Chapter 19: The Worst Party Ever
And so began the celebration -- that last celebration that Sunney Towne would ever know in life, and which we would be condemned to repeat, day after day, after our mortal lives were ended. I, of course, was not there ... or, rather, my corpse was there, lying in the oven with the flesh flaking off it, the fires at intervals fed by Lily Melon, but sensed nothing, being mere dross without my animating spirit, while that spirit guested with Starlight the Greeter for a time in a place which was beyond all normal time and place, being on the Threshhold to the Cosmic Level.
So all this, too, I only heard about later, from other villagers. Most of it, I heard as gossip, or vicious whispered rumors. For in spite of all that my father had done to convince his fellow-villagers that events had befallen as well as might be expected, given mine own sudden mortal illness, still deep down did folks suspect that there was something very wrong at the core of what had chanced. Father had persuaded them to stay for our Summer Sun Celebration, against their own better judgment, yet still they were aware of a wrongness about it all, and it ate at their souls.
Some, in truth, did not attend the celebration. Nhorse Mountain, our big burly draypony, decided to go visit his sister, Joy Mountain who dwelt in Riverbridge. With him went Parry Bar, a tough Guard veteran who did not spook easy, but who seemed afraid that afternoon, as he rode out of town on Nhorse's wagon, Parry's wife Olive Gift -- who was mine own maternal first cousin once removed -- close by his side. Those three left Sunney Towne afore our Doom came; they were the last at that celebration to see their fellow villagers alive.
Nhorse and Parry saw some of us later, after we were alive no more, but that is another tale.
Mouse Baker, and his wife Lily and daughter Melon, remained by the bakehouse. Lily and Melon took turns tending the oven, while Mouse himself sat helpless nearby, his mind stunned beyond all capacity to function by the horror transpiring within that familiar oven. Lily and Melon kept him company. Later, Lily did attend the celebration, but like a dutiful daughter brought back food and drink to her adoptive parents.
My mother remained a while in the bakehouse, but when the company did return to the main square, found she could not bear to stay with the poor charred ruin of what had been her daughter. she has since more than once apologized to me for this. I do not blame her: were our roles reversed, I should have found it a hard watch to keep. The guilt gnaws at her, too much.
Instead, Mitta went to the town square, to be around other Ponies, for she misliked the dark turns taken by her own thoughts. But she had little appetite, wanting neither food nor conversation. So she sat in the warehouse, well back, drinking; she watched the celebration from her own dark corner, back among the boxes, thinking on the ruin of all her hopes; wondering what she should do now, and what would befall her come the dawn.
As for Gladstone, of course he enjoyed the celebration.
He had much to celebrate, after all.
The Summer Sun Celebration of the Year of Harmony 500 began.
There was much to eat -- though there was a distressing shortage of fresh baked goods, owing to the occupation of our main oven by mine own remains, which were I wager the very definition of baked bads. There was more to drink. And the Ponies of Sunney Towne felt less like eating, and more like drinking, than my father had expected when he planned the festival.
They were in a strange and shadowed mood.
At the head of the feast sat my father, forcing himself to jollity for the sake of his Ponies. But good cheer is a flower which springs from the joy in one's heart; and no stallion can feel much joy when he has just slain his daughter and been cast off by his wife for this deed. And this be true, even if he imagines that the slaying was necessary for the good of all.
So, Grey Hoof sat and made his jests to the assembled company, as was his wont. But the jokes fell flat; the laughter was hollow; his smiles more leers than were the cheerful grins he intended. On his right hoof sat Gladstone, who made merry in earnest, but Gladstone's japes were in horrid taste; his laughter manic; and his grin ghastly to behold, as though he were already dead. Both Grey Hoof and Gladstone were drinking. A lot.
At Grey Hoof's left hoof sat Three Leaf, and her face bore a look that she may have meant for a confident smile, but which looked to be sheer terror. Three Leaf, more than any others there save for my mother, kenned the dreadful tragedy; the breach of the Harmony; she feared what might come through the hole thus torn. Her son had, at a stroke, gained all his dearest desires. He was mostly blind to it, but Three Leaf well saw the cost, and feared the price he had paid so far would be but the first installment of sorrow.
