The Nutcracker Bleeds

by Lani Lenore

  A wicked smile emerged on the puppet’s face, but he tried to keep it down before the soldier saw. He picked up his pace, leading down into the house with the blade at his back pressing this urgent matter.

  2

  Toy eyes didn’t close when asleep or unconscious, for what if a human had wandered upon them in such a state? Would it not be odd for a wooden or glass toy with no visible eyelids to suddenly have their eyes closed? Granted, they blinked just fine when they wanted, but it was only for show. In their most vulnerable circumstances, however; they returned to the state of their original make.

  When Edge awoke, his eyes were already open.

  Immediately, he could see where he was, still in the Lady’s realm, but as he remembered, he’d not bested the nutcracker or come out of the fight fully intact. His foot had been crushed, but upon further inspection of this unfortunate mishap, he found that there was something attached to his ankle after all.

  He could not see it, for it was hidden by his boot, but there was a form within there, quite near the same size as the other foot that had been shattered. The repair had been done with putty or glue. It moved well enough, but a mild ache still remained.

  The span of Edge’s vision widened and he saw that there were a handful of toys and mice standing over him, peering down with–what was it–concern? The thought made him snarl, and their closeness gave him a mild sensation of claustrophobia.

  “We fixed your leg,” said Clara’s helpful voice. When he located her face, she looked to be the most concerned of all. “I got the piece from the graveyard.”

  Edge cringed at the thought of wearing a dead toy’s used and unworthy foot, but he had to have something. He had failures to remedy.

  “He’s gone, isn’t he?” Edge asked, refusing to look any one of them in the eye.

  He remembered the blood that had rushed out of the nutcracker’s arm when his blade had met it. How insane and curious! How was it possible? Toys did not bleed! How many times had Edge tried to cut himself, looking for such substance when there was none to be found? There was only hollow porcelain and cotton–stuffed cloth. Edge had thought that he could have ripped himself to pieces and still been alive, but time and time again he’d seen toys fall. Perhaps it was simply because they had convinced themselves that they were dead? He didn’t know. He’d never sought to try it on himself, and he’d never shared these thoughts.

  But was it possible now that he could even have his dream? The nutcracker was…different. Could his body not be compatible with Edge’s own? Preposterous. He wasn’t giving up.

  “Are you alright, Master?”

  Edge looked up to see a whispering marionette peering down over him. This one was female, wearing a large dress of black and white. Her eyes were surrounded in thick, black rings. Her body had been merged with scissors, the blades running down to form her arms and the handles exiting her back.

  Edge glared at her, didn’t care much for her inquiry, and stood up. The new foot felt steady enough. One of the nearby mice handed him his precious blade.

  “The nutcracker has left–t,” the mouse informed him. “But not to worr–r–ry. One of the flesh girls–s has been taken to the Master–r already.”

  This was certainly news to Edge. He stopped all movement to stare at the rodent.

  “Which?” he snarled. Either way, it was a violation of his plan to have this stage happen so early.

  “The elder,” the mouse said, his pink eyes darting. “Not–t the Lady.”

  The black–haired doll flew into a rage, rushing forward and gripping the collar of the mouse’s shroud, jerking it off the ground.

  “Imbecile!” Edge screeched. “You were supposed to wait and take the child!”

  “The opportunity aros–s–e!” the mouse sputtered. “She was found s–separated from the nutcracker! I had n–n–othing to do with it!”

  The others shook their heads, denying involvement, and Edge eyed every one of them. At the end of that, his eyes rested on Clara. She looked at him expectantly. What did she want from him? She wanted him to be her hero? To race off and free her beloved Anne so that everything could be well again? She’d be very upset if something happened to that woman…

  Oh, but why did Edge care? He didn’t care, right? He had no reason to. Either female was fine with him for the sacrifice, but it quite simply wasn’t time! He was supposed to have his new body first. He was supposed to have conquered everything! The rat did not need to grow stronger. This wasn’t right–and the look in the child doll’s eyes told him that even more.

