Book of Faces


1

My mother always said my mouth would be the death of me. And she didn't mean it as a figure of speech. She was never one for much beyond stating the facts as she saw them. She was a simple, direct woman and I loved her. That was a simple fact that never changed. Even when she passed, her words were always in the back of my mind. Father was never a factor in my upbringing. He had been sold off in my youth to another family. By the time I was ten or eleven in seasons he was nothing but a word with hollow symbols attached to it. When Mother left I had nothing but my work. And I was good at it. The best. Because I knew that excellence gave me sway. And that little bit of sway could be bartered for something more important: confidence. Confidence in those who held power over me. And confidence led to the one thing that matters to one such as myself: Respect.

Respect is the most important thing to one who is owned by others.

-

Not that it matters much now. This was not the first house I had served and it would not be the last. This was however the one I was most comfortable in. A mansion set upon a hillside. Clean,well kept land. It was in a word, pleasant. The grounds were large. Too large in fact. Sprawling miles of land and housing. I had privacy. Privacy to be alone with my thoughts. My thoughts were something that I owned. A reversal of my lot in life. Irony is a cruel thing.

I had spent the last five years working for this house and its master, Mr. Raou. The fat old rabbit was a good man. Or had been anyways. He's dead now. And I find myself on auction. As is the rest of his property.

I should explain I suppose.

I didn't kill the old man. But it feels like I did. I held the door open for him and he found the stairs to throw himself down. Metaphorically speaking of course. He actually died of a old heart. At least, that's the rumor that was going around. The other one was that I had poisoned him. That one was closer to the truth then I liked.

If I did poison him, my tongue was the vile that held the death in it.

I find myself naked right now. The air is cool on my bare fur. My tail, hairless and long, twitches and wraps around my ankle. I do have the dignity that I am not restrained. I'm not stupid and they know it. The auctioneers would rather not have to damage me. I'm property after all. I'm to be sold off with the rest of things.

As time past, Mr. Raou grew to trust me, and I learned of how he became wealthy. His investments. His property. His secrets. Even the dirty ones. And then I started to help there too. And that would kill both of us in the end.

The old rabbit had a lot of debts. Many of them my direct fault. Not that it matters now. He will be in the ground soon. And my life as I know it is done. I'm dead.

Years of work lost. I cant help my sullen mood. I know my face is craggy and dark now. It shouldn't be. A moody looking slave is a harder sale. I grunt and straighten my back, trying to keep my head up. There is a tag attached to my left ear. I'm glad they didn't pierce me, having merely used a bit of tape to hold my lot number to my skin. My big round ears do make me rather noticeable. And cute. At least I have that. My front teeth stick out just a bit from my lips. I've heard myself be called darling before. Maybe I might have a bit of luck left. Perhaps a mistress will purchase me. I can do menial work just as well as complicated things. Perhaps I'll wind up a maid...

There is a hard slam of a gavel and my thoughts scatter to the wind. I look and see the small crowd of buyers in the room. Said room was once the dinning hall. Now it was a makeshift auction house. The majority of the furniture was already sold off. A large mink woman the master had had the occasional fling with had bought it all. The staff was already gone and off to a new household a few valleys over. I was most disappointed not to be going with them. Somewhat anyways. Familiar faces they were, true...but they were the ones that the poison rumors had traveled from.

Mr. Raou only kept a handful of slaves. Mostly farmhands. The ones for the low jobs that paid staff wouldn't touch. I was still one regardless of my extra responsibilities under him.

The gavel bangs again and again. The farmhands are all gone now. A large bull man has purchased them. I watch as they are lead by the rope around their necks to him. He smiles and runs one of his thick black hooved fingers under their noses. They all squirm and groan. Eyes glaze over and become dull. Fur patterns start to pale and change. Cocks become hard and stick out between their legs. The bull has a assistant, a chicken faced man, who has a assortment of gold rings. The dazed men let out little moans (close to moo's actually) of pain as they have the nose rings clamped into their widening faces. Once all of them have been fitted, the rope is removed and they are chained together by the nose and lead outside. One defecates like the cattle they are turning into. The mound of dung stays on the floor for the duration of the auction.

The fact that I could be in for a worse fate crosses my mind many a time after that. I may deserve it.
I look and soon find that I and the humans are all that is left. And the crowd of buyers has thinned out. A large wolf man, his body thick and barely contained in the three piece suit he is crammed into, is eying us all with hunger. He is a high roller. As is the walrus man to his side. He has not bothered with pants, his lower half wide and leathery. A thin fox woman is accompanying him. Every few minutes she will squirt him with a bit of water from a mister bottle. He 'mmm's each time she does it. He stinks of fish. Bad fish.

The gavel-banger is a badger with thick eye brows and a short rope of beard on his chin. He is older then the master was but in better shape. His tongue has been silver lighting the entire day. A rolling stream of prices, bids and hollering that makes my ears ring. That gavel is driving me insane. The thought of taking it from him and smashing his fingers crosses my mind. Several times in fact.

My eyes travel to the humans. There are 3 of them. All naked as me but they look much more so with their lack of fur. I had never actually seen real humans until the smuggling started. This was the 'in-between', so I had 'seen' humans every day of my life. But the ghosts that walked though the world on this side of reality were not the same as the real thing. They were like reflections in far away mirrors. As was everything from their world. Great buildings that touched the clouds. Horseless carriages that passed along black rivers of dried tar. I had heard tales of giant flying machines that carried them across their world. Fairy tales or not, who's to say what was real and wasn't. It didn't change things. That world was a tempting illusion, always out of reach. Unless you knew who to talk to. Who to buy from. Who's palm to grease.