Perhaps Three Leaf, who was I think the wisest of all who sat there assembled, had also seen the frightful flaw in their safety. She later said she had not, but I wonder at times. The strain on her must have been immense: torn as she was between loyalty to lover and son on the one hoof; her horror at their deeds, on the other. Did some part of her want to see them punished? Or, pushed beyond endurance, did she simply refuse to think about the implications of what she knew?
She was, of course, drinking cup after cup, hoping to escape what she had already seen..
At the head of their own table sat Starlet and Roneo. This was their Trothing-Day. They should have been happy at the formal recognition of their love, and the new respectability that would attend its fulfillment. Well I knew that both Starlet and Roneo had long desired this day, in Starlet's case perhaps in part so that she would have something more of which to boast to me; something that even my admission to the Night Guard as a cadet would not have matched on these terms.
Now Starlet had her romantic triumph, but to whom would she boast of it? She had lost her favorite audience, me, the little sister whom she loved to needle and with whom she loved to quarrel. Whom she ... loved.
The first shock of my sudden slaying was fading from her; she was starting to realize in full that I was gone for ever. We were more used to unexpected death in my breathing days than ye are in modern Equestria, but the victims most often were the very young and the old, not young mares in good health. She had never dreamed that I might be so soon taken from her.
And ... it had occurred to her that she was now Gladstone's only remaining rival in her generation for Grey Hoof's estate; a strong rival, for she was his daughter rather than merely his son. And that this was a perilous position for her, to be in the way of a brother who had already shown joy at the death of another sister, who had also been an obstacle to his success.
It seemed to her mad to think that Gladstone had done more than joy in my death; had actually schemed and acted to bring about my death. For we were but freeholders, rather than feuding branches of some noble family. Yet still I lay dead, and Gladstone rejoiced. And the idea of our father slaying me would have seemed mad to her just this morning. The rules had changed, and Starlet misliked the new game.
So she clung to Roneo, and shuddered -- in fear rather than passion.
And she drank.
Roneo, for his part, did not full know what had befallen. He was quite confused.
First, he had lost his Trothing-Gift, and that was disaster. Then, I had found it for him, and that was wonderful. But then I took the Mark-Pox, and that was terrible. So Roneo had run back to report my fate, and Grey Hoof and Gladstone had taken charge, which was good cause they were smart Ponies and always knew what to do when bad things happened, didn't they?
Only, when I came back out of the woods, they killed me. Which was the worst thing possible, for Roneo liked me, and he had never seen anypony he liked slain by anypony else he liked. And he full well liked me, though he did not always full well ken the reasons for mine actions, but then he did not always full well ken the reasons for Starlet's actions either, and he loved Starlet.
And I was Starlet's little sister. Which meant that I was fated to be Roneo's little sister. Which made Roneo happy -- but now I was dead, and could be nopony's little sister any more.
So Roneo was sad. And confused. And a bit frightened.
Was Grey Hoof become foe? Or Gladstone? Surely Grey Hoof could be no foe -- he was cheerful and funny, and kind to Roneo, whom he had treated as almost an adoptive son since Roneo's real parents died; even more so after it was plain that Roneo and Starlet wished to wed. Grey Hoof was friend to Roneo.
But Gladstone -- Roneo had never quite trusted Gladstone. He was sly and at times nasty, most often when he could be nasty in secret. And Roneo had some times seen Gladstone look at mares and even fillies in a manner most unsettling. And the way Gladstone had slaughtered the peddler mare and colt had horrified and sickened the good-natured Roneo.
Gladstone might be a secret foe. Roneo could believe that.
But if Gladstone was a foe, why was Grey Hoof okay with him?
Roneo was confused. Complicated relations between Ponies often confused him.
One thing, though, Roneo knew for sure. He loved Starlet, and she him. And he would support her, and comfort her, and protect her against any foe, no matter how mighty. That was what a good stallion did for the mare he loved.
So, when Starlet clung to him, he held her tightly in return, and tried to let her know that, in his embrace, she would always be safe from the worst the world might throw at them. He did not full believe this his own self, but he knew that he had to be brave and strong for Starlet.
So did Roneo hold Starlet.
And drank, to fortify his courage.
And so drank they all.
Aye, even my mother.
Ye should understand that 'twas usual for us rustic Ponies of that bygone age to drink, and drink often, by the standards of your day, for the cause that 'twas a pleasure that all might afford, and also for the cause that the water might be bad (in that last, we were luckier than most, for we had Three Leaf to ward us from such perils); though what we most common drank was but small beer, watered common wine, and similar stuff, which would not make us drunk.
