Cumming For Krampus

The ticket had promised me a free weekend at a historic European castle. And this was it. I had been so excited to see the castle, to travel.

For the first time in my life, I left my small town, finally holding my passport—a tangible symbol of my liberation.

David had hated the idea. He had put his foot down, demanding I stay, projecting his pathetic insecurity onto me. But this trip symbolized my standing up for myself, my finally leaving something irrevocably toxic.

How the bastard had found a way to just constantly cheat on me in a town with a population of only five thousand still blew my mind.

Everything about me—my dreams, my body, my very existence—had apparently been wrong to him. His excuse to cheat. I wasn't satisfying his needs. I should try harder. My fault his dick couldn't get hard.

I was done with being wrong.

And this... this felt like one of those dazzling opportunities that only happened to people on the news. Far away, impossibly shiny fairytales that, until now, had never been a part of my dull, predictable life. I giggled, bouncing up and down in the sleigh, the joy bubbling up inside me.

Yessss! This was my moment.

I took a deep, bracing breath, the icy air tasting of pine and snow, and watched my exhalations curl into silver puffs, fragile and luminous like floating, wispy clouds in the twilight.

My nose and cheeks were bright pink from the cold, but I barely registered the chill as I was pulled by four magnificent, powerfully muscled reindeer up the long, winding path—it was barely a path at all, more like a rough deer trail cutting through the deep, undisturbed snow.

Yes, reindeer.

When I had landed, it was first-class treatment the whole way. A driver in a sleek limousine took me as far as the paved road allowed.

Waiting at the bottom of the tall, imposing mountain had been a man who could only be described as a perfect Santa Claus lookalike: a full, snow-white beard, and a magnificent red sleigh covered with intricate gold filigree.

My driver had nodded at him, and some look of silent, ancient understanding passed between them that I didn't notice or honestly care about.

I was quickly bundled into the back, a thick, luxurious wool blanket tucked securely around me, and then I was off, gliding silently up the steep, snowy trail, the only sound the rhythmic jingle of the harness bells.

My eyes widened, stopping the sleigh ride from feeling entirely surreal, as I finally saw the castle.

Hidden behind a thick curtain of towering pine forest, the structure was a breathtaking vision of pale, weathered ancient stone. Its intricate, curving towers and sharply pointed, dark slate spires seemed to pierce the sky, bathed in the rich, deep golden light of the setting sun.

It was more than I could ever have imagined, the perfect, impossible embodiment of a fairy tale. A surprisingly elegant stone drawbridge arched gracefully over what must have been a deep, dark body of water, now a frozen moat dusted with white snow, leading directly to the huge, imposing double oak doors.

My heart literally ached with the beauty and the sheer, overwhelming majesty of the sight.

The last, desperate rays of the setting sun filtered fiercely through the skeletal tree branches, causing dramatic, sharp shadows to dance across in brilliant washes of yellow, shocking pinks, and deep reds. It was magnificent, and utterly silent.

My bags were swiftly and silently unloaded from the sleigh. I approached the colossal oak doors, feeling dwarfed by their size, and pushed through.

I was instantly greeted by a wave of intoxicating warmth, thick with the comforting, festive smell of vanilla and rich spices.

But as my feet crossed the threshold onto the interior flagstone floor, a deep ache started in my lower stomach. It wasn't a normal cramp; it was a violent, internal fire that radiated outwards, sharp and fiery, deep into my bones. *What—*

The pain was immediately forgotten, however, because the sight before me stole my breath and demanded all my attention. The hall was huge, built entirely of rough, ancient gray stone. Overhead, immense, heavy dark timber beams spanned the ceiling, supporting massive wrought-iron chandeliers where dozens of thick beeswax candles cast a soft, flickering, golden light. The effect was mesmerizing.

The walls were partially covered in rich, dark wood paneling polished smooth by centuries of reverence. The entire space felt soft and dim, perfectly lit by the fire crackling in a stone hearth large enough to stand inside.

Everywhere, there was evidence of festive, antique luxury: thick garlands of winter greenery—holly, pine, and deep green ivy—were draped over the mantels and along the bannisters of the winding stone staircase that disappeared into the upper gloom.

The entire interior glowed with an antique, luxurious beauty, making me feel like I had stepped directly into the pages of a perfectly preserved, magical illuminated manuscript.

I dropped my bags carelessly onto the flagstone floor, the pain forgotten, and began to dance through the castle. I explored vast, echoing halls, discovering small, intimate parlors draped with ancient, dark tapestries depicting heroic hunting scenes, and galleries lined with heavy, gilded renaissance art.

The grand ballroom was breathtaking—a cavernous space where the polished black stone floor reflected the light of a hundred twinkling crystal chandeliers. It smelled faintly of old wax and forgotten parties, a silent testament to centuries of celebration.

