Two to three hours had passed since the dinner, and I still hadn't fallen asleep. I changed from my stupid dinner dress to my nightgown almost as soon as I had entered my room, then collapsed on the bed. I still couldn't understand my father. He wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said.

A part of I wondered if I was going crazy. No one could see the man in black except me, and he even touched the king, for crying out loud!

The other piece of me--the piece I listened to the most--screamed that it was obvious. The man did exist. He was real. He had to be--I didn't know. Maybe he was under a magic spell or something, but all I knew about magic was that it was a very rare thing for someone to possess.

My parents once told me a story of three magic-wielders living Arium. They said that it was real and happened twenty or so years before they were born. They said one of three went crazy, killing his father and attempting to kill the other two. He almost succeeded in killing one of them, but the other stopped him. When the injured wielder was on the brink of death, the other used up her remaining magic to save him, making it so she couldn't ever use her power again.

Magic was supposed to have thrived from that point until the magic war, then it was supposed to have gone almost extinct. But what about the people who could still use it? Had they finally come out of hiding?

What if one was the creepy vampyre guy in the corner? It would certainly explain the blood-red stone's effect on my father. It could've been enchanted to cause him to react that way.

I sighed and grabbed the nutcracker. I ran my fingers up and down its chest, feeling how smooth the buttons were. "I really need to stop thinking," I mumbled.

Still holding the doll, I let my arms fall to my sides. They bounced off the mattress, then fell back down beside me.

Clink.

Great. I broke it.

I turned my head, expecting to see it in pieces. Surprisingly, it wasn't. The only thing different was the mouth hanging wide open.

And the small, blue bead that came rolling out of the hole.

With the day I was having, I wouldn't have been surprised if it had transformed into a whole new being.

I pushed herself up on my shoulder and lightly tapped the pearly ball. Nothing happened.

At least.

I rolled the bead into my hand. It wasn't big enough to be something that broke off the nutcracker, but at the same time, I didn't know what else it could be.

Without warning, my door flew open, barely giving me enough time to lay down completely and close my eyes.

"You heard what Kir said! He doesn't just talk lightly about wars!"

I bit my lip, glad my back faced the door. My mother and father were in my room, and I didn't want to talk to either of them at that moment.

"I know," Dad whispered. "But we'll scare them if we leave now. Tomorrow morning would be best."

We're leaving?

Mom sighed. "Listen--"

The rest of her sentence was so low that I couldn't understand what she was saying, but what I heard had been enough.

We were leaving the castle. For some reason, my parents wanted to leave the castle. It couldn't have been my fault, could it? I hadn't embarrassed them that much.

It was all I could do to keep from groaning. We just got here! Why on earth would they be leaving so soon?

I gripped the nutcracker tighter, holding it to my chest. The blue bead made my fingers colder the longer I held it--the exact opposite of what the stone did. Keeping my breaths even, I listened for the footsteps meaning my parents left.

My mother sighed. "Fine," she hissed, "but we need to go tomorrow. Even if it's the slightest chance that the castle will be attacked, we need to be gone. It's not our safety I'm worried about. It's theirs."

Attacked?  Attacked by what?

Only one set of footsteps left my room. I didn't move, waiting for my other parent to leave.

But he didn't immediately. Weight pushed down on the side of my bed, making the springs groan in protest. Cool fingers brushed a stray ringlet from my forehead.

"I know you're not asleep, Clair, but you can keep faking it if you want to."

I didn't move, still slightly angry at my father. Talking to him wasn't on my list of things to do.

Dad's voice softened even more than it already was. "I'm sorry for not believing you."

Just those two words, "I'm sorry," was all I wanted to hear. Regret swam over me, demanding to know why I yelled at him, why I called him "jerk," and "monster."

"Monster." Who even used that word anyway? What child would call their father horrible names, then run out on him?

He sighed. "Something is coming--happening--to the castle. If I'm wrong, then--" He broke off and stood up.

It didn't take me a long time to figure out why. Something scratched against the walls loudly, sounding like it was getting closer to the room the longer it went. My heart pounded in fear at what the thing making the noise was. It sounded huge.

I cracked my eyes slightly, just barely able to see my father get up and place his hand against the back wall.

The look on his face...the look in his eyes only added to my panic.

Because, while he almost looked relaxed, his eyes screamed that he was about to beat the living stink out of whatever was behind the wall.

And he taught me that eyes are always what to watch out for. Body language can say "I surrender," but someone's eyes are what tell the truth or not.

The scratching screeched to a halt. My breath caught in my throat, choking me. A gray object wiggled against a small hole in the wall, pushing against it so hard that it poked out slightly.

With what almost sounded like a pop, the gray thing came free.

Squeak.

I opened my eyes fully. Squeak?

I turned to my Dad, who had a stupid grin plastered all over his face. His shoulders shook in silent laughter. In one quick motion, he swooped down and picked up the little mammal that came out of the wall.

"It's a mouse," he gasped. "We were both--" he pointed to me, then himself. "--afraid of a stupid little rodent!"

Nervous laughter tumbled out of my mouth.

A mouse? That was it?

Still holding the mouse by its tail, Dad made his way over to me. With the non-rodent-ed hand, he messed with my hair. "I'm sorry for yelling," he said, grinning.

I swallowed. "My fault," I mumbled. Tears sprang to my eyes. "I shouldn't have screamed at you."

"I think the blame falls on both of us." He kissed the top of my head. A funny look came over his face--almost like a frown, but not quite there. "Just remember, whatever happens, I love you."

I didn't look at him. It felt like a load of guilt had been pressed down on my shoulders. All the times questioning him, or calling him names--and he still loved me.

