The evening wind from the garden blew coldly into the scullery, yellowed and dried autumn leaves sliding across the floor with a sound like nails scratching on stone. Glorybelle paused in washing her clothes to watch them as they hit an uneven place in the floor and tumbled into the shadows of the keep.

It reminded her of something. Her eyes closed.

"Auberon." Naming him like a flower but not in the glow of lanterns. In the sun dappled green light of the deep forest.

She turned away from that doorway, watching the sunset beyond the broken iron gate. As she hung the last gown up to dry she tilted her head. A sound had come from beyond the gate. Not her beloved fairy music but something like a low call across the night. She stepped out from the dark doorway into the last violet light of the day as the silence was broken by another low mournful call.

Her heart began to pound in her chest, and her hands twitched, curling in on themselves. Glorybelle took three steps towards the gate, stretching her body out, her hands resting so lightly on the broken metal that burned her skin.

Wolves milling through a host of creatures, voices raised before the horns even sounded. Raising her voice alongside them. A particular kind of warmth at her back that kindled a matching warmth in her chest. The sound of bells. His voice joining hers. More and more voices and then - 

She jerked and strained on her toes to see what she could see as a triumphant horn pealed across the hills. Then the gate screamed open on its ancient hinges as she took off running. Her tattered gown streamed behind her like wings. Her feet barely touched the ground. The sounding of the horn was high and clear over the howling of the wolves and the cries of the owls.

She ran, her legs aching as the withered and wary, startled and sharp toothed, horrid and hauntingly beautiful riders parted for her. 

Her subjects parted as she walked through the to the throne that was part of the living tree. Flowers lined her path. She turned to look at them. Her people.

As the sound of tiny silver bells chimed in her ears and she was pulled up onto a steed as grey as smoke with a horn like a blade.

Warm arms encircled her as the riders of the Hunt stormed around them. Bright flickering golden light limned his features as he looked down at her.

“Hello, my beautiful monster. My Queen.”

"Auberon." Glorybelle sighed softly.