Her gaze surveyed the grounds, the oak trees beyond the formal gardens, now gone back to the jungle. The tennis courts, where rosy-cheeked damsels full of grace and pale young princes had once played and flirted, were invaded by tall weeds, but enough was left of the property’s ancient splendour to convince her. The marble fountain was shimmering in the moonlight. Her smile uncovered the sharp fangs, glistening in the shadows.
She turned toward the house, the skeletal dark windows, the ruined roof. It would take a fortune to restore her home to the bright, venerated and feared glory she aspired to. But money was no object: the Queen would know where to find the best craftsmen, the best materials, and how to get those repairs done, quickly.
And when it was done, she would give a ball: the ball of the undead.