  Roaring in defeat and frustration, Edge headed off swiftly to try and correct this unfortunate situation.

  3

  The room was a forbidden place for some; a forgotten place for others. To Todd, it was neither of these things. It was a realm where the elusive yellow papillon lived, and though he had come here whenever the chance arose, swiping with his net, the fair creature had evaded him every time.

  Not for much longer.

  Standing outside the door, he could hear faint sounds coming from inside, though any greater noises had ceased. What was happening inside Olivia’s room? The noise had been tumultuous–not caused by a simple falling doll or even if Olivia herself had fallen.

  He gripped the bronze knob, twisting it–unlocked. He pushed it in…

  It opened only a crack and wouldn’t budge further. Something was holding it from within. Todd could hear tiny sounds coming from behind the door, but he couldn’t make them out.

  “Olivia?” he asked quietly, but there was no answer.

  Todd tried the door again, pushing his weight against it. Whatever was resting in front of it was quite heavy indeed, and while he would admit he was more brain than brawn, he didn’t think Anne and Olivia together could have moved something to block the door this firmly.

  The young man was concerned and doubtful. Something wasn’t right. Was it William? All those questions, just to change his mind at the last moment–on the eve of the final poisoning–and try to spirit away both Anne and Olivia, leaving Todd with the blame? This problem would have to be dealt with immediately.

  Todd left Olivia’s door and moved off downstairs, anxious to find his uncle and see what that man was up to.

  4

  “Food,” Anne had managed to choke out at some point during her decoration.

  Her request caught the dolls off guard, but eventually one of them consented to her appeal, leaving the room and coming back with a piece of old, smelly cheese about the size of Anne’s head.

  Cheese… How unexpected, she thought sarcastically.

  Even though she had no idea how long it had been there, she ate from the chunk until her belly was filled–but not so much that she was overstuffed. Then, they’d started on her again.

  The process was painful, but the food and rest helped Anne to bear it. It didn’t, however, keep her from crying. What was left? Had she accepted this fate so fully? She had completely resigned herself to torture and rape and mutilation in the most uninhibited form by some giant creature? But why try to deny her fate?

  She was no princess. There was no knight coming to her rescue.

  Without resistance, Anne allowed the dolls to do their work on her. They stripped her of her plain dress and laced her up in a different costume. It was a gown of white with a full skirt of gossamer. Tiny straps held up a bodice of silk, displaying her ample accents liberally–as if she wanted them to be displayed. They attached fake portions of hair to her own, hanging in thick ringlets. A long, silk scarf was tied about her neck to hide her bruises from the chain that had nearly killed her. They’d tied it on swiftly, uncaringly, much too tight. But in the midst of this ordeal, Anne could hardly get her fingers there to loosen it. The dolls applied a white powder to her face and body, and to top it all off: a sprinkling of sugar to make her glitter.

  The process took a bit, but Anne remained silent throughout it, periodic tears rolling down her cheeks. When the dolls were done, they p
ulled her to stand, circling around to make sure she was presentable. Anne hardly looked at them. She was too busy feeling sorry for herself, thinking of all the things she’d done wrong.

  She thought of Olivia first, and how she’d stopped caring about the girl long ago. Why couldn’t she have simply loved her? Was it really so terribly hard to think of someone other than herself? Even someone who truly needed help?

  What about her attempts with William? The lack of respect she had for herself every time he came to her, just for her selfish need to make him love her for her own gain–just because of her need to feel something pressing between her legs to give herself worth. It became perfectly true then. That was what she was.

  She thought about Armand–of his painful past, his miserable present, and his eminent future. Why had she allowed herself to care about him? She could have chosen someone else more accepting. Like Olivia; someone who needed that love. Still, her thoughts of him did not go away. He had purpose, unlike her. He’d told her that he wanted his enemy to become strong again, and now he was going to get his wish. At least, perhaps now he would have his own peace.

