Chapter 21: The Feast of Nightmares
Chapter 21: The Feast of Nightmares
Oliver opened his eyes. This was not the real world. It was a dream, but it definitely looked real.
He couldn't move and he couldn't speak.
His lips been sewn shut with thick, crude black thread, still wet with blood. Also, he quickly noticed that he lay naked on a cold silver platter.
His limbs were splayed out and nailed gently through the wrists and ankles with surgical precision. The pain that came from them was sharp, but from the looks of it, there was more to come.
Oliver wasn't alone, but he was the centerpiece.
Around him stretched an endless banquet table, long enough to vanish into the shadows. Velvet chairs were lined with familiar faces—family, allies, people he once trusted in his passed life—all dressed in black ceremonial garb. Their eyes glowed dimly like dying embers.
The candles that lit up this room, floated above like ghostly fireflies, as their wax dripped down in slow motion. Time was broken here.
"Shall we eat?" his father said, raising a goblet. His voice echoed as if underwater, ancient and distant.
They all smiled.