"This is the place..." Luna stopped at the threshold, her hand gesturing for me to enter.
I paused at the door, drawing deep breaths to steady my racing heart. The sounds of clattering pots and sizzling oil drifted through the crack. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The noise hit me like a wave.
"YOU CHOP THE ONION FINER! LIKE THIS—DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEE HOW I DO IT?" An old woman moved with surprising speed around the massive kitchen, her hands flying between pots and platters. Her grey hair was tied in a tight bun, and her face was flushed from the heat of the roaring hearth. She tasted a spoonful of something bubbling in a cauldron, smacked her lips, and threw in another handful of herbs.
The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meat, fresh bread, and fragrant spices. My stomach, though recently filled, betrayed me with a low growl.
This must be the head cook. But where was Carla?
"What are you doing here!" The old woman's voice cut through the noise like a blade. Her eyes narrowed at me, suspicion written across her weathered face. "You are not permitted to be here! This is my domain, and I do not tolerate interruptions!"
"I am looking for the slave Carla," I said, holding my ground.
The old woman's eyes flickered with recognition. "I do not like my helping hands being disturbed, but I shall grant you a few moments to speak with her. CARLA!" she bellowed toward the back room.
"Yes, Ma'am?" My sister's voice drifted from deeper within the kitchen.
"The Master's lady wishes to speak with you. Come now!" The old woman turned back to her work, whipping something sticky in a large bowl—eggs, perhaps, or batter.
Then I saw her.
Carla emerged from the back room, covered from head to toe in white powder. Flour dusted her hair, her cheeks, the front of her tunic. She looked like a ghost made of dough.
"Calra," I called out softly.
She looked up. Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. The bowl she was holding slipped from her grasp, shattering on the stone floor.
"Aurelia?"
"Excuse me," I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the chaos of the kitchen. Her palm was warm and slightly damp in mine. I could not remember the last time I had held her hand like this.
We stepped into a narrow corridor just outside the kitchen. The sounds of the cook's shouting faded into a distant murmur.
"You are alive," she whispered. "You took the veil I gave you."
No. I had not.
"Yes," I said, my voice cold as winter stone. "I did. And it worked."
Silence stretched between us like a chasm. Luna lingered at the corner of the corridor, pretending to speak with someone else but clearly listening.
"I am busy," Carla finally said, her voice trembling. "Perhaps we could meet later. I have much to tell you—"
She smiled, a fragile thing, and moved to go. But I caught her arm.
"I have not dismissed you."
She froze. "What?"
"I need a favor from you."
Her eyes flickered with surprise. "Of what use am I to you? What have you come to ask of me?"
I pulled her deeper into the shadows of the corridor. My heart pounded against my ribs. How could I ask this? How could I speak the words aloud?
"Can you..." I whimpered, the words catching in my throat. How could I ask her to commit such a sin? How could I gather the courage to speak it?
"What is so great," she demanded, her voice sharp, "that you cannot ask me? I hope you do not intend for me to poison the master, for I will not do it!"
"No," I said quickly. "No, I... can you be ab—able... can you be able..."
"Able to do what?" Her eyes narrowed.
"I need you to lay with someone. Every midnight."
Carla stared at me, her face pale beneath the flour.
"You came all this way," she said slowly, her voice rising, "just to ask me this?"
"Carla, I—"
"You could have asked anyone else! Why me?" Her voice cracked. "What do you take me for?"
"I ask because you are all I have," I said.
"You take me for a WHORE?" Tears filled her eyes, cutting clean tracks through the flour on her cheeks. "You think I am nothing but a common street meretrix, spreading my legs for anyone who asks?"
"Why are you making a scene?" I snapped, frustration boiling over. "If you do not wish to help me, simply say no! There is no need for these tears."
I turned to walk away, my sandals scraping against the stone floor.
"I will do it."
Her voice stopped me cold.
I turned back. "What?"
"I will do it." Her voice was small, broken. But there was steel beneath it.
"I do not wish to force you—"
"You are not forcing me," she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I am choosing this. For you."
She stepped closer, her eyes boring into mine.
"But I hope you do not regret what you are doing, Aurelia. I hope whatever plan you have is worth it. Because I will not forget this. And neither will you."
She turned and walked back toward the kitchen, her shoulders hunched, her steps heavy.
I stood alone in the corridor, the warmth of the kitchen seeping through the walls, the scent of fresh bread filling my lungs.
What am I doing?
What have I become?
But I pushed the thought away.
I had a plan. And I would see it through. No matter the cost.
---
"Now that you are done... it has been a long day. Let us go and meet Cornelia. She must be waiting."
I nodded, following her.
We finally reached the room.
"Enter..."
"Alright!"
"I will close the door now..."
What... why do—
Thud!
The door shut right on my face.
I was inside.
The room was dark—the lamps glowing a deep, sultry red. The perfume was rosy, thick and cloying, a fragrance that caught in my throat. Petals were scattered across the floor like a carpet of blood.
What was the need of all this?
"Would I die before you would come..." a voice emerged from the rosy water. The bath had been plain the last time I was brought here. Now it was filled with petals and oils, steam rising in fragrant clouds.
I turned. Cornelia emerged from the water, her teeth long and sharp—she must be in her beast form.
"I just came here to appreciate you for helping me... I will be leaving as quickly as I came."
"Do you even know why you are here?" She rose fully from the water.
She was completely naked. Her breasts swayed as she walked forward, full and heavy, her nipples dark and peaked from the warmth of the bath. Water droplets traced paths down her pale skin, between her breasts, along her flat stomach. Her thighs were bare and glistening.
