"The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it cannot make: not real things of its own." — J.R.R. Tolkien

There was a world unlike anything imaginable. A dimension of sorts so vivid, so abstract, so phenomenally mystifying it defied all natural logic and reason. It was a sea of deep blue and lighter wispy hues adorned with wriggly cosmic shapes floating about, animated caricatures of stars that faded back and forth from a pearly white to a shimmering black, and lively orbs of white light with vibrant auras of blue, neon green, yellow, red, pink, and orange. They soared across the endless expanse like falling comets with their colorful ribbon tails, beautiful yet wild. Though rare and random, two orbs would crash into each other and unite in a brilliant flash of iridescence, creating a golden fireball more impatient than its cousins.

But it was not just the environment of this strange and wondrous world that demanded notice. At the center of everything, juxtaposed amongst the stars and shapes and lights were a set of five floating islands, one in the center and four at each corner at a short distance from the first. Each island was adorned with quartz crystals encrusted on their rough undersides; a dozen small ones and a rather large one that took up the base respectively, burning bright with energies familiar to this world that the smaller crystals lacked. Clear and pale, contrasted by the shining impurity of color. The center island, unlike the others, was encased in a translucent sphere with a corona of gold phasing in and out of visibility every three minutes. On its surface were a series of engravings; seven peculiar symbols in a circle, surrounded by unfamiliar hieroglyphics, all glowing in pastel blue. The seven symbols themselves resemble objects. A bone wrapped in a diamond collar, a toy with a face, an amulet with a misshapen stone on its center, among other things.

Standing atop each island were single buildings that looked… normal. Relatively speaking. And each building was different from the last. One of them was an ugly manor restored to prime condition with a gate in front of it, the words 'Hill Hall' bronzed on a plaque fixed to the side of the gate. Two of them were barns on big green fields, only one was slightly bigger and had a tree growing from the inside that had breached its roof. The last two were a mansion big enough for plenty of pets to keep around and an upscale terraced house on a street, covered with eccentric decorations and paint splatters marking much of the brickwork.

And on the door of that particular house was a number: one-hundred and one.

Five islands. Five buildings. Five places that appeared as if they were cut out of the world they came from and placed in a void they were unnatural to just as it was unnatural to them. Not to mention there didn't seem to be a single sign of any sort of life whatsoever, no lights in the windows, no sound aside from the hissing of the light orbs.

Or was there?

See, there was more to this metaphysical realm than meets the eye. What was present on the surface of these buildings belied the true nature of their existence. If you were to open the door to one of them and look inside, you would find many more doors — just a bit over a hundred doors — all of them leading to hundreds of possibilities, so similar to each other in many ways yet so different in others, in the end having at the very least one unshakable constant. Think of the islands as like Dalmatians; regardless of age or size or shape, they all had white coats marked with black spots, so they were pretty much the exact same in that regard, but every single spot on each dog was a different shape, a different size. They were the same but not the same. Imperfect yet perfectly natural.

Now, imagine if there was another Dalmatian, only this one was inverted. Black fur with white spots. Sounds quite impossible, doesn't it? Something that probably shouldn't happen… and yet it does. Black Dalmatians aren't born naturally, but if someone were to take a regular Dalmatian and dye their fur, then you'd have one. Interesting, isn't it?

But ask yourself: what if that hair dye wasn't natural for dogs? What if that dye had an adverse and toxic effect on the Dalmatian? What if so much of that dye was used that there were barely any white spots left, and some of those spots were tainted, more gray than white, making the dog barely recognizable as the Dalmatian they used to be?

Now, take those questions into mind and ask yourself a bigger question: where is that Dalmatian now?

Well, the answer to that is the answer to all the questions… and it lies buried within the dark.

If you were to travel below the five islands, down down, all the way down below, you would find yourself in a forbidding area where the islands were but shining beacons in the distance above. Where the deep blue broke off into inky black highlighted by a makeup of varying shades of dark violet and sickly green wisps swirling together in a vortex akin to a black hole. Where the shapes were drained of color and buzzed in static grey, where the stars were dim, dull and droopy, and where not even the strongest light could enter without being consumed by the darkness that reigned. A darkness woven from lifetimes of corruption and evil, crossed with eerie rifts of purple, vein-like and pulsing, extended from the heart of it all like a spider's web.

