lake becoming a river of stars. 

Althea raised her head to the sky and admired the most beautiful night beyond the world of man. To the north, there stood a massive overgrown citadel extending around the unworldly island. Lights and laughter showed from the glorious windows. 

The boat docked at a nearby stairwell, inviting Althea upward. She said her goodbyes to the monster-man, though it gave no reply, and made her way to the top of the staircase. Behind her, bushes of beautifully intoxicating flowers waved a greeting in the wind. Inside, the energy of a lively room filled with chattering delight and warmth welcomed her in as magic moved around her, enchanting her with her own masquerade mask of a silver fox. Her ragged hunter’s wear had replaced itself with a suit-dress of silver royal tones and fabric, complimenting her light-colored hair, and adorned her with silver cuffs. 

Althea was a woman of magic herself, but she hadn’t seen such wonderful power in what felt to be centuries. The citadel itself was alive. 

She wandered into the crowds, partygoers passing by her in fine clothes and tailored masks to hide their faces or lack of. Most were not human. The servants that stumbled by were more of those monstrous bird men. Althea couldn’t help to wonder if she was late to the event, considering the grand festivity that had commenced prior to her arrival. 

“You’re quite on time, actually,” said a voice. Althea turned to face a woman, just several inches above her, donning a mask made of golden moth wings and a more exquisite golden dress. 

“Sorry?” Althea stumbled back. 

“You can never be late to the Citadel of Time, sweetheart,” she explained, a playful grin behind the moth mask. “Not with the Lord of Time and his peculiarities about schedule. You’d think that after a thousand years, he’d be less prickly about it. Tonight, my name is Lady Saffron. And you?” 

Althea’s breath caught. She hadn’t had the time to consider a name for the masquerade, and those golden eyes of Saffron’s had left her blank. 

“Lady Silver, then,” Saffron decided, extending a hand in greeting. “I have a feeling we’re going to be wonderful friends.” 

“Likewise,” Althea managed to speak, reaching her hand to shake Saffron’s. But the woman gently snatched Althea’s hand in hers and kissed her knuckles as if she were royalty. 

Lady Saffron sauntered off another guest, and just as Althea turned to explore more of the citadel’s interior, she found the silver cuffs on her arms had gone missing. 

Hours passed. She’d met with nearly every guest in view, though there were still hundreds more to greet. The monster-men served each masked guest with fine wines and treats. Not all the guests resembled humans; some slithered, some flapped, some went on all fours, some weren’t even living. Althea had been sure this was nothing more than a dream, yet the beauty of this world compelled her to stay. 

Guests had begun to notice missing valuables, as some gasped at missing pearls or rings. Althea looked back to where Saffron had vanished into the crowd hours before, catching a glimpse of the golden-dressed woman heading for the balconies. 

Althea, a healer of morals, couldn’t disregard the theft. She followed. 

The balconies were just as extraordinary as the rest of the citadel. Flowers climbed up the railings and columns. There was a clear view of the extraordinary night sky that surrounded the island. 

Saffron leaned against the railings, examining the jewelry in her bewitching golden hands, like a hunter studying her caught quarry. Althea joined her side, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Could I have my cuffs? My dress doesn’t look nearly as nice without them.” Althea drawled. 

Saffron grinned. “Now, sweetheart, whyever would you believe me to be some sort of pickpocketing thief?” 

Althea plucked one of the little diamond necklaces from Saffron’s hands for emphasis and looked up at the alluring woman with a raised brow. 

The grin vanished, and Saffron let out a long sigh. “Fine, yes, you may have your silly little silvers. But for a price.” 

Not being particularly attached to her bracelets, yet being too enticed by the woman to not play along, Althea grinned. “Tell me.” 

She leaned closer, a dangerous smile on her gold-painted lips. “One kiss. Give me one kiss, and your cuffs, alongside everyone else’s trinkets, will be returned to them before the end of the night. Good?” 

Her blue eyes widened just enough to draw a laugh from her companion. 

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Saffron offered. “Just close your eyes.” 

Althea wasn’t entirely sure what convinced her, if it was just for the promised return of the jewels or out of her own discreet desires, but her eyes fluttered shut. 

She felt careful hands removing the silver mask on her face, and the brush of a thumb on her cheek. Anticipation nipped at her chest. 

Lips caught hers, stealing her breath away. Althea forgot what their bargain was, or what she was trying to gain back. 

Cold metal slid onto her wrists, which she recognized as her cuffs. 

Althea opened her eyes to the darkness of her tent. The bonfires of the camps had long ceased. The air was cold and brisk. She looked down to her clothes, her hunter’s gear, the silver dress and mask gone. Her bags were packed at the side of her bedding. Everything was in its place, the wonders of the Citadel of Time and the lovely Saffron somewhere far away. 

She retrieved her bags and greeted the several men outside who had saddled her horse. They stowed her things and kissed her cheek in goodbye. 

Ellsworth came up alongside the steed as she mounted, adjusting the cloak on her shoulders. 

“Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve helped so many of us without asking anything in return. Your reputation precedes you,” Ellsworth commented, dipping his head. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Ellsworth.” Althea tugged on the mare’s reins, shrugging off the reeling in her mind. “I should be going before I begin to lose daylight.” 

Althea looked back once more, and with a quick whistle, the mare cantered off towards the lake. After gaining control of the reins and turning into the direction of the northern city, Althea looked to the horse’s mane, noticing a resting gold moth grasp at the black fur. A smile crossed her lips.