I had learned who to talk to.

The naked humans were obvious to what was going on. They didn't know our languages or customs. Or that their lot was that of expensive bobbles. Oddities. Something to be purchased by the rich and the stupid. They were likely going to die. Humans were very popular as raw ingredients. Be it spells or food. Sometimes both.

Not that it mattered to me. I didn't pay attention to it before the end. My idea had simply been to start investment in new avenues. Ones that Mr. Raou had never considered. Ones he didn't know existed till I told him.
You don't stay a slave that can read and write and not pick up things. Previous masters knew I was valuable for just this reason. And dangerous. Which is how I wound up in the old rabbit's hands to begin with.

I was a tool that had been put aside for future use. Mr Raou was a friend of my last owner, a rather smelly tiger with a scar across his belly. I was just something that was passed along until he would come back for me. And then the tiger went and got killed. Hung was what I had been told. And I was now a pretty knife in the hands of a kindly old man. He had no idea what to do with me.

My poison entered his ear and he never expected a thing.

Tears were running down my cheek fur and I wiped them away. The wolf in the suit made a grunting sound. I sucked up a bit of snot and held my back straight. Not now. Not till this was over. The walrus was sweating. The bidding was getting high. And he was running out of money.

The wolf was smiling widely as the walrus was unable to answer his next bid. I was in the same lot with the humans. The wolf looked old but firm. The kind of master who likely was going to keep me in a latrine if he feels in the mood. Lovely.

Tik tick tik tick CLICK

A obnoxious sound. Like a clock that had been poorly manufactured. Gear work that ticked and tocked as it walked into the room. A new bidder. Something that I had not expected.

Something bad.

A wizard was here. And not one of the flesh ones. One of clockwork folk.

–

Much like the humans, I had not seen a clockwork folk in person till now. Unlike the humans, which were now focused on him like insects to a flame, I knew what he was. He was dangerous.

The clockwork folk were rare. And they knew it. They were old and strange things. Old strange things full of twisted magic. The lords of the land did not tread in their business. They were lawless and left to their own devices. Some had kingdoms of monsters and mechanical subjects. Others were nomadic, wreaking havoc as they went or doing nothing at all. I had heard tales of a city composed of windup citizens and other odder things. Another of dolls and one of edible delights. Most clockwork folk lived in their own personal little bubbles of influence. A house or tiny shop that all but the bravest or stupidest avoided.

Seeing one of the clockwork folk in person was both frightening and exciting. Like seeing a feral dragon at a side show. Something beautiful and deadly at the same time.

The creature was very tall, skinny like a broom. His torso was merely a long pole in his center that the rest of him branched out from. It was smooth glassy metal, polished and of a cream color. His hips were a amusing lude thing, a bone colored teardrop shape that had a enlarged bulge for a groin. He had no obvious genitals but the obscene bulge that formed his cod peace made it clear he was male (or at least, mocking the gender as a whole).

Thin bone shaped rods produced his legs to the knee where they stopped. Large fittings formed the start of the rest of his legs, small rods about the thickness of a finger leading to his feet. Massive two toed talons made of gold touched gracefully on the floor with his steps. His legs bent backward so that he walked much like a ostrich. It added to his odd presence.

He had no arms in the traditional sense. Instead a cloak of red and white stripes wrapped around his shoulders and then draped down to another set of fittings at roughly where his elbows would be. These fittings were round hoops of gold with pointed embellishments at the edges. The cloth opened up as if invisible forearms were filling them as they went past this area. The hollow fabric then bent and flowed as it became empty flat wrists that began his hands. The hands were just flat fabric with golden fingers protruding from under them. He had wonderfully delicate fingers. Two of them and a thumb, each curved slightly so that the tips always pointed up.

The cloak progressed past his shoulders and down his back, the shape and cut producing a flat tail that flapped in the cool air of the room.

Then his head came to view. The same cream colored steel formed his features. A rounded beak and mouth that was a zigzag of odd metal shapes. He had no real lips but his beak was in perpetual smile. His cheeks were pointed, which gave a slightly cat'ish hint to his features. A red and white helmet was over his bald scalp. His ears, a pair of twisted red and gold pretzels, poked though holes in the side of it. They resembled a bat or a canine's ears in the vaguest sense. A tiny curl of gold on top of the helm was the only hint of hair on his body beside the small gold beard that poked from his metal chin.

His eyes scanned the room. They were very large and his irises were the deep blue of the sea. He seemed to be in his own little world as he entered. He did not focus upon anything at first. He merely glanced around, taking in the room. He walked right past the wolf and the walrus, obvious to their presence. His body produced odd clicks and gear sounds that he seemed to be humming along to. It was his own personal theme music it seemed. He wondered around the room aimlessly before turning back and soon was standing between the buyers and looking at the ceiling.

The auctioneer knew what he was too. The badger swallowed thickly and I watched as his eyes danced in their sockets. I knew what he was likely doing. He was debating the pros and cons of fleeing in terror right this second. I knew this because that's what I had been doing myself.

