The Last of the Harvest

[vicioussweetie]

All in all, it was shaping up to be a splendid Halloween. The whole family had dressed up as various famous works of art--even the babies, although they were forced to be cherubs. The day had been full and busy, starting with a last trip out to the orchards for apples and pears and a glorious day in the sun. The braver souls partook of a haunted

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[somthing_winter]

Time is not always so kind; as the wheel of the seasons turn, now and again come gaps when something might slip through. Samhain has long been one of those times, a night when the world of men and the world of spirits lie parted by only the thinnest of gossamer veils; a border so tenuous that something could very well cross over.

Nothing comes through without leaving a sign of its passing, though, and the more potent the passer, the greater the sign. A lord of the Sidhe, and the passel of nightmare-creatures harrying him, for instance, might emerge with a thunderclap felt in the souls of fae across the whole of Boston, as the night's chill takes on a sudden, vicious edge.

To the revelers in Boston Commons, however, such events pass unnoticed. Only a single soul will even notice as, having stepped away from the gathering for a moment's air, he finds himself torn from his body and cast across the screaming, dreaming void toward Arcadia. Someone else has more pressing need for his flesh.

[vicioussweetie]

The revelers may well remember this night as the most chilling Halloween party they've ever experienced, though it's doubtful any of them could really explain why. A vague dread, a sense that something wicked their way came... stuff and nonsense, to the mortal world; nothing about that could hurt them.

Not with so proactive a lady as Aisling nearby, at least. Before the nightmares think to leave off with the Sidhe and take up with less defended mortal morsels, she arrives, bursting with energy and making far too appetizing a target to allow anything else to claim their attention. Fortunately, she's one sweet treat that can take care of herself.

[somthing_winter]

The nightmares are happy to turn their attention to Ali; they are old things, from far in the Deep Dreaming, dragged far from their lairs in pursuit of the morsel who will no longer be enough to sate them. She, however, could ease much of the gnawing hunger they feel. Enough that they could consume the rest of the revelers at their leisure.

The lord they pursued, in raiment black and silver, had not asked Ali's aid, but is by no means in a position to refuse it. Wordlessly he battles the nightmares, coordinating with her as much as circumstances allow. Tattered and wounded though he is, he carries himself with an unmistakably regal bearing, even in the midst of battle.

[vicioussweetie]

Ali doesn't see it as her place to wait to be asked. She's the Duchess, and it's her job to protect everyone in her lands until they give her a good reason to do otherwise. So he's just going to have to get used to the idea of being saved. But he should look on the bright side: she's not picking him up like a potato sack to deposit elsewhere while she has all the fun. At least, not as long as he's on his feet.