  “What’s wrong, pretty?” asked the doll that was painting her cheeks. “Think you’re not good enough for the Master? Then again, if I were you and I understood what was coming to me, I’d be a little depressed myself.”

  Anne raised her head to the doll, seeing the way she was being looked at–down the nose like some terrible stain. The red–haired doll had no sympathy for her. Anne focused on a tiny, hairline crack across one of her glass eyes.

  “I’ve seen it happen, you know,” the doll said lowly as her painted lips moved. “They’ve all been as attractive as you, so don’t think you’re special.”

  Special? That wasn’t anywhere near the proper word.

  “It’s terrible really. He loves dolls so much and yet we can do nothing for him. Still, what he needs and craves is a human. Your fate is worse than ours, I’m afraid.”

  Anne hardly listened to the doll’s words, seeing the glare from a sugar crystal that was hung in her eyelashes. The doll stared at her, her expression slowly sliding from distaste to hunger. Anne didn’t have time to prepare herself before the doll gripped her.

  A mouth of hollow glass pressed roughly against her flesh lips, moving in a kiss that had no warmth or breath behind it. Blunt porcelain teeth, placed there only by the magic of the curse, scratched at the woman’s mouth. Anne felt a cold, greedy hand groping her breast, none too gently. The woman took the abuse as if it wasn’t happening at all.

  The other doll in the room that had been put in charge of Anne gripped the red–haired doll and jerked her away, slapping her hard across the face for her conduct. There was a sharp ringing sound as glass connected with glass.

  “You know we’re not allowed to touch them!” she reminded her partner in a hushed voice.

  “I just wanted to try her first,” the doll said, wiping a bit of Anne’s saliva from her lips. “Didn’t want her to be wasted.”

  Anne looked up at the doll where she stood smirking. Beside her, the other doll looked fearful. The woman’s grey eyes were empty and unfeeling. She opened her mouth boldly.

  “It felt like nothing,” she said hatefully.

  The red–haired doll’s face heated angrily, and she reached out, gripping Anne’s arm. The sharp glass fingers dug in, sure to leave tiny bruises.

  “Time to go,” she said, pulling the flesh woman out of the quiet room and out to meet her destiny.

  Chapter Twenty–Nine: Belly of the Beast

  1

  The span of floor was long, laid with white tile. It seemed that the construction of the room was not quite finished, for what should have been a grand ballroom was unpainted, bearing cracked, dirty walls of plaster. Tile was missing in spots, and the pieces that had been put down were crooked and broken.

  There were no tapestries decorating the room; no furniture. The space was lit by several candles, evenly spaced, though none were the same height because of the way they had melted. Anne stood at the entry wearing a full ball–gown. Her grey eyes were tired, but had become quickly alert when they gazed across this area.

  Was this an old part of the house, or the work of rodents?

  Surely it was tiny mouse hands that had done this, having collected discarded materials from when the lavatories were installed in the house. The tile matched. This room was an attempt at creating a fantastic hall for their master’s palace. This was, perhaps, as impressive as it was going to get, even with more work.

  It was just like Anne’s dream, and she had realized that immediately.

  She had been dressed similarly–this flowing, pale dress she wore now was not completely like the one from her dream, but the basis was the same. She was made up like a doll, standing on a long, white floor. She had been fleeing from something…

  A sharp poke at her back made her move forward. The dolls that had been made her escorts had been rough with her, jerking her around so harshly, and they urged her on angrily toward her fate.

  There were rodents and toys standing along the sides of the floor, lining the walls like an expectant wedding crowd. They were all disgusting things–she could smell them!–but they appeared to be dressed in their finest. What was going on? Oh yes, the ritual. She was the guest of honor.

  Anne moved on slowly, looking around at everything in a daze. All the figures of those dolls and toys were blurred together. Was she disoriented for some reason? Drugged? Or did she simply not care enough to see them as individuals?