The walrus muttered “ooh shit.” under his breath and backed away a few inches. Which was rather difficult with his wide, blubbery back half. His assistant was pale now and clutched the little mister in her paws like a protective talisman.

The creature paid them no mind, turning now to the wolf. The wolf was glaring right at him. The dog was stupider then I thought. The clockwork man finally seemed to return to this world and took notice he was being stared at. His wide eyes made audible clicks when he blinked. His smile was true when he spoke.
“Oh? Did I interrupt? Silly me.” it giggled. His voice was whimsical and had a melody to it. As if it was being produced by a music box hidden inside his head somewhere.

The wolf man growled softly in his throat. “You did. Begone you foolish thing.”
The clockwork did no such thing. He merely kept smiling. He then leaned forward, looking right into the wolf man's eyes. I watched as the canine tried not to blink and found that the mechanical creature could choose not to blink at all. Handy in a stare-down. The wolf swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. I could smell him from here. That thick fear sweat stink. No matter how stone faced he looked, he could not hide that.

The clockwork folk looked at him and asked, not speaking to the wolf but the auctioneer, “Is this one for sale?”

The wolf let out a yelping bark and started to back up. There was a gentle motion and the clockwork creature had hold of his suit by the buttons. The wolf tried to pull back but all it took was a soft grip of his clothing to keep him from getting away. This thing was stronger then it's delicate design let on.

The badger auctioneer said nothing at first. Not until the creature made a impatient 'hmm' sound. The badger grunted and weakly replied “I'm afraid not si..sir.”

“Unfortunate” it replied. It's voice had the air of someone who had looked forward to breaking a particularly wild horse. The badger, sensing there was money to be made perhaps, offered “but these are for auction my good sir.” and gestured towards myself and the humans. We all stiffened.

The creature, his tone now back to jolly and musical, released his grip. The wolf stumbled back and sat on the floor in a heap. He panted, scrambled back up and shoved the walrus out of the way as he went for the exit. The walrus man barely noticed.

The clockwork thing eyed the humans. It knew what they were worth. The way it ran its fingers along their skin. The way it briefly pulled open one's mouth and inspected his teeth. It was debating. Calculating. After a good long pause it spoke again. The humans let out little gasps, as if they released from a trance. They may have been. I did not see them struggle while they were inspected.

“How long since they were brought to this side?” the creature asked simply. The badger checked his notes. “3 days. They should only have minimal changes so far. Still plenty of time.” he offered. The creature nodded, obviously satisfied.

The changes were something I learned of during the first few shipments. The first four humans we purchased and smuggled in had started to change before we managed to arrange a buyer. Humans are not meant to be in this realm. And the realm reacts accordingly. Within a few days of arrival, they start to change. Body hair would increase (or sometimes scales or slime). Ears would point. Vestigial tails would begin to grow.
Mr Raou guessed that if we were to watch one for a month or so, they would be no different looking then any other demon in the realm. They would be transformed completely into one of our kind.

The three with me today had only the faintest changes so far. They all had rather pointed ears. Some bigger then others. One of them had started to develop a sheath around his penis. All of them had the faintest stumps of tails starting. If they had noticed these changes yet I did not know. With everything else that had occurred to them since they got here, I could see that being missed. Maybe. I still had no idea what they were saying. Their speech was a garbled mewling to my ears.
If the clockwork folk understood them he paid no attention to their squabbling.

The badger then pointed at me. “This one is for sale too. As part of this lot or separate. Your choice of course...” he offered. I grunted softly. They had lumped me with the humans in a attempt to get rid of me with the high ticket items. True, I know the badger was thinking of his own safety as well as his sales. The clockwork creature could turn him into a toad with barely a glance if it chose to. Pleasing it was in his best interest. I was still irritated by him regardless.

My concentration was broken as I realized I was being looked at now. I glanced up and saw it's eyes. They were glossy, as if wet. After a moment I realized they were not steel like the rest of him. Some sort of polished glass perhaps. Giant round orbs that moved in his steel skull. Starring into them was...hard to resist. I felt like I was swimming a bit. I barely noticed the badger was talking about me, describing my features and skills as if I was a cheap nicknack he was trying to unload. My eyes never left the creature's own.

“...rather fit and a strong worker. A good line of mouse demon blood. Good slave stock. No major scars or defects.” the badger rattled. The clockwork eyed the him and then turned to me. I barely heard him ask aloud “Can he preform other tasks? Can he write or read?”
The auctioneer made a disproving sound in his throat and nodded.

Usually those two features would be the same as if I was missing a leg. But oddly, the creature seemed pleased by this. His steel features made him very hard to read.

“How much was the bidding at?” the creature asked. The walrus shut the door behind him as he finished fleeing the room. The auctioneer saw this and swallowed thickly.
“It was at 20,000 pieces. But since the other buyers have...um...” he trailed off. The clockwork thing nodded.
“That is a acceptable price. I'll take them now if you don't mind.” he said quietly as he reached into the top of his cloak. He fished out a small purse made of red fabric with a black string tying the top shut. He poured out the amount asked out onto the badger's lap. So many bits of metal that it looked like a small sea was spilling out of the tiny bag. More then it should be able to hold. The coins clattered and pooled around his legs and ankles. He grabbed at them as they spilled all around him and said no more as the steel man went back to the humans.

