With a crack as loud as thunder, splintered wood exploded into the chamber.

The door swung gently open and in stepped a figure clad in armour. The plates ground together and clunked with each furtive step taken into the chamber. Armour like this was hard to come by and so was not worn by any run of the mill soldier, but by a knight. A gallant hero besmirched with scratches and scrapes from arduous adventures and ferocious fights.

The knight sheathed his longsword, still glistening with a claret sheen afforded to him from the emptied veins of a once monstrous dragon that now lay still, cooling at the bottom of the tower steps.

A gloomy darkness blanketed the chamber before him. This is not what he was expecting. Tales told this tower was the prison of a most splendid and beautiful princess who was sequestered away by her jealous kin for being the most fair of all the Elven maidens. Someone of such beauty would not live in the dank destitution presented by the crumbling walls and cracked floors of this cold and uninviting chamber.

Peering through the dim light, the knight could make out little of furnishings in the room. Beneath the barred window sat a small wooden table and chair set for one adorned with dusty aged crockery and rusted utensils. Flecks of spoiled food long since perished bled into the woodwork, sprouting small colonies of sweetly smelling fungal growths. The princess was clearly neglected for any decent maid would have cleared this mess long ago. A thought stirred within the knight and spurred a flash of anxiety. Where was the princess?

He sharply turned to face deeper into the room and was met with a soft silken curtain blackened with mildew that caught what little breeze passed between the bars on the window. Billowing ever so slightly, the stained veil obscured a low and narrow bed, atop of which lay a figure still as stone.

For fear he was too late, the knight hastened across the room. One hand upon the hilt of his sword, the other groped for the curtain and tore it aside to reveal a shocking site.

Laid atop not a bed but a slab of chiselled marble was a delicately carved and ornate relief of the princess. Carvings of this kind were not uncommon but were typically reserved to graveyards and crypts. This was no prison; it was a tomb.

Disheartened, the knight stood for some time. Standing a silent sentinel over the final resting place of the princess until he could no longer, the knight gave a gentle caress across the relief’s cold grey cheek and whispered a gentle prayer before turning to leave.

His attention was arrested by what stood just beyond the foot of the stone coffin on the far side of the chamber. Not the rotting dresser that had seen better days, but the box that sat atop it.

A fine ebony box wrought with intricate golden filigree caught the diminishing light and radiated a powerful opulence that drew the knight towards it. The knight picked up the expertly crafted box and felt something rattle inside. Unfastening the tiny latch and opening the box revealed, sunk in a bed of black velvet, a plum-coloured fleshy sack that both resembled and stunk of a butcher’s leftovers. It writhed and pulsed with a weak regular beat, squelching slightly with every throb.

The knight almost dropped the box and its contents as he wretched at the sight of the ghastly thing. As disgusting as it was, the knight could not take his eyes of it. The thudding of each beat was oddly enchanting, the sound slowly rising the closer he got. The pulsing mass occupied every corner of his hazy mind, forcing out all but one thought.

He had to touch it.

Morbid curiosity got hold of him, and against his better judgement, after placing the box back on the dresser he reached out with trembling gauntleted fingers and prodded the obscurity.

It ceased beating.

Coming out of the daze like one waking from a deep slumber cleared the knights mind, any and all thoughts of the fleshy sack slipped away like a fading dream. He had no memory of touching the thing but knew he had stopped the beating himself.

A cool terror then slowly traced its way down his spine, teasing his nerves with icy fingers that penetrated through his flesh and into his soul. Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the chill deepened. A sudden overwhelming feeling of dread washed over him, diving out any semblance of positive thought or emotion.

Black fog seeped from under the lid of the sarcophagus and pooled in an inky layer across the floor. The knight turned to watch as a shape took form from the mist. Columns of coal-black smoke spiralled in the frozen air, coiling and twirling into a wispy mass that took a more solid form.

Suspended on stilts of smoke and wreathed in a shroud dark as night hung a grisly phantom bearing a resemblance to the princess. Her hair wispy and grey as clouds bellowed from a drawn and pallid face twisted into a silent scream. It wasn’t the grey-green gangrenous flesh or the yellowed nails as sharp as talons but the pale vacancy behind those dulled eyes that truly filled the knight with fear.

Neither moved nor spoke for what felt like an age. Stunned silence filled the room as they stared at each other. The knight then made a move for his sword, but She was faster.

One of her gnarled bony hands snapped forward with a sickening crack, each crooked finger clamping down upon the steel helm of the hopeless knight. He screamed as the steel buckled and bent not from pressure but from freezing cold all the while his cloudy white soul was drawn from nose, mouth, and eyes into the gaping mouth of the princess.

His lifeless corpse slumped to the floor, a layer of frost coating the front of his helm where it had been touched by the princess. She too dropped to the floor in a cloud of smoke that broke away like ripples on a lake.

All was still upon the surface of the fog until it was broken by an island of pink that rose to take the shape of a young woman. There stood the princess, fully formed and as beautiful as she had been in life. Long flowing hair as red as fire kissed her pale milky skin as she stepped over the knight towards the box. Drawing it level with her emerald eyes she saw the fleshy mass, now glowing a warm orange-red from within, beating a strong and steady rhythm.

Finally, after centuries she had finally returned to the mortal world with a fire in her heart that could only be extinguished by one thing, and one thing alone. Revenge.

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If you liked this, you can find more of my writing here r/TheHiveWithUdders