The kitchen was a surprising, high-tech intrusion into the medieval setting. It featured sleek stainless steel surfaces and a massive, humming industrial fridge, pantries overflowing with exotic spices and food, and shelves lined with delicate, hand-painted China, gleaming dilver cutlery, and highly polished copper utensils.

And finally, my bedroom—the biggest, most luxurious room of them all. Floor-to-ceiling windows were framed by voluminous curtains of rich, soft green velvet, pooling dramatically onto the floor. The stone was softened by deep, plush fur rugs.

The main focus was a magnificent, dark oak canopy bed, its headboard intricately carved with swirling flowers and deep green leaves. The mattress was piled high with soft blankets, topped by a shimmering satin golden blanket, subtly woven with threads of winter greenery.

Drawn by the final light of the day, I walked to the tall windows. I rested my forehead on the cold glass, the chill a welcome contrast to the room’s opulent warmth. The view was breathtaking.

I looked out over the deep, endless pine forest, now darkening to a deep emerald green, with the ghostly, snowy mountains rising majestically in the distance, their peaks shrouded in a swirling veil of mist. The last, fiery rays of the sun were just slipping over the horizon, painting the highest ridges in hues of bruised purple and faded gold.

Gods, the room was magnificent. I started to explore, moving like a child in a toy shop, my excitement overriding all other concerns. I stopped in shock when I opened a huge, dark oak closet; it was less a closet and more a portal to a dream. It was filled with hundreds of dresses—some were heavy, jewel-toned medieval gowns, others were the sleekest, latest haute couture. The fabrics shimmered: silk, velvet, brocade, and lace.

Of course, I had to try them on. I quickly slipped off my layers, shivering slightly in the sudden cold, feeling goosebumps rise—I couldn't tell if it was from the draft by the windows or the sheer anticipation. Then, another sharp, seizing cramp hit my lower stomach, forcing me to double over. *The hell—* I walked quickly to a tall, antique silver mirror.

What I saw stunned me: the glowing red symbol was faintly imprinted on my lower stomach, pulsing slightly. I cautiously traced the edges with my fingers. Instead of revulsion, a strange, electric pleasure began to grow, filling my veins and my mind before it suddenly burned hot, forcing me to jerk back my hand. I should have been freaking out, screaming, demanding answers, but a strange, intoxicating calm had spread through me. I felt dizzy, almost high or drunk on the sensation.

I completely forgot my strange, burning brand. Compelled by the magic of the room, I tried on dress after dress. The fabric felt incredibly rich and expensive against my skin, and every single garment, every bodice and hem, was exactly my size. It was true magic. Next, the shoes: sequined heels, soft leather boots, glittering velvet slippers—all beautiful, all perfect. I spun around the room, testing the satisfying twirl on each one.

I finally settled on a breathtaking gown: a deep, lustrous purple velvet dress lined with shimmering silver lace. It clung perfectly to my petite body in all the right places, making my long, wavy blonde hair sparkle in the candlelight and intensely emphasizing my deep violet eyes. This was the one. This was the dress for a queen.

Dressed in the purple gown, I felt a sudden, domestic urge. I walked back to the modern, gleaming kitchen, moving through the echoing, candlelit halls. Something hot sounded divine. I quickly made myself a perfect cup of hot chocolate: rich, dark, and topped with soft, generous swirls of whipped cream and shavings of bittersweet chocolate. *Yummy.*

I wandered back toward the main entrance, pulling open the huge, creaking oak doors. I stood on the cold stone apron in front of the castle, my hot chocolate steaming fragrantly in the crisp night air. The sky above was a deep, inky black, and the stars were out—beautiful, distant, and glittering like countless small diamond sparkles.

A sudden glint of silver caught my eye near the edge of the moat. Drawn by the light, I turned and cautiously walked across the stone drawbridge. The bridge was slick with frost, and I slipped once, catching myself on the stone railing. "Fuck," I muttered, steadying the hot chocolate.

As I got closer, I discovered a hidden garden nestled into the curve of the castle wall. It was a completely frozen garden, but still breathtakingly beautiful. Delicate, spindly icy trellises crisscrossed the space, covered in frost and shimmering icicles that sparkled like cut glass under the starlight. I walked towards a beautiful stone fountain, the water completely frozen mid-cascade, trapped in a magnificent, glassy sculpture.

The dizzy, high feeling from the brand was making me feel reckless, like anything could be possible tonight. I shivered, the thin velvet of the gown suddenly inadequate. This had been beautiful, but I was starting to freeze. The hot chocolate was already cold in my hands.

I turned to head back inside, taking a slow, careful step. But as I turned, I slipped violently on a hidden patch of black ice—a treacherous glaze that had spilled from the frozen fountain. "Gods!" I screamed, throwing my arms out uselessly as I fell back. The heavy stone edge of the fountain rushed up to meet me, and I felt a sharp, blinding pain register in the back of my head before the world went utterly black, my ruined drink splashing across the pristine snow.