And that heart was a sixth island. Trapped in its own sphere. Three symbols: bone, toy, amulet.

The Shadow trapped beneath the Light — two sides of the same coin — both unaware of the spots they share.

The island far below was a home to darkness. A black mirror; warped and broken, trapped yet festering, growing, waiting. Purple rifts like the ones extended from its center and spread along the sinking void all around were carved into every part of its terrain, save for the large yellow purple crystal and its clear lessers underneath, broken chunks of rock levitating high above jagged ledges. A stark contrast to it counterparts above, what stood on the fractured landmass was not a house, not a barn, not even a manor or mansion, but a massive dark castle on a barren hill with small patches of grass, surrounded by a small forest of dying trees lining the stone path that led to the imposing structure, colored somewhere between purple and black — rotted branches gnarled and outstretched as three-fingered hands reaching for the sky, twisted roots grown above the ground, ending in spear-thin spikes. One look at the whole island would be enough to tell you it was undoubtedly brimming with cruel malevolence, but the castle itself was tinged with an air of madness and greed on top of that. In other words, it was the home of a devil, and it practically had the visage of one. Gothic architecture built from obsidian, complete with red-tinted windows, pointed towers curved at the tips like horns, and ornate black double doors with intricate white patterns set in a blood marble frame.

For but a moment, an unsettling stillness haunted the area.

And then—

CREAK!

The castle doors pulled open by themselves, as if moved by some invisible force. Purple light streamed out of the doorway. A song of entropy drifted through the air; a composition of dissonant sounds and incomprehensible words slowed and distorted, as if ran through a filter.

~Lliw gniht liVe oN, uoy Eracs t'nseod ehS fI, Liv ed alleurC, liV eD alleurc~

Three silhouetted figures stood within the doorway, two short ones and one tall one, each having glowing green eyes that could pierce through the night and see all. The taller one stepped forward from the light and out of the doorway, the sound of heels clicking carried with their movements, followed closely from behind by the shorter ones.

The second they stepped foot on the hill, the doors closed behind them.

With the shadows peeled away, the three figures were revealed. The first two were a pair of Dalmatians… or at least what used to be Dalmatians. They were a male and a female, both wearing spiked collars that were split between black and white, the spikes themselves red and blue, respectively. They had the spots of course, but they were slightly faded, and what was originally the white predominance of their fur was now a dull and dreary gray. Drained of life. Their most unnatural features however were quite ghoulish. Stitches marred their coats, covered their bodies from head to paw, and toxic green dots amid a pool of black were now their eyes.

And then there was their owner.

The third figure was a tan skinned woman. Her features were sharp and angular, from her wild, spiky and luxuriant black hair dappled with white spots to her glass cutting chin, and in-between that were her sickle shaped eyebrows, pointy nose, pointy ears and her prominent cheekbones. Her lips were as red as blood, and her eyes were venomous green with pale yellow sclerae and snake-like pupils sharply defined in ruby, the eyes as a whole defined with an odd purple eyeshadow. She was dressed extravagantly and eccentrically, four of her notable articles being a crimson headwear with horns that matched with her gloves, a black and purple ring with a jade jewel on top, a pair of jade earrings, and a long and showy fur coat with red inner lining, her most prized possession, over her black dress, fashioned from the coats of one of if not her most favorite animals in existence — her most favorite dog breed, to be precise. A regal fur coat that was deliciously soft, sleek, silky, and so very… spotty.

The woman, Cruella de Vil, could never forget the day she wore it for the first time, nor could she forget the day where everything changed, where the 'story' was 'rewritten', to put it lightly. For everyone in her world, yes, but more importantly, for her and for her pets. And a much needed rewrite it was, in her opinion. Ah, to think it's been almost ten years since…! Even now, it seemed like it was only yesterday…

But reminiscing over the past will sadly have to wait. First things first, she had a meddlesome cat to find.