But this was a feast: both Equestriad and betrothal. To drink a lot was expected by all. We would sleep after, and if we woke with aching pates, that was but the cost of our merriment.
But -- according to what others later told me -- there was something strange and sullen, wild and desperate, in the mood of the party there assembled. The Mark-Pox might return. Grey Hoof had slain me before them all. With death by disease and sudden violence so abroad, what force had common law or custom?
They did not riot, mind ye. We were not bad Ponies, by and large, that should I make plain. We were good Ponies, most of us. It was just that we lacked sound leadership, for that Father had gone mad, and we were having a very bad week -- which would soon get worse.
Much worse.
Now came the formal Trothing. Grey Hoof said the Words and gave the Blessing, and Three Leaf brought out her book, in which she had scribed the Contract. Therein Roneo and Starlet made their signs, and for that they were both minors and Grey Hoof their guardian, Grey Hoof countersigned beneath both their places. All bore witness that all was done by the free will of the participants, for in Equestria there is neither forced Trothing nor forced Marriage; neither in our day nor in yours. We are civilized Ponies.
Then came the last and the oldest parts of the Trothing proper; the ones which went back countless centuries, before even the Great Migration from the Old Homeland, over a millennium and a half before our time and two millennia and a half before yours. This, we thought of as the true Trothing; once, in the Old Homeland and for some centuries after the Migration, it had been the wedding.
Roneo brought out the ruby, his Trothing-gift, and presented it before all the company to Starlet his Intended. He made a little speech -- his voice quavering and stumbling over the words. Starlet declared that the gift was lovely, and she showed it to the multitude, to the accompaniment of cheers. Now, they were almost Betrothed.
A large ornate two-handled loving-cup was brought out, with a bottle of the best wine Grey Hoof could afford, and both were placed before Starlet and Roneo. In common custom, Grey Hoof and Mitta would have officiated at this ceremony, but Mitta was beyond any complex behavior, and so Three Leaf took her place, despite that she and Grey Hoof were still only Intended rather than Betrothed or Married themselves. Grey Hoof held and Three Leaf poured the wine into the cup.
Starlet and Roneo then stood, and they linked arms, and each took hold of the further handles of the cup. They raised it together -- it shook in their grip, for they were both nervous, even more so than would have been usual, which was well-kenned to be for the cause of the horrid things that had already come to pass this day. Some of the wine slopped over the side, which was met by a hiss of dismay from the party, as this was a bad omen for the coming marriage.
My sister and her swain then steadied their grasp on the goblet, and together took a long draught of the wine therein. It was as long a drink as they could both manage without coughing it up, and this too was seen as a sign of their future happiness. There is some merit to the notion, for a couple who are together in mind and heart, as well as body and ambition, can say much to one another with eyes and ears and subtle motions, such communications as would be harder to pass between strangers. And in this part of the ceremony, Starlet and Roneo did right well: they took a long draught and spilled little of it.
The crowd cheered, and they put down the cup. Then, bowing to the company, they departed together, for our home.
Why, dear Snails? Why, for the exact reason thou might think, though Equestrian Ponies do not often do this any more in the middle of their Trothing-Feasts. They went off together that they might lie together, and this was what was expected of them, though unlike at a wedding-feast they were under no actual obligation to consummate their union.
There was naught dirty nor shameful about this, Snips. They were now Betrothed; their love declared and contract signed before the whole village. They would not yet start to live together -- that awaited the Wedding -- but all now knew they were lovers and meant to marry, to spend their lives together and in their union conceive and rear their foals. That was the important part.
Well, Snails, they did love one another, and they do to this very day. Death has not damped their caring. And they did consummate the Trothing, but 'twas a sad and frightened consummation, for they both wished to forget the dreadful deed of Grey Hoof and Gladstone. After that, they held one another, crying like children, hoping that in the plighting of their troth they had finally gotten past the bad time, and from now on their fate would be for the most part merry.
'Twas not to be so. But 'twas not their fault. And I am sad for this, for though Starlet at times annoys me, she is a good Pony, and my sister, and I well love her -- and he with whom she chose to spend her life, and has now spent her afterlife. They were both good Ponies, and though they have become monsters, I hope and pray that this, too, shall pass -- in time.
We have rather a lot of time.
