Free The Nutcracker Bleeds by Lani Lenore

the other advanced, carrying what appeared to be a large rubber band.
    The
soldier pushed Anne over harshly, shoving her face against the ground while the
other came forward and bound her with the giant band. It was wrapped around and
around her body, holding her arms down and her legs together. It shouldn’t have
been so strong, but inside it, she couldn’t move at all. The panic of her
confinement began to set in, and she whimpered pitifully.
    “We
take her to the Lady, then?” asked one of the patrolmen when they’d harnessed
her sufficiently.
    The
other nodded. Anne heard the creak of his neck.
    “Yes,
the Lady Sovereign will know what to do with her.”
    One
of those toy soldiers–the like of which she had once gathered up when they were
lifeless on Olivia’s floor–pulled her up hastily by her bonds, dragging her
away across the dresser–top. The other soldier marched stiff–legged behind her,
and she observed that what she’d originally thought was a torch in his hand was
actually a match.
    Anne
didn’t make another sound–no cries of frustration or nervous inquiries. She
simply allowed herself to be pulled, trying to find some rational explanation.
She’d always prided herself in her sanity– before .
    “I
have an unidentified captive here!” she heard the toy solider call out behind
her head. She had no idea of whom he was speaking to, and couldn’t get a
glimpse. For a moment, he stopped dragging her across the slick surface.
    Then
she was falling.
    She
hardly had time to scream before she hit against something soft that gave
slightly beneath her weight. Once again, her bonds were gripped and she was jerked
off the soft surface and onto the harder wooden floor. The impact jarred her
hip.
    As
she was dragged away, she saw what had happened. She’d been thrown from the top
of the dresser. It was only for an unfinished cross–stitch in its round frame
that she hadn’t splattered on the floor. Several toy soldiers manned the
cross–stitch parachute that had caught her, and Anne realized that the
needlework was her own.
    Angry
thoughts about the creation getting ruined crossed her mind, but she didn’t
voice any of them.
    Because
none of this is happening , she told herself. No, it’s just a dream.
     
    2
     
    The
soldier dragged Anne across the ground floor, and she knew that at any moment
she would wake up. While she waited, she observed the oddities around her.
    There
were several toy soldiers patrolling various spots around the perimeter of the
room. There appeared to be several different sets; some with red suits and
tall, fuzzy hats, others with blue suits and short, flat–topped hats. Each one
of them marched stiff–legged with a gun slung over its shoulder–a weapon that
was useless if not for the stakes on the ends.
    Turning
her head, she watched dark–colored dolls without faces and carrying lit matches
clean up the mess of broken dolls on the floor. They were completely silent in
their work, save for when they dragged bits of porcelain across the floor, scratching .
It was a peculiar and terrible service, and even though these were only toys,
Anne was disturbed by the sight of it.
    The
trek across the room was long because of the soldiers’ tiny legs. It seemed to
take hours to pass the bed, and beneath the skirt, Anne could see the remains
of dead toys peeking out at her. She looked away.
    Eventually,
they halted once again.
    “I
have a prisoner to bring before the Lady Sovereign.”
    Anne
attempted to tilt her blond head to view the one whom the soldier was
addressing, but all she found out for certain was that she was nearing greater
light, parked in front of the fort of books that was actually frighteningly
large. At the top, a clock had been placed. She couldn’t read the time. Before
she was ready, she was being dragged once again.
    She
was pulled into the fort. The walls were enormous paintings, done by Olivia
herself, ranging from animals to landscapes, to portraits of