Page 1 of Monsterland Mayhem
CHAPTER ONE
AILSA
Drink me.
The two words are inscribed in blood-like lettering along the rim of a golden chalice.
Nothing ominous about that.
Nothing at all.
I twist my fingers in front of me, my hands suddenly clammy. I’ve seen this ceremony performed a thousand times before, but this time I’m the focus of the ritual.
Me. The human servant.Ailsa Marvel.
It’s no wonder the pews are empty.
No one expects anything from me other than fresh linen and the occasional warm meal.
Yet the Silver King requires everyone—including powerless mortals—to accept this drink on their twenty-first birthday.
“Anyone can be an Omega,” his edict claimed. “Therefore, everyone must be tested.”
Thus far, no one in my district has ever been an Omega. From what I understand, they’re extremely rare. So rare that they may even be extinct.
Hence the requirement todrink.
A shiver traverses my spine, the hairs along my neck standing on end. It’s eerie here, so chilly and lifeless. Filling it with people didn’t seem to matter; this place just exudesdeath.
Yet that has never stopped me from watching the ceremony of others. Some morbid part of me has always been fascinated by this practice, wondering if I’ll ever see a true Omega.
That fascination shifted focus when Master Pillar arrived, replacing our old Master of Ceremonies. While he led the ritual in the same way as his predecessor, there was something about his voice that captivated me. His deep and powerful baritone has stayed with me since the first day I heard him speak two years ago.
Sometimes I even hear him in my dreams.
I’ve looked forward to this day for months, fantasizing about hearing him say my name in that lush voice of his.
Yet now that I’m kneeling before the altar, I’m not all that enthused with the process.
It’s usually much faster than this. But, of course, Master Pillar chose today to be late.
Why would he bother being on time for such an unimportant member of society?
Other than me and two sentries, the entire venue is vacant.
My knees ache, the marble floor harsh against my bare skin. My blue-and-white ceremonial dress barely covers the tops of my thighs, leaving my long legs feeling oddly exposed.
It was a dress meant for another woman. A hand-me-down from Baroness Clarice.
“Quick, put it on and make haste,” she hissed at me earlier.
There was no pomp and circumstance for my birthday. No glorious gifts or hair updos or makeup. Just a used ritual gown designed for someone five inches shorter than me, and a pair of old blue flats that bit at my heels and scrunched my toes.
I fidget, uncomfortable.
Which causes Sentry Pinka to clear her throat in warning.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been kneeling here for over an hour. I’m expected to wait here for as long as it takes.