The three of them started to struggle again, the chains holding them in place rattling loudly. I watched as the mechanical man's gaze made them slow and then stop struggling once more. I would need to avoid his stare it seems. The thing smiled and stood before them and reached into his cloak once more. He produced one more coin, that he danced on his fingers and produced two more. He took the three coins and then gently stuck each one to a forehead They made no sound at this. The thing smiled and then gently pressed his fingers against the largest's coin. There was a 'wusssh' sound. And I watched the human disappear into the floor in mere seconds.

I caught my breath, eyes wide and throbbing in my skull. The human was gone. Poofed. Nothing left of him. I felt my bladder tingle and I had to make a effort not to relieve myself right there. The clockwork folk reached down and picked up the coin from the floor and flipped it into the air with his thumb. He seemed pleased. Then one of his eyes noticed my face. He made a jittery sound. I think it was a giggle.

“Oh calm yourself. He's fine. Just travel sized is all.” he assured me. Then flicked the coin towards me. I jerked and my palms came forward and caught the coin barely. It felt warm in my paws and I took a moment to study it. There was a relief of a human embossed onto the metal. At first it thought it maybe a odd trick...but then the face on the coin moved, as if breathing. It blinked at me in confusion. I almost dropped the coin but the mechanical man's finger's slipped under it and took it from me. I blinked in shock and noticed the other two humans were gone as well now. Their chains were left empty on the floor.

Now the thing was looking right at me again. I waited for the sleepy distant feeling to start once more but it never came. He was staring right at me. I was too lost in my thoughts. I didn't hear him at first.
“Do you wish to travel the same way they are? I assure you it's quite painless.” he informed me. He had a new fourth coin in his grasp. I watched as he quickly put the three other coins back into his purse and then back into his cloak. I shook my head vigorously no. He nodded. The forth coin, the one meant for me, was palmed and then appeared to wink from existence.

“Come along then. My coach is outside.”


2

The coach, like its owner, was mechanical in nature. An ornate egg shaped thing with wheels sat outside the mansion gates. There was no driver, merely a spinning key and what appeared to be a steel crow skull that sat on one end. I assumed that was the front of it. As we approached I saw a ruby red eye look at me from its deep eye sockets. There was a small crowd of gawkers around, taking the sight of it in. They parted like a small sea and we made our way down to it. A door popped open silently and the man shaped machine stepped inside. I followed. The coach lurched slightly before taking off down the road.

The ride was long and quiet. The coach was almost soundless inside. It wasn't large, just enough room to hold my new owner and a passenger. Now I saw why he had reduced the rest of his purchase to something that he could carry on his person. That and having a collection of humans would invite the possibility of thieves. Then again, anyone stupid enough to attack one of these creatures...it was unlikely at best.

The ride passed and I found myself looking out of the small coach's two windows. The city and then towns passing in quick succession. On the occasion I needed to void or eat, the coach had stopped with nary a word from it's owner. It always seemed to know the right bush or tree of ripe fruit to arrive at. As for the owner, he said nothing and made no motion to leave the coach. After the 1st day of travel I decided he was asleep. With his eyes wide open. I didn't dare prod or provoke him.

Sleep took me soon as well. I had dark muddled dreams that were forgotten by the time I woke.

On the 5th day my owner spoke. It was so sudden that I let out a scream. He didn't seem to mind.

“I hope you don't mind but once we get home I shall be putting you to work right away.”

I nodded, swallowing thickly and trying to get myself back to a calm state. The thing nodded and continued.
“My name is Rookshire. I assume you know what I am and what I’m capable of?”
I nodded.
“Good. Now, I want to assure you, I do not intend to turn you into anything unpleasant. I do not intend to turn you into anything at all unless you wish it.”

That was surprising. I had expected to be at least deformed in some manner. I had spent many hours contemplating life as a wind up mouse. He saw my confusion and 'mmm'ed a bit.
“Not what you expected? That's good. I do try to not be boring. As for what I am going to do with you, well, its not very complicated. You are going to be doing house work. Dusting, tiding up, feeding my plants, pets, so forth.” he started gently. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Housework was good. Id be indoors mostly. I wondered if he meant to dress me like a maid. A part of my brain didn't mind that thought. My cock stirred slightly. I blushed. If Rookshire saw it he made no mention.

“You see, I do a lot of...traveling. I go here, I go there, I get into this and that. I get very busy. And I need someone to keep my home tidy while I’m gone. Think of it as house sitting actually. Except its less a house and more a castle. And you can't leave.” he smiled. There was a hint of a giggle to his voice, as if there was a joke I wasn't privy to.

He told me about a few minor details after. I was to have my own quarters. Clean clothing if I wished. And my run of the castle once my tasks were done each day.

I have a poor poker face. By the time he was done telling me all this, he clearly knew I was ecstatic over the prospects. This was better then many paid servants got.
When he had finished his sell of the situation, he stopped speaking. His eyes didn't close. After awhile I took him asleep once more.

We arrived at the castle the next day. Or at least, the way to it.


3

I watched as Rookshire delicately, as if a acrobat, climbed up onto the roof of the coach and attached a pulley to its top. We had stopped at the side of a cliff on the edge of a snowy mountain range. This was the first time I felt the chill on my naked body as Rookshire wiggled out of the window and up on the roof. The inside of the coach had kept perfectly temperate until now. Rookshire soon slipped back inside and sat, smiling. I was about to ask what he was waiting on. Then the coach lurched forward and started to ascend. I squirmed and gripped the edges of the round cabin as we started to leave the ground. Rookshire 'hmm'ed to himself as we went upward. He didn't seem to care I was about to shit from fright.

