Story 775: The Laughing Death

The palace doors burst open, their golden inlays now stained black with decay. Selene Nocturna stepped through the threshold, her presence an unholy plague unto the once-majestic halls of Vareth’s royal keep.

Her hollow laughter echoed, sharp and twisted, a symphony of suffering woven into every note. It slithered through the corridors, gnawing at the edges of sanity, a dreadful sound that made even the ghosts of this place shudder.

The throne room was a sight of desperation. King Aldric, draped in his once-proud regalia, clutched the armrests of his throne with white-knuckled defiance. The remaining nobles cowered behind him, some grasping rusted weapons, others frozen in fear, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"You should not be here, witch," Aldric growled, his voice wavering despite the steel in his words.

Selene grinned, blood and bile coating her lips.

"And yet, here I stand."