“Let us join the revels, my queen.” He extended me a pale, elegant hand. His palm was cool and dry, but the living touch of his skin against mine sent my heart racing.
Without warning, the Goblin King swept me onto the cavern floor. The goblin musicians had not ceased playing their savage melodies, and we danced. No prescribed steps to follow, no restrained and civilized conversations to be held, we let the music overtake us. I danced with wild abandon, my veins running with wine, falling into the throng of goblins as they embraced me, kissed me, and worshipped me. I was passed from hand to hand, goblin to goblin, each wanting to steal a bit of me, my life, my fire. I was their queen, their sacrificial lamb placed atop the altar, and they paid homage to me with their bodies, their gifts, their offerings. They offered me food, fruit, and drink: flesh fresh-charred from the spit, overripe peaches and plums bursting to the touch, and wine so rich it spilled from tongue to tongue.
Somewhere in the fray I lost track of the Goblin King. I wanted him, reached for him, but could not find him.
Panic overtook me. Like wolves scenting blood on the wind, the goblins closed in around me, nipping, grabbing, biting like I was a hart in the hunt. My fear drove them into a frenzy. I cried out as they tore at my dress, my veil, my hair, but it wasn’t my modesty I was concerned about. I could feel life draining from my limbs, I was turning languid, liquid, dissolving into nothing as the goblins fed on my emotions, growing bigger, more powerful, more.
“No,” I said feebly, but my protests went unheard. “No.”
My subjects did not listen, lost in the bloodlust and lifelust of my mortal existence in their midst.
“Stop!” I cried. “I wish you would stop!”
My voice rang out, echoing in the cavernous chamber. At once, all movement stilled. The goblins held their positions, frozen by my command. Their faces still contorted into expressions of desire, their limbs still twisted into grasping gestures. Their flat, black eyes moved and quivered, their inhuman chests rising and falling with each breath, the only movement in a still room.
I walked through the goblins, but not a single one stirred, bound by my wish. Only their eyes traced my path as I wound my way through the cavern. One poured an endless stream of wine into a goblet that overflowed onto the floor, another had sunk its teeth into the carcass of a raw and bloodied deer, yet another bent its back in the midst of a wild and savage dance.
Curious, I pushed at one of them. The flesh gave way beneath my fingers and offered me no resistance. I pinched the skin of its arm, rather cruelly, to see if I could make it react. No sound, no cry, no grimace, only a slight tightening of its mouth. Then, without warning, I shoved the goblin over with all my might.
The creature went careening into his fellow goblins, scattering them like tenpins. I laughed. I did not recognize the sound of my own laugh—high, wild, and cruel. I sounded like a mad woman. I sounded like one of them.
My laughter broke the spell that held them. The goblins began bowling into each other, sending each other flying, the crash of shattering dinnerware and the clatter of falling cutlery punctuated by the sharp, high laughter of the goblins. And me.
I surveyed my kingdom. Chaos. Cruelty. Abandon. I had always been holding back. Always been restrained. I wanted to be bigger, brighter, better; I wanted to be capricious, malicious, sly. Until now, I had not known the intoxicating sweetness of attention. In the world above, it had always been K?the or Josef who captivated people’s eyes and hearts—K?the with her beauty, Josef with his talent. I was forgotten, overlooked, ignored—the plain, drab, practical, talentless sister. But here in the Underground, I was the sun around which their world spun, the axis around which their maelstrom twirled. Liesl the girl had been dull, drab, and obedient; Elisabeth the woman was a queen.
Across the room, I spied my king. He was not part of the throng, off to the side, half-forgotten in the shadows. This night—my wedding night—was about me. I was the center of the goblins’ world, their savior, their queen. Yet a part of me longed for my adoring subjects to disappear. Longed to be alone with my husband. To be the subject of his adoration, the center of his world. Freed of my inhibitions by attention, power, and the goblin wine, I could finally admit how much I desired Der Erlk?nig.