"Oh kitty cat, I'm here!" Cruella called out in the vastness of… wherever the hell she was. She walked down the hill, the ends of her coat dragging along the ground. Recognition and amazement dawned on her face as she observed her surroundings: the dried and desolate landscape, the warped, decaying trees and, as she looked behind herself, the castle that she just came out of. What really caught her eye though was the see-through dome playing peekaboo, as well as the chaos of the heavens above. And the glowing cracks running all over the ground for miles on end…

What in the…? No no, questions for later, she resolved inwardly. No sense in trying to make sense of everything all at once. She learned that lesson ten years ago. Even though it wasn't by choice, but hey, she wasn't complaining — live and learn, as the saying goes! After all, where would she be if she hadn't learned…? Certainly not where she was now.

And where she was now, the woman was starting to feel like a guest being disrespected by her host. At least the air temperature of this place was surprisingly pleasant, if nothing else.

"Hellooo, anybody home? Here, kitty kitty kitty!" With a wave of a hand coated in supernatural energy, Cruella summoned a live brown mouse out of thin air with ease. She grabbed it before it fell to the ground, pinching its tail between her fingers. "I've got a nice little treat for you, just the way you like it! Sad, helpless, pitiful — and squirming in fear."

The mouse, having no idea where they were but instantly recognizing the voice of their captor and the implications of her words, tried to escape from her grasp but to no avail. With beady eyes full of panic and tears yet to be shed, they stared up at the face of evil grinning down at them nastily and began to plead.

"M-my Empress…please," said the mouse in a small, trembling voice. "Let me go, I have done you no, no wrong. I-I-I have a family, don—don't feed me to a cat, please!"

To any other human, the mouse's pathetic words would've sounded like pathetic squeaks.

But, the Devil Empress was no mere human. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

"Oh, mi pobre amiguito," Cruella spoke to the mouse softly in Spanish, her tone mock-caring. Her eyes flashed green for a brief moment. "It's okay. Whimpering like a scared puppy won't save you — believe me, I'd know that better than anyone — but I'll tell you what, how 'bout you—" she flicked its nose, earning an "ow" from the little thing, "—act like a good little cat bait for me and maybe I won't have to make a sudden trip to Wandsworth. Up the alleyway near King George's Park." The mouse froze up at the specified location during the middle of rubbing its own nose. "That's where your family is, right? Your happy herd of five? Because it just so happens that some of my darling puppies have stumbled upon them while they were out on their 'daily constitutional'. What a coincidence! Hahaha!"

With a wicked glint in her eyes, Cruella took a moment to drink in the now wide-eyed, utterly terrified expression of the rodent. Tormenting something so weak and small felt almost as intoxicating as having a smoke and a glass of Mateus Rosé at a high-class party (with her as the main attraction of course), and she wanted more.

The mouse stammered, tears now beginning to fall freely, "No… no… y-you can't…"

"Oh, but I can. But it doesn't have to be that way. You play nice and I'll play nice, my puppies will play nice, your family will pass on… no harm done." She then smiled sweetly, deliberately. "And if you do a really good job, I just might, MIGHT, send you back to them, safe and sound."

The mouse sniffled, wiping its face on the back of its paws. "W-would you really?" It looked doubtful, but Cruella could hear a hint of hope in its tone. Good. Those who cling onto any hope in saving the ones they love tend to be more desperate than others. Which made them more malleable, but more importantly, it made them more breakable, too. How fun~

"Of course, little one, of course," she said. "You have my word as your Empress. But if you don't believe me… well, it's not like there's any other choice, is there? I'm sure you've noticed now that we're not exactly in Kansas anymore, Toto." She chuckled.

The reference was apparently lost to the mouse because it twitched its whiskers in bemusement and spoke a little out of focus… or maybe that was the blood rushing to its head. "Um, actually ma'am, my name is—"

"Don't care." With that, Cruella unceremoniously dumped the mouse on the ground. She cleared her throat before snapping her fingers twice and, without looking behind herself, called out two certain names:

"Perdita! Pongo! ¡Vengan aquí, ustedes dos!"

From the top of the hill, twin pairs of phantom eyes, observing, glowed ominously brighter at the command. Heeding the call of their mistress, the undead Dalmatians, Pongo and Perdita, stood and marched down the hill towards where she awaited them.