I was too scared to look out the windows directly. I settled for glances as we swung back and forth on whatever he had attached us to. Eventually I saw the edge of a rope and deduced we were on a pulley of some sort. I could hear something moving above us on the roof. It was pulling us up and along a rope that had been anchored to that cliff side.

A hour later the coach came to a stop. We were still hanging in the air as Rookshire came out of his seat and nimbly climbed once more from the window. I heard him scrambling up on top before his weight hopped off of it. I was alone. The egg shaped coach swayed gently in the open air. Sweat pooled around my shoulders and down my back. I squeaked in frustration, waiting for something to give.

There was a lurch. I screamed. I was weightless for the briefest of moments as the cabin moved upward once more and lurched to the side. And then I found the floor with a hard smack.

I waited to explode with the rest of the cabin, smashed to the ground below. That didn't happen.

I rolled over and panted, taking breath in and out. Rookshire pulled open the door and eyed me. He seemed bemused.

“We're home.” he told me happily. I nodded as I laid on the floor. I stood up, shaking, and found one of his long gold fingers held out to me. He was offering to help me out of the carriage.

I stood there, dumbfounded. He made no motion to pull me out or scream at me to hurry up. I think he could have stood there forever, patiently waiting for me to take his hand.

I did.


4

I understood now what he meant by not being able to leave. The castle was anchored to that cliff below. Specially, the flat ground the castle was built upon was anchored. The castle and the grounds were floating. A good mile or more up. In the sky.

There was a soft fog around the ground and realized that a cloud was drifting past. I felt the misty fluff and felt dampness on my fur. I smiled as if a child again. I watched quietly as Rookshire removed the pulley from the coach's roof and sat it aside. He then turned to the rope that had led us up here. It was attached to a thick iron hook made into the ground. I could not tell where the hook ended and the ground beneath me started. I looked at the earth under my feet and found that it looked and felt much like the iron of the hook itself. As if the entire platform the castle stood on was a floating iron mountain. A few feet away from the edges, dirt and then dark thick grass grew. A layer on top of the magical but non organic base for this place.

Rookshire untied the rope and gave it a hard jerk. I heard a whistling noise and he put one of his long arms up into the air. He was waiting. Or waving at a passing bird.

There was a thunk sound as a massive anchor, bigger then myself, landed in his delicate hand. He teetered back a foot or two, bounding a bit. He giggled and then tossed the heavy thing to the ground. The clouds started to move the opposite direction they had been. We were floating freely. And moving.

Rookshire walked right past me. When he realized I wasn't following he stopped and turned. He waited until I felt steady enough to walk. I followed.

I saw the clouds uncover the castle itself. I stopped again.

I don't recall what I actually said when I saw it. It doesn't matter I suppose.

Twisting sprier of stone, creating a large collection of turrets inside a central square. All of it made of cream colored stone. Faded stripes, the color of old blood, ran around much of the buildings. As if a barber's pole stretched out into the shape of a castle.

Ahead of us was a long tall door. As we approached it I realized there was a shape embossed into it. A feline face with a clear chest and head. Its arms and legs formed the arches of the door as it ran a good nine or ten feet tall. Rookshire was quite tall, the doorknob resting at his chest. The door split down the center, down the feline relief's face. As Rookshire took hold of the knob I realized it resembled a engorged penis. He twisted it and pulled the door open slowly. As if teasing it. As we went though the doorway, I wondered if the knob would be sticky if I touched it...


The door was only the start of the strange things inside Rookshire's home. A layer of dust coated most every inch of the castle. And it was clear I would be occupied by it for many weeks to come.

The clockwork man started to give me a tour. And by tour he merely pointed at various rooms and things with no rhyme or reason. Whatever caught his eye he would point out and describe. Too many for me to keep track of. Namely a collection of things I saw no use for or would make a point not to touch.

The building dripped magic and spells. There were paintings in one hall that moved and swirled. Their occupants, be they animals, humans or abstract things that fit neither description, all of them eyed me. I could not tell if it was curiosity or contempt. May-hap hunger.

My quarters were plain. That was a good thing to me now. I had seen a guest room where the bed seemed to be breathing, and the sheets seemed to be a giant pillow'y tongue.
A bed, sheets, a desk and some clean new clothing. They smelt dusty but nothing terrible. New but never worn. I slipped into them and smiled. My first set of new clothes in some time. Rookshire seemed pleased.

“Well, now that you've seen the basics I think you can handle yourself. The cleaning supplies are down this hall...” he pointed back the way we came, next to a enormous furnace that seemed to be heating this place. Despite the cold air outside, the castle was quite toasty. I looked and nodded. Rookshire smiled and then started to walk off. I hurried after him, afraid of getting lost in this cavernous place. Despite his apprentice and reputation, so far this mechanical being had shown me nothing but good intentions. I was already trusting him. He didn't stop me from following. He merely strolled along as if I wasn't there. He came to a ornate door and I watched as he slipped one of his fingers into the keyhole. I heard a tumbler rolling in the lock and the door swung open. He strolled in and I followed.