He made his way to the door. "I'm going to go deal with this thing." He gestured at the gray mouse in his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Clair."

"Dad--"

He was already gone.

I laid back down on my bed. "Love you too," I whispered.

Something crunched beneath my hand. I jumped, startled.

"Shoot!"

The small blue bead had broken. It almost looked like sapphire dust on the white sheet that covered my mattress, as if a fairy had exploded or something.

I rolled off the bed, careful not to touch any of the crushed bead pieces, and landed on my knees. I cupped one hand next to the mattress and with the other, carefully pushed some of the dust into my hand.

Even though the bead had been crushed, when I brushed it onto my hand, it felt like shards of glass piercing my skin. I sucked in a breath and glanced down to see how badly I was cut.

Nothing. Not even a scratch.

This is just weird.

I stood up, holding the remnants of the bead in my hand. I looked around the room, trying to find somewhere I could put the dust. With all the extra things sitting around--shelves, desks, bowls--there has to be somewhere I could throw away the pieces, right?

Wrong. There wasn't even a trash bin.

I rolled my eyes. "You're kidding me." I twirled in a circle. "Um, I can... put it on the floor? Under the bed? Throw it into the air and see where it lands?"

My eyes landed on the still form of the nutcracker. "Or I can put it back where I got it from."

That idea seemed best.

With my free hand, I sat the nutcracker up. I bent down so I was even with it and held up my fist.

"Okay, sorry toy-guy-wooden-thing, but you have officially become my scapegoat," I huffed, puffing out my cheeks, then pushed the red lever up.

The nutcracker's mouth opened easily. I brushed the dust from the bead into its mouth, ignoring the condescending look it seemed to be giving me.

It is just a doll. Nothing more. Dolls can't move on their own. Dolls can't speak.

And they certainly can't glare at someone.

Once the crushed bead was off my hand, I quickly turned around and laid on my bed. Scratching started up from behind the wall again, this time louder and closer than before.

It's just a mouse. No big deal.

I wanted to sleep, but couldn't. My eyelids drooped down, but a skitter from behind the wall would constantly throw me back to reality.

I must have gone back and forth like that for at least an hour and a half, maybe longer. Finally, the mice seemed to stop having their party and fell silent.

I clamped my eyes shut, thankful for the quiet.

Which lasted about one second.

The thing that broke the silence wasn't the mice, however. It was the gonging of a bell, like a clock or a church bell.

Bong.
         Bong.
                  Bong.
                           Bong.
                                     Bong.
                                              Bong.
                                              Bong.
                                     Bong.
                           Bong.
                  Bong.
        Bong.
Bong.

Twelve times.

It was midnight.

I raised an eyebrow, not completely sure if the chimes had stopped. "You done?" I cried.

I got no answer, of course.

I fell onto my bed, glad I could sleep. My eyes fell on the nutcracker one last time as if to say goodnight.

"Really?"

My exasperated sigh was louder than I wanted it to be, but it was justified. The stupid nutcracker must have fallen or something because it wasn't on my desk. I got up from the bed and knelt down, looking under that mattress and under the desk for the doll.

Scratch.

The rubbing against the wall started up again, that time so loud it drowned out any other sound. I clenched my teeth, frustrated at everything-- the nutcracker vanishing, the mice partying--everything.

Something tapped my back. I brushed it off. "Dad, why are you in here?" I asked.

My father didn't answer. I pretended the being behind me didn't exist until it tapped me again, much harder than before.

I sat up and pulled a stray ringlet out from my face. I whirled around, aggravated enough that my fists clenched and unclenched. "What, Dad?"

Whoa. Not the father.

My eyes widened at the thing in front of me. It towered over me, its black body twisting in unnatural ways. No--"black" was the understatement of the decade. It was darker than the darkest sky, deeper in color than an unlit hallway. Tendrils of what looked to be smoke curled off its body, waving around in spirals.

The only thing about it that wasn't dark were the silver claws that blunted off what looked to be its hand.

The silver claws that swung oh-so-casually at my neck.

I shrieked and ducked, barely missing a decapitation. Terror almost blinded me.

Almost.

I had enough sense to reach up and punch the thing in the first spot I could. It doubled over, not making any sound of pain.

I bolted away from it, running as fast as I could toward the door. I grabbed the handle and turned, flinging it open with a bang.

What I saw made my heart crawl up my throat. The black creatures filled the hall, all marching somewhere with a purpose. When the door hit the wall, they turned to me, their blank, eyeless faces boring into mine.

I quickly slammed the door back. One of them was definitely better than an army.

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Dread filling my stomach, I turned around.

A flash of silver and red filled my vision. There was a clang of metal meeting metal.

Then a squeak.

I didn't realize I had closed my eyes until I noticed that everything was very, very dark and I wasn't dead yet. Slowly, I opened them.

Two dark things lay on the floor, still and unmoving. It only took a second for me to notice that the smaller of the two was the creature's head.

What--what did that?

My unspoken question was answered soon enough. A loud clunk sounded from the corner, startling me.

What I saw startled me even more. A boy, no taller than me, leaned against the wall. He held his shoulder like it was injured. His rest shirt stayed perfectly still, not moving with his chest as he breathed. Messy dark hair sat unmoving on the top of his head. A sword coated in a gray liquid sat by his side.

I squinted my eyes. He looked almost like...

Realization ramming into me, I reached out and grabbed his arm. Skin didn't bend under my squeeze, instead, I was met with a hard,  grainy wood.

Wood.

He was made of wood.

My eyes landed on a small piece of red dangling from his back.

A lever.

The person--the thing--standing in front of me was my present from Kir.

It was the nutcracker.

_______________________________________

Hahaha! Battle scene time.

This'll be fun.