  They urged her on. Every step became a short fall from one foot to the next. Slowly, her eyes began to focus down the center of the floor, and a large shape there made her dig her heels into the tile. It was a dark mass of incredible size–a gigantic lumbering creature! Immediately, she recognized what it was that stood there, awaiting her at the far end.

  Death.

  What was she doing? Was she to allow this? How could she have lapsed out of her need to save herself? Her heels pressed into the floor with greater force. No, no, this was wrong! She could not die this way!

  Behind her, the dolls gripped her arms and urged her forward. She fought against them.

  Anne was aware that she was struggling, but was hardly paying attention to the flailing of her own arms and the twists her body made. She only cared about getting away–was only concerned with how far she managed to get from the huge creature at the end of that room.

  This ruin of a hall was the room from her dream–and yet it was not like her dream at all. Sad, hopeless little toad. Armand was not there fighting for her.

  2

  Overwhelmed with grief for her uncle, her kingdom, and her missing prince, the Lady Sovereign had not spoken to anyone–not even herself–about the strange dream that had plagued her each time she’d closed her eyes. It was a secret matter to be kept within her mind, for it gave her terrible feelings to reopen those images that only enhanced her sorrow.

  In the vision behind her eyelids, she heard a voice that she could not describe, but the sound of it had very little meaning. It was the words that it spoke that had value.

  Once upon a time, there was a pretty, pretty princess…

  What had been a very cloudy image finally cleared, as if the peacock feathers had been lifted from her eyes. What she saw then made her heart sink, and even in her sleep, made her twitch restlessly.

  She saw Armand sitting on the ground, but he was not alone. Anne was there with him. She looked very different, with her hair curled and her dress grand…

  But the dress was not on her; it was gathered around her. Armand–Olivia’s Armand!–held the woman close where she sat across his lap. Hands that should have been for the Lady only were enjoying her nurse’s glittering body. Olivia wanted to look away. She could not.

  The nutcracker’s handsome lips danced across the woman’s flesh, and Anne did not fight against being held. In fact, she encouraged it. His tongue touched Anne’s body gently in very priva
te places. The woman moaned with pleasure. Olivia had grown hot with anger and embarrassment.

  The Lady Sovereign opened her mouth, thrusting a finger toward the two who were oblivious to anything but each other.

  “Imprison that woman!” Olivia commanded. “She’s to be beheaded!”

  She ordered this, but none of her guards rushed forward to do her bidding. Instead, she was floating away from the scene. Eventually, the acts that she’d ordered to be stopped were a rather long distance away.

  In her ears, Olivia heard a loud heartbeat, thumping steadily. She did not know where it was coming from, but it seemed to overtake her entire dream. Then, it began to dissipate. She was able to look left and right, and she saw a long, metal blade on each side. She knew these were scissors, and she was caught in their steely mouth

  Olivia heard the distant voice again. This second time, she knew that the voice was Todd’s.

  And they all lived happily on without her.

  There was a metallic hiss, and the blades swung in toward her as the scissors closed… She woke up.

  The dream deviated slightly each time, but it was always close to the same. Each time she awoke very flustered, but she managed to shut it down for the sake of her kingdom. Olivia knew it was a dream, but still she felt betrayed by her prince.

  There was something else about the dream as well–some ominous foreboding–but she continued to ignore its warnings. Her kingdom was in disarray. Her uncle was dead. Still, all she could truly think about was her absent soldier prince–her last hope of happiness.

  3

  Edge was almost late, but he managed to slip inside without causing a disturbance. Now, he watched patiently from a precisely selected place. He stood, considering, wondering if he was truly prepared to do what he thought he might have to. It was not revealing his intentions that he was concerned with; those had already been revealed, he was sure. Instead, Edge was worried over his plans. Things had gone well at first, but now, step by step, everything was falling apart.