I looked around and breathed in the stink of oil and machinery. This was a workshop. The ceiling was coated with grime and a assortment of mechanical parts. I saw arms, legs, ears and tails. Gears and fingers and even the occasional mechanical eye. They would twitch as I walked under them. As if they sensed me...they likely did. Tools of all shapes were set into every open space of the walls. Where ever Rookshire was in the room, he would just have to reach for the wall to find some device or tool. A few of them were even twitching. They were eager to be used. Rookshire walked to a large desk in the center of the room. On it was a round sphere gripped in a dragon claw shaped stand. He looked at the black glass and blew on it. The thing, roughly the size of my head, swirled to life and I saw a pink, then red, light. He danced his fingers along it and the red light shrank and became ribbons that followed his digits as he ran them over the surface.

“wha..what is it?” I asked softly. Rookshire blinked, as if he had forgotten I was there.
“OH! Oh yes. Well this is just a little thing. A 'skeleton key' if you will.”
I eyed it suspiciously. “A key? To what?”
“Not what. Where. And when if need be.” he replied simply. He gave me a pat on my head, a oddly kindly gesture. I was not sure what to make of it. It reminded me too much of the way my mother would touch me.
“Now I should be going. Lots to do...” he smiled. I swallowed and my eyes widened. He was about to leave right now. And I had no idea where most anything was. Like food. Or the toilet. Or if he even had one.
“WAIT!” I screamed. He twisted his head around. Completely around and looked at me as the rest of him stayed facing the ball.
“Yes?” he asked patiently. I shuddered slightly and bit my lip to steady my thoughts.
“Wh..what do I do for food? And...and the um...necessities?” I asked. Rookshire seemed to be honestly thinking for a moment or two. As if I had asked him something he didn't comprehend. Then it clicked and he made that jittery sound again.
“Oh! Hehe! Silly me. I forgot. You organics do require things like that don’t you? Well that's easy enough to correct.” he stated. And I felt his cloak move of its own and wrap around my groin and belly. I let out a shrill squeak as I felt the fabric (cool and very nice feeling actually. Silk maybe?) slip up under my shirt and down my pants. It cupped my scrotum and slipped between my rump cheeks, finding my exit. I felt it gently slip inward. I clinched but it was too late. The cloth ran around my belly and then pushed into my navel. There was a soft buttery feeling in my rump and then up my cock. As if he was tickling me internally. My belly button parted and I felt it enter my insides. I screamed. The was no real pain but that was beside the point. I was going to scream. And I did until he released me almost as quickly as he started.

“There now. That fixes that!” he declared. I fell on my ass and screamed again. I could feel tears in my eyes. Nothing hurt but there was a odd fullness to my insides. As if I had eaten a full meal.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I spat. Rookshire didn't seem to care I was raising my voice at him. He smiled as if I had asked something stupid.
“I removed your organic needs. You wont need to consume matter or to void wastes. In fact you shouldn't require sleep now actually.” he smiled.

I tried to piss myself right there. Both to prove him wrong and to release the fear he had produced in me. Nothing happened.

Rookshire turned back to his orb and began to run his fingers along it once more. The light ribbons formed again then got much brighter. I could see them lifting out of the glass, smokey ribbons of light that were attached to his digits. He started to talk once more as I watched the light show. He brought his fingers to his head and pressed his digits to his ears. The ribbons swirled up around his head and seemed to be flowing like fog. They seemed to be passing though his metal skull as if it wasn't there.
“Now I don't know how long I will be away. Just keep the place neat and tidy till I return. And try not to break anything. They might try to get even.”

There was a electric crack. I covered my head and let out another squeak. There was a clattering of steel and metal all around me. I didn't move until the pounding of my heart in my chest started to hurt. I removed my arms from around me and looked at where Rookshire had been. There was a pile of parts laying on the floor in a heap. Rookshire's parts. His head was looking at me silently. His eyes were still and dull. He hadn't come apart but whatever had been animating him had left. The cloak on his shoulders was still bright as ever but it too was still. He was gone.

I stood and looked at the ball on the table. The ribbons were still swirling and then it went black. He had left me here.

I was alone...


I did not leave that room for at least two nights. I found I was content to wrap my tail around myself and watch. And wait. The pile of parts that was lately Rookshire did not stir. As I kept a silent watch over them, I found his words were true. I did not sleep. I know this because I saw the sun rise and fall twice in a row and had no gap where I was not watching his remains. And during this time I never felt the call of hunger or the need to release. Much like the clockwork man was now, my body was still. Frozen in time.

I cursed him. I cried and screamed. Nothing came of it. On the third morning I grew tired of this and finally got up. I cautiously approached the pile of steel and poked it. Nothing. I did a few more pokes. I kicked his head just hard enough to turn it around so that he wasn't staring at me. I waited for him to thunder back to life, to turn me into a roach for touching his body. He did not return. He had left this body on the floor as if it was a coat he did not need at the moment. Finally, I let me eyes leave him.

I looked back at the ball and wondered what it was exactly. A key he had said. To places I could not comprehend. I had heard tales of wizards who could transport themselves great distances. Magic that let them become smoke or shadow. I had even heard of wizards and warlocks who could jump between bodies and forms. Possessing the body of a familiar or even that of a apprentice. Controlling that body from afar or taking it over completely.

I debated this until I deiced that was what he had done. It didn't make sense for him to kill himself in front of me like this. And I had no real reason to distrust his words. I had no choice either.

He had gone somewhere else. And he had left his body behind when he did it. He likely was in some new shape in some other realm. And I was still here. And if he did tell the truth, I had a job to do.