Meanwhile, back at the main square, the Ponies of Sunney Towne were making merry as best they could, given the monstrous awareness that hung heavy over all their hearts. They ate -- and drank far too much. Drink lowered their guards and loosened their tongues -- yet there was a terrible truth they could not bear to speak, or name. That awareness built up within them as a pressure, demanding release.
So they grew surly and wild.
Some simply sank deeper and deeper into their cups. These posed little problem, for they simply minded their own business.
Others quarreled, sometimes coming to blows, over every thing and no thing. These were most often but drunken scuffles; a matter of Ponies rolling together and kicking each other in the dust. One fight though was with eating-knives, and both combatants suffered minor cuts, before Grey Hoof and Gladstone separated them. A very tipsy Three Leaf was just sober enough to tend to their hurts, an act which somewhat cheered her, for such small wounds were well within her power to mend, or at least bind. When Three Leaf returned to her place, her ears and tail rose higher, and she slowed her drinking.
But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was ...
How do I put this?
Our celebration was, in part, a betrothal. And in those days, when the betrothed couple went off to be alone together to celebrate the match they made, other couples would go off to also be together and celebrate. One love inspired the expression of the others.
Nay, Snips, 'twas not an orgy. We were decent Ponies; we all knew one another; we would do naught so shameful. We were not as rich as are ye to-day, but we were good farmers or at least honest cottagers; not some bad and degraded rabble.
What happened at betrothal celebrations, and some others devoted to some sort of love, such as Loving-Day and Hearth's Warming, was that already-courting couples -- they might be merely greening, or actually Intended or Betrothed -- would go off to be alone together. They might actually mate, or make lesser love-play, or kiss and cuddle, or simply talk, as the twain did desire. Or, as the mare did desire, for even in my day 'twas the mares who did the choosing, aye, and set the pace. I doubt much that has changed in your day -- I ween it be an equine universal!
Had I stil been alive there, dear Snails? Well, I would have stayed by my parents, maybe danced a bit with my friends, sang, made merry. As I did at most feasts.
Oh, but he had fled from guilt over his role in slaying the peddlers, remember. So thou must mean, had none of the bad things befallen.
Heh, in that case, he would like to have asked my parents to let him court me. And asked me, of course. And ...
... well, I did like Ravenwood right well. And enjoyed his company. And trusted him. So I would not have minded going greening with him. No, I would not have minded it at all.
We would have walked, and talked ... I would have made plain to him that I meant to join the guard and hence could make him no long promises ... I would not have wanted to play with the heart of my dear friend ...
We would have walked, and talked, and shared our hopes and dreams and plans. We would have found a nice quiet place in the greenwood together, and leaned together, talking further in low tones, and mayhaps sat down together ... talked further, enjoying the closeness ... and then mayhaps he might have wanted to kiss me ... and I mayhaps might have let him ...
Yes, Snails. I have thought on this. Sometimes ...
Alas, all I can do is think. He is almost a thousand years dead ... truly dead. While I ... I do linger.
'Tis unwise to think on too long.
To return to what happened in truth, things went not well at the feast with the courting couples. For quarrels flared between the lovers; between the lovers and their rivals; even between different couples. There was screaming and shouting; accusations and worse of molestations; all sorts of nastiness save for rapes. Couples divided; Ponies went greening with Ponies they loved not, to spite other Ponies or for no better reason than mere lust.
'Twas for the cause that the slayings, and the rumors of the Pox, coming hard one upon the other, had cast all certainties adrift. What meant manners, or morals or even simple decency in a world gone mad? So their revels grew frantic, and some did things of which they would have been ashamed upon the morrow -- had a proper morrow ever come.
All was askew at that terrible feast, or so I am told. The music was off time; the songs all off-key; the dance was more like the spastic thrashings of those who had eaten bad grain, than any honest expressions of joy. All heart-songs were stilled, or too dreadful to take beyond the first stanzas. It must have been the most un-merry merriment ever known.
Much of this now does repeat every night, and has done so a thousand five years, though we Wraiths can change in small ways our actions and conversations, if we make the effort of will. 'Tis a bit different in tat we now have no carnal delights in any of it . 'Tis dreadful dreary, I am told, and I am quite glad that, having been already slain, I was dead and gone for that part of it, so that I need not go through it again and again all eternal. Though I am sorry that I did not get to eat of the feast.
