[Maaike]

This is actually set on the 28th.

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The Danse Macabre was upon them, and Maaike was leaving town. She'd persuaded Graeme to go home with her to the Sullivan Territories where they could avoid the whole hoo-haa. She wasn't normally the type to believe in the dead rising, having grown up in western Elysian where the Danse was just some obscure eastern festival, but she'd lived in Espur long enough to have seen things that made her question her reality. Graeme, particularly, was convinced they should take it seriously, especially given that the one person neither of them wanted back was the one person to fear.

She was glad Sammy didn't live with her, all things considered, and that Graeme — not normally into arts and crafts — had made them both a mask (she just hoped her mother made sure Sammy wore his). She was hoping that, between it and the floaty white silk dress she was wearing, she was completely unrecognisable even for that vlareon of a husband. She'd never felt more like a Nymph than she did dressed in this get-up, but it would cripple her in a fight. Her tension was almost palpable as she left Greenview with a backpack over her shoulder, Magda wheeling overhead and Graeme resting in Cailean's saddle. The human's head was bobbing and he was snoring gently, his black feathered mask snug over his closed eyes.

Her own mask, white and gold to match her outfit, felt claustrophobic in the night air; it blocked her periphery. There was something in the air, something tense and expectant, and the sight of two moons — one of them blood-red — gave her goosebumps. Every sound made her jolt. At this rate, she'd be a wreck before they even reached the anka, never mind the Territories. The least Graeme could have done was stay awake so she had someone to talk to!

“What the Hel was Xanth thinking, anyway?”