In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In the Lair of the Draca (Book 2) [Part Two], Chapter 89: Luchek in the Lair

Having slipped in and out of fitful sleep for more than forty-eight hours, Dragura was torn out of slumber yet again, but this time to the sound of a set of emerald chimes outside of the bedroom window.

With her heart in her throat, Dragura shot up in bed like a living corpse-- the Heavens knew she certainly looked like one as of late-- and strained in the direction of the window.

*tink-tink-tink-tink*

There it came again. Her experiment had worked! The potential to turn her miserable luck topsy-turvy bloomed anew in Dragura's belly.

Like a child eager to ravage a tower of birthday gifts, she shoved her satin sheets aside and hopped onto the cold stone floor. Dragura snatched a robe off of a lopsided rack and hastily threw it around her shoulders, donning her favorite slipppers on her way to the mirror. The answer to all of her hopes, prayers, and dreams sat wrapped in one of Dragura's own quilts on the Sacrificial Ledge just beneath the lattice, and it simply wouldn't do for her to look like the un-dead when she hauled in her prized catch.

Long gone were the anxious, globe-eyed maid-servants Dragura had kept employed in her downstairs chambers for so many years. After a mortifying defeat which saw her beloved fortress fall and her carefully crafted reputation crumble like so much powdered granite, most of the maids had either perished from the cold (Dragura's glass windows had been destroyed) or fled into the night, joining the long streams of refugees abandoning Hidden Well and DayBreak for the safety of Looks Thrice Village. Two of the older maids, too weak to travel, had been discovered by Dragura dead in their beds, glassy-eyed and still foaming from the arsenic they'd swallowed. And not even the Draca she'd kept chained to the castle-top turrets remained for Dragura's cause. Her crafty, good-for-nothing maids had suceeded in their 'training program' to domesticate the brutes, fleeing the fortress grounds on the creatures' scaly backsides...and after all she'd done for them.

"Help...help! Is there anybody out there?"

Dragura's frozen heart skipped a beat when the stilted English words reached her ears.

A spluttering cough resonated. "Please-- it is cold, too cold..."

Dragura knew there wasn't any time to lose. She'd have to reel in her catch, and quickly, before the feeble thing collapsed on the Ledge and perished.

But first things first.

Shuffling to her once-luxurious vanity, Dragura peered into the glass and tried with monumental effort not to cringe at the reflection radiating back.

What she saw in the mirror resembled more of a witch than any respectable queen. Swollen bags interwoven with burst purple blood vessels sagged beneath both eyes. Dragura's mouth was peaked and her skin deathly pale, but what was most difficult to reconcile with was the state of her hair. Gone was its vibrant jade lustre. Each strand was as dry as hay, giving Dragura the appearance of a vain scare-crow, and she'd gone grey almost overnight. Her cheeks were sunken. Her forehead was lined with the deep grooves of faltering worry. And were those...crow's feet?

*TINK-TINK-TINK*

"Someone! Anyone!"

Dragura blinked and rubbed her eyes furiously, dissociating herself from her daze. Rushing to the lattices, she flung them open and was nearly blasted off her feet by the force of a frigid gale.