After a time, Roneo and Starlet came back from their tryst, and resumed their places at the head of their table. One or two at a time, those who had gone a-greening returned as well. Roneo and Starlet were wan, but but at least happy to be together, their hearts united. The others looked merely tired; in some cases ashamed; a few angry at those they had gone with. Most avoided everypony's gazes.
They had not had happy greenings.
Grey Hoof and Three Leaf looked at each other. Grey Hoof raised an eyebrow in inquiry; Three Leaf looked sad, her ears drooping; Grey Hoof's face also fell. They had known each other well almost all their lives. They did not always need words to understand one another.
Grey Hoof at last broke the silence.
"I have hosted the worst feast ever," he said, matter-of-fact.
"O no," replied Three Leaf quickly. "I am sure there have been worse ones."
"Thou'rt a poor liar," Grey Hoof replied, his voice drained of all emotion. "Even more to one who has been thy friend since we both were small."
"There have been worse," Three Leaf insisted.
"Name one," challenged Grey Hoof.
"The Crimson Trothing."
"That was the one a couple centuries back, was it not?" asked Grey Hoof.
"Around two and a half," Three Leaf corrected.
"Thou'rt right," said Grey Hoof, doing sums in his head. "I was ever a ninny with numbers." He smiled at his own folly.
"'Twas closer to two centuries when we first learned of it," said Three Leaf, turning to him with a gentle smile.
"We grow old," Grey Hoof said, sighing.
"Middle-aged," Three Leaf insisted.
"All our parents be dead," Grey Hoof pointed out, his ears drooping.
"My sire may yet live," said Three Leaf. Her ears drooped down as well. "How should I ken? My dam ne'er even knew his name."
Grey Hoof leaned against her. "That ne'er mattered ... to me."
"It did to others," Three Leaf said sadly. She wished not to name those others -- Pretty Hoof and Dainty Hoof -- but of course, they both knew whom she meant. "And thus to us too, in the end."
"'Tis not yet the end," pointed out Grey Hoof. "Our lives are far from over."
At that, they both smiled. Weak smiles. But still smiles.
"The Crimson Trothing was worse," said Three Leaf after a time. She was stubborn.
"Well, aye," allowed Grey Hoof. "But that was for the cause that the Brother family did murther most of their guests."
"'Twas in the midst of a civil war," said Three Leaf by way of explanation, even though she knew that he knew it too. The legend of the Crimson Trothing was famous, and had been the basis for more than one Harvest Night ballad.
"True," acknowledged Grey Hoof. "But even for a civil war, 'twas excessive blood-thirsty. And poor form for a feast."
"And far worse than this feast," concluded Three Leaf. "Thy guests do live."
The same thought must have struck them both at the same time, for they both winced, ears drooping.
"My poor Ruby,"Grey Hoof said. "To be felled by the Pox at such a time in her life!"
Three Leaf peered at Grey Hoof, and kenned he meant it straight. But then, he scarce could bear himself if he did not see what he had done in such a light. And 'twas in fact an accurate description of what he had thought he was doing -- putting me out of my misery, while ending a threat to all Sunney Towne. His motive had been protection. Looked at a certain way, overcoming his love to me to strike, ending my supposed suffering and saving all, had been a heroic deed.
That of course ignored the utter lack of real evidence that I ever had the Mark-Pox in the first place. But then, Grey Hoof had been deceived on that as well -- and by one even more dear to Three Leaf, so she could scarce point this out to him.
Three Leaf looked at her one true love, the love of her life, her only lover, for whom she had already sacrificed so much. She saw that by telling him one simple truth, she could destroy his self-respect and happiness for ever and ever.
It woud take but four words -- 'Ruby had no Pox.' Four simple words, and she would be revenged, revenged for all the lonely years, scorned for a fickleness and lecherousness that had never been part of her nature, struggling to raise Gladstone, often alone.
There was a dark part of her that wanted to do it. For a moment she was tempted -- then she stepped back from that abyss. She could not even see from whence had come the temptation. She shuddered at the very thought, and again as she remembered what she had scented and felt during Grey Hoof's rallying speech, when he had described his slaying of me as a 'sacrifice.'
She did not destroy Grey Hoof. But nor could she tell him the truth, for she feared that she might not be gentle enough in her telling, that she might be tempted to harm him with the truth, after all. At the pass, her honesty was not quite up to the challenge, and she backed down.
