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3 9n bed grand 4  

The room was a Grand Princess but now her welcome worth less than the flowers she used to wear. A weary witness to the couplings and the arguments, the lies and wheedling words, the laughs and tears, the room just let them float on by, uninterested, who cares. She lived in memories of more courteous times, royals in her bed, champagne flowing, duals at dawn when honour counted more than death.

The family were taking a break; the hotel was perfect, with ambitions lost and no stars or bars to laud it. All at rest except for Molly practising her charms and Hope wriggling free of Amy’s protective arms. 

The Princess coughed awake by the clouds of vapour flowing from the cauldron. ‘Excuse me young woman, I pride myself on never intruding upon the actions of my guests but I really must protest. That is my floor, my carpet, that you are burning.’

Molly looked around. ‘So what is this a place of welcome or do I have to pick my nose to get a seat. It happens to be none of your business what I’m doing here. Paid my penny so up yours jake.’ Molly turned back to the cauldron but she could not settle; she felt remorse, her words were spite and none she would delight to hear.

‘Sorry that was rude, I presume you are the possessor of the spirit here. Well its not my intention to give you grief and I can assure you that I am not a vandal, these here sparks and flames are just an illusion I’m burning so I can spell out the way and the when. No harm I swear all good right as rain. And for your information I’m older than I appear to be, I appreciate the epithet but it don’t charm me.’

The presence of the room came closer. ‘Bullshit swine and piss to you, see I can do the same. I learnt this from the crik crack crew who fill their veins and pass their names so boldly - vile and bitches all of you. So better than the rest are you, we would see, if I had form I would put you to the test. I would run you round the mountain with the beat of my hips, my subtle, dips the rhythm of my swaying but I am just a phantom here no physique to prove my bluster. I envy yours, I would eat you if I could, aah the taste of flesh again. I would spit out your bones and shape them into puppets just to dance for me.

Molly’s temper heated. ‘Bitch an sore if you want a war I’ll play you. Dare you double dare for me. Lets just see if you’ve got the balls to fill your mouth with. I’ll create a smoke for you, jump in and dance. Proof of the pudding my darling bitch; let’s see this famous flow of yours, come here and dance with me.

So they danced; the talent teller, the one two three and four, the mini met, taking turns to follow. The phantom Princess moved in memory humming tunes from her golden age. Shades and presence faded in, Amy dragged Juke to the floor, Hope pranced with her favourite doll and the ball was heating nicely, all was smiles and for this time the forgotten could forget.

Alas Amy jogged the timing case and sent the pendulum swinging. ‘Tick, tack, tock. Click, clack, clock.’

The weight of reality rushed in. It snuffed out the fun and turned the dancers back to shades. Molly’s fire turned green and a vengeful smoke rose from the cauldron now. Reality was winning but the phantoms and the characters were fighting back. The smoke that was not there swirled and covered the eyes of the officials their papers turn to ash from their freezing hands. It was a stalemate until the room preferring the memory of its past backed illusion and threw an army of dust into the fray. The practical police were on the retreat forced back out to a time of day and reason but in the room the night-time pleasure would reign for ever.