I set to work.

5.

I spent the next day or so getting a better lay of the castle. Rookshire's workshop had a wide collection of tools and I found a long roll of twine that would serve me well. I took a bit of chalk as well and began to explore. Up and down the halls and towers. Searching for any traps or dangers. Odd things that meant me harm. I found strange things at almost every turn but nothing that meant to do me in. Possible hands and feet on the furniture, a rug who's patterns seemed to make a face or two, and many similar things. Nothing seemed to mind me and even the paintings seemed to grow use to my presence. A few even seemed to be waving at me when I passed. I found several dining rooms (but never a kitchen) and even baths. The first time I found one of these I wasted no time and drew one. The tub was wide and stood on golden claws. As I turned the faucets, I saw they resembled eyes and a long curved nose that served to dump water into the tub. I debated the safety of using this tub but my desire for a comfort I had never experienced won out. Feeling the hot water and soapy foam that filled the tub was indescribable. I cried and stayed inside it until I felt like a old prune. And once I was dried I took another.

For the first week or so I kept the twine and chalk with me at all times. I ran the string back from my room and would follow it if I became lost. A few times I think the string might have been moved by hands not my own. But each time it did, I found a new wing or amusing section of the castle. And then I would find my way 'home' safely after. The chalk I used to neatly mark where I had and had not gone. Little 'x''s on the wall or doors as I needed. Nothing was unlocked. Rookshire had imprisoned me but he had left me as my own jailer. And I had my run of the prison.

-

I soon started to clean and began with Rookshire himself. He was basicly something to be polished and dusted now that he had left his body. I made my way back to his workshop and found him where I left him. He had not stirred an inch. I felt a creeping chill as I set his lifeless body up onto a long table. His head rolled around on his thin neck and looked at me as I moved him. When he was on the table I turned his head back away from me. I had collected the cleaning supplies from their closet near my quarters and had found metal polish among them. I cleaned and shined Rookshire's body till it gleamed. As I did this, I found the coins in his cloak. Each of them still bore the embossed face of the humans on them. They seemed no worse for wear, although they did seem to be watching me quite intently as I handled them. I figured they realized how precarious their situation now was. Rookshire had turned them into tiny helpless things. A dark thought occurred to me. I could easily 'loose' them all. There were plenty of dark places and holes here. Or the very simple fact we were floating several miles in the sky.

I put the thought away and placed the three coins at Rookshire's side as he laid on the table. I had trapped them like this until he returned. The least I could do is keep them safe for now.

I would come back at least once a day to check that they and Rookshire were still there.

-

Time passed. I found routine. The castle was large but with a effort I could go though all of it in a day or so. Not sleeping helped quite a bit with that. And it helped more when I actually started cleaning the place. While I would tire and sweat like a normal being, sleep never came for me. I would merely find a soft couch or chair to rest in until my body felt better. The pasterns of sleep would come to me as I rested. I would never loose consciousness but I frequently saw things in my vision. Creatures and ghosts. My mother. Old owners. Even that badger who sold me to Rookshire. Waking dreams that I would have to shake away or would end on their own as I recovered from exhaustion.

It took me a week and a half to clean the place the first time. After a month had past, I had the task down to only a day at the most. Time passed ceaselessly. Sun up, sun down. Mother moon and Father sun greeting me every day. I started to talk to them and hold conversations that were quite one-sided. I started talking to both myself and the things that I knew had no ears to listen with. The plants seemed to enjoy my ramblings. Speaking of...

There was a immaculate garden behind the castle. It was filled with plants of every size and shape. Some of which moved on their own. Thankfully most did not. There was a row of particularly disturbing trees near the edge of the castle wall. They were twisted things that were almost leaning against the stone. I looked them up and down, watering them like the rest. Their trunks were thin and had odd curves and shapes. Things that resembled chins and chests. Their branches reached towards the castle walls as if grasping. Their leaves were spotty and their color was always off. While the rest of the garden was lush, these plants never went beyond sickly. They each had a thickened, distorted area near the spot where their branches left the trunk. Growth that resembled faces. Some were screaming. Others seemed merely displeased. I soon left these plants alone.

Occasionally id find vines crawling over my ankles and feet. Once or twice I felt a particularly adventurous one around my manhood or trying to enter my exit. As amusing as it was to imagine letting the plants go further, the idea that Rookshire might show up and find me that way kept me from it...at first. Much later I would indeed let the plants do their magic. And that became part of my routine as well. I no longer needed to urinate, but my other needs were still quite functional.

Time passed. Months flew on. I stopped counting the motion of the sun and stars and let time be lost to me. It was better that way. I would rather not know I had been here years or decades.

I had named every plant in the garden. I had nicknamed the paintings and the beds. And I found myself having rambling conversations with people who were only there in my head.

I am not oblivious to what was happening to me.
I was going crazy. I made peace with this. My punishment for killing poor old Mr. Raou.
Now I saw myself cutting his throat as he slept. Or strangling him with his bedding. A few times I killed him with a poker or a meat cleaver. But most often I saw myself pouring poison down his throat or in his ear. I deserved this. I had killed, one way or another. I deserved to be imprisoned. Locked away in a magic tower in the sky. Just waiting till I found a good reason to throw myself off the edge of the castle grounds and meet the earth below.