"Yes," said Three Leaf. "Poor Ruby."
The sorrow in her voice was no lie.
"At least the worst of it is now over," Grey Hoof said, forcing a smile. "We shall recover from this tragedy. We shall survive. Life shall --"
What he was going to say, Three Leaf never knew. For at that moment, the multitude -- those of them sober enough to respond at all -- looked up from their drinks and meals and quarrels with their lovers, looked up at the sky and gasped in wonder and awe.
Beautiful and graceful and lovely and lethal as she looked always, Princess Luna Selena Nyx descended to land right before Grey Hoof and Three Leaf.
They gaped at her in surprise. With all that had befallen, they had almost forgot she was invited.
"Hail and well met, Goodcolt Hoof and Goodmare Leaf," she said in her strong clear voice. "Prithee pardon my lateness." She looked around curiously. "Where is my dear friend, Mistress Gift?"
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1) - my father had done to convince his fellow-vilagers (male/female seems at bit mixed up there, unless there's something you're not telling us about Grey Hoof)
2) - the laughter was hollow; his smiles more leers (repetition, repetition, repetition)
3) - others ("o" and "t" are the wrong way round)
4?) - "might be a (I think you're missing this, but it could be the "ye olde speake")
5) - comfort (you've got an extra "o" in there)
6) - "eating-knives" (pretty certain you shouldn't have a hypen and a space)
7) - "different" (too many "e"s)
8) - "that" (mising the "h")
9) - "it. 'Tis" (no Space before a full stop/period, and you've double spaced after it)
10) - "I am quite glad that I was dead for..." (???
???)
11) - "their" (mising the "h")
12) - "...table. One..." (Massive over spacing here, I'm counting at least 4 spaces)
13) - "saving" (you don't need that "c" there, ya see?)
XYZ) - there is a massive amount of double spacing in thsi chapter, to the point that if I tried to document every one I saw I might actually suffer SAN loss and go make frenzied revelry rather than type away my words. If you can, stick this up on GDOCs, and I'll do what I can, but it won't be any time soon, in the middle of a computer upgrade, and I accidently forgot to order a Hard-drive or an activation for my OS, working from my boot drive and basic installation software.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I liked the Ronoe POV part, it seemed almost childish and innocent which is fairly refreshing at this point. Also seeing an entire town roll for SAN loss during a feast was both hilarious and frightening, the imagery was awesome, and I can't wait for he next chapter.
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Is there a good TV Tropes for a Party of the Damned? A joyless sort of thing where everyone goes through the motions of having fun, but no one is, not really. Even Roneo and Starlet were just having a slightly better time than everypony else (and this was more or less for them in between an engagement party and a wedding night!). And to add insult to injury, they all have to repeat that party for over a thousand and five years.
Roneo and Starlet really love each other. And Roneo is fundamentally a very good Pony. It's really too bad that he's under a curse to be a horrible undead monster.
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Masque of the Red Death, perhaps?
7895826
That's a good term for the concept. The Masque of the Red Death, the Party of the Doomed or Damned. In which everyone is trying very energetically to have fun to avoid facing up to something horrible, but the something horrible comes home to them, one way or another. In Poe's story it's the Red Death Incarnate; in mine it's Princess Luna come looking for Ruby.
I wonder if it's already in TV Tropes under another name?
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I'm seriously glad you liked those chapters. Your appreciation makes me very happy.
Correction, Three Leaf: It's not the worst feast in history yet. That's about to change. Though punching a hole in the social and magical fabric of the community is certainly a good way to start.
Still, it's generally best not to sacrifice one of the princess's boon companions, for a Nightmare often offends.
The Biggest Tragedy here was still one last chance to turn from the oncoming doom. If Grey Hoof doesn't try to hide what he did to Ruby. Too bad he doesn't. Funny Gladstone's Betrayed his kin along with a lot of the greening couples, He, Green Leaf, and Grey either lied, or couldn't be honest, the feast is awful, Grey's unwillingness to let go his dream of being a perfect head-stallion. And the whole murder is certainly unkind. No wonder that the only magic that's now building up is going to be so bad...
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Even reading through TvTropes entry on "Masque of the Red Death" I've found nothing.
I do like the term "Hysterical Bacchanalia" though, unfestive festival would probably fit the TvTropes naming scheme better.