The mouse uttered a yelp as they landed on their head. Disoriented and in pain, the mouse rested on their back, seeing stars in their vision. It was odd though, some of them appeared to be closer than others. And they weren't bright but also gray and sagging? And some were peeking from behind these weird looking branches and… symbols in the sky…

W-where am I?

The mouse didn't have enough time to ask that question or any further questions, for as soon as their headache and dizziness let up, something else entered their vision, towering over them, obscuring everything else. Two somethings, namely.

And they were staring down at them with soulless black and green eyes.

The brown rodent reacted with a start. Letting out a squeaky scream of pure terror, they rolled onto their feet and scurried back, stopping at a far enough distance for them to turn around and see the monsters in full view. Their tiny heart beating so quick and so loud they could practically hear it pounding against their ribcage, the mouse's world fell apart as they found themself frozen in their spot under the intense weight of two steely, hollow, evil gazes.

The mouse should have known that the Empress' pets would be with her, but it was still quite a shock to see them, especially two of her oldest and worst of the lot. Truth be told, up until now they had never actually seen any of the Dalmatians up close and personal — and until now they had prayed to never see them outside of the papers. They had known of them mostly through scattered articles written about them, and through the stories and rumors shared throughout the animal community long before the mouse was even born, dating back to the early months of Cruella de Vil's rise to power as the Devil Empress.

It was said that they had shown up at Regent's Park out of the blue, emerging from the shadows, right at the start of the New Year. No forewarning, no proper introductions at all! The first, bitter taste of "Her Majesty's" favorite pastime, much to her entertainment and the suffering of her subjects. Who else but the Devil Empress could've expected them? Not the humans. Not the animals. Dogs had been one of the first to find out about them of course, when they'd heard the howling. That was how one knew when they were nearby. When the last bit of sun falls into the horizon, leaving behind a darkened city made darker under the blight of hellish red perpetually dominating the sky… the one thing you'll hear prominently throughout London at night, loud enough to probably drown out the rumbling and beeping sounds of cars moving along on a busy day? A chorus of harrowing, reverberating howls, full of what sounded seemingly like anguish and despair.

(The mouse couldn't help but think of how many sleepless nights they've had from the noise, the thought of their mate and their children in harm's way at the forefront of their mind.)

For years, those spotted beasts had haunted London at every corner, roaming the streets, stalking the alleyways, even the rooftops weren't safe from them! They were the Empress' eyes and ears, the personal enforcers of her will. Ever vigilant. Always silent. Never sleeping nor eating nor whatever a regular dog would do. Wherever they went, she was bound to be around, and wherever she went, they were not far behind. Any human who dared to ever publicly speak against the Empress wound up missing, never to be seen again. Animals went missing, too, some of them the owners of their pet humans that disappeared but most of the time it was animals that hadn't done anything to her. The only reason anyone knew they went missing was because the Empress loved to announce it on the next day.

No one knew what happened to them after that… but some have mentioned once witnessing a puppy or three with their muzzles and paws coated in blood, wandering around Regent's Park like zombies. It didn't take much to put two and two together.

But what were they exactly, if not zombies? The Empress kept plenty of secrets about herself; she was a magnet for mysteries, the origin of her pets one of the greatest mysteries of them all. Where did they come from? Why were only two of them adults while the rest, all ninety-nine of them, were puppies? Why were they so scarred and, for the most part, lifeless? Everyone heard the rumors, and everyone had their own beliefs. Some believed that the Empress took inspiration from Frankenstein, created her monsters by stitching together body parts harvested from dognapped Dalmatians from all over the world and reanimating them. Others speculated that they were demons from the depths of Hell under a macabre guise, summoned through black magic. A more grounded, and to many the most disturbing rumor suggested that the Dalmatians were once normal dogs who were unfortunate enough to cross paths with the Empress at the dawn of her rule, and for whatever reason (if there was a reason) she changed them, corrupted them, turned them into hollow, broken shells of what they once were.

But whatever was their supposed origin, it didn't change what they were now. For there was one undeniable truth, one that everyone, humans and animals, can agree on without a single doubt in their heads, one that the mouse now knew was certain:

Death walked among the living; and it came in the form of One Hundred and One Dalmatians.