I shifted my gaze away immediately.
"No! Why am I here?"
"I want you." She reclined on the bed, spreading her legs wide, her fingers tracing lazy circles on her inner thigh. She touched herself softly, parting her folds, exposing the pink flesh beneath. A low moan escaped her lips.
What is wrong with her? Am I a man that she would do this?
"I want to leave..." I went to the door, trying to open it. It was locked.
How can I escape this madness now?
"What is wrong?" I screamed, turning only to find her at the front of me.
"I chose this clothing directly for you..." Her eyes lingered on my chest, where my breasts strained against the low-cut fabric.
"I cannot do what you ask of me!"
"Really? You cannot?" Her hand found my waist.
I would not commit this sin. Never!
"I do not wish to rape you," she whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my skin. "But do not force me."
Her long fingers traced the fabric of my shirt. It tore immediately. My breasts fell exposed, heavy and bare.
No! Her nails are so sharp!
I covered my chest immediately.
"I cannot! I can't... My body is not mine!"
"Fine then. If you cannot, can you at least try moaning for me? I want to see your eyes when you do."
"I will not!"
"Do not touch me again," I screamed, my voice trembling. "Or I will kill you! I promise!"
"I promise I will get you one day... you will need me one day!" She climbed back onto the bed, spreading her legs wider, revealing her wet, glistening folds.
She picked up a wooden tool—shaped like a man's member, thick and long. She pressed it against her entrance, sliding it slowly into her wet folds.
"Ohhh... ahhh..." she groaned, her head falling back. Her hand squeezed her breast, pinching her nipple, while the other worked the tool repeatedly into herself. The wood glistened with her wetness, sliding in and out, faster and faster.
"Ohhhhhh ahhhh... ehmmm..." Her moans filled the room. Her eyes rolled back, showing only white. Her hips bucked against the tool, her body arching off the bed.
I turned away. But I would be a liar if I said I felt nothing.
The sounds filled the chamber—wet, rhythmic, and obscene. Cornelia's moans grew louder, more desperate. The slap of the wooden tool against her flesh echoed off the walls. I could hear her breath hitching, her body shuddering with each thrust of the phallus.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I pressed my hands over my ears. But the sounds still found their way in, crawling beneath my skin like insects.
And somewhere deep in my belly, a heat stirred. A warmth I did not want. A pulsing ache between my thighs that made me want to scream.
No. No, Aurelia. Do not listen.
But I somehow did.
I felt the shame burning in my cheeks. I felt the strange, traitorous dampness gathering between my legs. I felt my nipples tighten beneath my torn shirt, aching for a touch I would never allow.
What was wrong with me?
I hated this. I hated her. I hated everything about this place and everyone in it.
And yet my body would not obey.
I forced my mind elsewhere—to the future. To the life I would have when all of this was over.
I imagined my perfect husband. Tall, strong, with kind eyes and a warm smile. He would look at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He would worship me, protect me, love me until the end of our days.
We would have a villa by the sea, white marble gleaming in the sun. Olive trees swaying in the breeze. The sound of children's laughter echoing through the courtyard.
Nine children. Seven sons. Two daughters.
They would dance and play every day, their feet bare against the warm stone, their voices rising in joyful chorus. I would watch them from the portico, a cup of wine in my hand, my husband hands on my waist.
He would love me forever.
That was the life I would get after this.
That was what I was fighting for.
So I had to keep myself intact. Pure. Untouched. My maidenhead was not just a physical thing—it was a promise. A gift I would give to my husband on our wedding night, when we would join together under the eyes of the gods.
I would not let Cornelia take that from me.
I would not let Tenebrarum take that from me.
I would not let anyone take that from me.
---
Cornelia's moans reached a fever pitch. Her body convulsed on the bed, her hips bucking wildly against the tool. A long, shuddering cry escaped her lips—a sound of release that seemed to shake the very walls.
Then silence.
I heard her breathing slow. I heard the wooden tool fall to the floor with a dull clatter.
"You can look now," she said, her voice lazy and satisfied.
I did not turn.
"Look at me," she commanded, her voice sharp now. "I said look at me."
Slowly, I turned.
She was lying on the bed, her legs still spread, her body glistening with sweat and the evidence of her pleasure. Between her thighs, her folds were swollen and wet. She smiled at me—a slow, lazy smile.
"You felt it too," she said softly. "I could tell. Your body knows what it wants."
"I want nothing."
She laughed. "Liar."
She rose from the bed, walking toward me with naked, unhurried steps. Her body was beautiful—I could not deny it. But it was the beauty of a serpent, alluring and deadly.
She stopped before me, so close I could smell her—roses and musk and something sweet.
"You can leave now," she said. "But I will get you one day. You will need me one day."
She reached out, her finger tracing my jaw.
"Do not touch me," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She smiled and stepped back.
"Go," she said. "Run back to your cell."
She leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear.
"You are not as innocent as you pretend to be."
I pushed past her, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the door. It finally opened. I stumbled out into the corridor, gasping for air, my chest heaving.
---
I ran.
I did not know where I was going. I did not care. I just needed to get away—from her, from that room, from the sounds that still echoed in my mind.
I ran until my legs burned and my lungs screamed for air. I ran until I could no longer hear her laughter.
I collapsed against a wall, sliding down to the cold stone floor.
What kind of place is this....
Why is everything about....
...SEX...
---
To be continued...