Soon I started seeing a shadow in the gloom. As if ink was being smeared across the edge of my vision. Occasionally id see a glint of bone and may-hap a fang before it was gone. I swore I could hear giggling on more then one occasion. This was one imaginary friend I did not speak with...

If I had to guess, I was likely only a few weeks away from letting him take me where he wished.
And then I found the library. And the book.


6.

I was naked that day. At some point I had forgo-ed clothing. The castle was always warm and unless I was outside it was hardly needed. And since Rookshire had removed my ability to soil myself or the grounds, there was no danger of that either. All I produced were sweat and seed and both of those were easy to clean up.

I was making my way towards the bath once more. I was quite dirty, my white fur turned a soot gray by cleaning under the furnace. Truth be told, I had another reason for the bath. I had been testing the limits of what Rookshire's enchantment had done to me. Keeping my head beneath the bath water proved I still needed to breath. Stubbed toes and bruises still showed me pain. I knew why I was testing these things. I was wanting to know if a leap off the edge was going to be necessary. Maybe something less dramatic would be a better...
The hallways never changed. Nothing was different. Except for one thing. A brick. A single brick was out of place. I knew it was out of place because I had started to count and name those too. I had not moved it. I will never know it if was moved on purpose or if it was blind luck that it happened. I think the castle itself might had decided I needed help. I'll never know.

Regardless, the brick was out of place and I saw it almost instantly. I stood there a long time as I contemplated it. Someone in the castle? Had Rookshire come back? Or someone else?
I ran as fast as I could back to his workshop. I found him still there on the table were I left him. The coins were there as well. I had placed them in a small box after I found they had managed to flip over on their own. I didn't want them to roll off into some deep dark crevice and be lost forever.

With that possibility taken care of, I went back the way I came and to the out of place brick. It was still there. As if someone had pulled on it. I cautiously approached and examined it. And soon realized it was not a brick at all. Oh it looked like one and felt like it too. But it wasn't solid. Hollow feeling in fact. And when I pulled on it I found it was attached to something inside the wall. A section of wall started to move. A great rain of dust fell on me as I watched the wall slide open and become a door into a new area. I waited to see if this would be the signal for some great calamity to befall me. Nothing came. I swallowed and wiped my face clean, making a mental note to clean this up later. I went inside, watching for the door to shut behind me. It didn't Stairs soon met me and I ascended them, going into one of the castle's many smaller towers.

What I found inside the doorway made me cry. I still had my waterworks too. I used them. A massive library was before me. It filled a entire tower to the brim. The scent of paper tickled my nose. The round room was dominated by rows and rows of books. Shelves went up to the ceiling on all sides, save the one massive window that filled the room with sunlight. I stood there and let the warmth dry my cheeks. I had found the one thing I needed to keep my sanity. Escape.

-

I had learned to read from my mother. It was one of the few gifts a slave could pass to others. It was a precious thing to me. And now it served me well as I began to read. There were thousands of books here. And I knew then that this was how I was going to spend my time. Reading and escaping. Living other people's lives in the pages. Time passed and I began to go though the immense collection.
The conversations with the empty air became less pressing to me.

Most of the books were tomes and tales. Far away lands and worlds. Many were obviously fictional. Others seemed to be accounts from lands I would never see. Beings I couldn't comprehend. Many of the books were soft paper things that had colorful printed illustrations on the covers. Humans and demons like myself. And things I couldn't grasp. I found I could read them all, even if some were lost to me in context. They passed the time regardless. There were even spell books in the collections. It took some time to realize which ones actually applied to my particular plane of reality. And if the ingredients were abundant in Rookshire's workshop or around the castle. The garden was a treasure trove of ingredients for this it turned out. I found that while I had no talent for it, I could preform rudimentary spells. Simple chants and charms. I managed to render myself hairless for several weeks with one. And another time I manged to turn one of the house plants into a slime that I wound up chucking off the edge of the castle grounds.
Curiously, all of the magic tomes made no mention of flying spells or things of that nature. When I found the books on mechanical tools and devices, they too were missing wings and gliding contraptions.

But what kept me most occupied was the stories. As I went though the books I found I was not making much headway though them all. For every dozen I went though, several hundred would seem to make themselves known. And I eventually decided that that was what was happening. This place knew I was here. And it was getting larger. Fuller.
It was a depository for all books. And even the ones yet to be written.

-

I did not notice 'the' book at first. The book that would give my existence meaning. In fact I had glossed right over it several times. I had been careful to keep the books arraigned as I had found them. I had no idea if Rookshire would be upset I found this place. Much less that I had helped myself to his library.

The book in question was thick. Fat and wide, just the kind I liked. The spine was dark and had nothing printed on it save a odd mask like embellishment, embossed on the leather binding. I was running my fingers along the book spines, humming to myself. I was feeling frisky today. Adventurous. I had just finished a series of adventures about raccoons with giant balls between their legs and now was looking for something new to begin on. My finger brushed over the book in question and stopped. I felt that embellishment. That mask. That pseudo face. And I danced my hairless palm to its spine and pulled it free of the shelf.

I dropped it. It was far heavier then I expected. The thump it made on the floor was deafening. I squeaked in surprise and bent down to pick it up. And stopped dead in my tracks.

The book was open now and its pages open wide. I felt my eyes swell and heart beat faster. The pages were not what I was use to seeing. There was not printed letters or delicate script on old yellowed paper. There was a face. A face pushing out of the book itself. As if there was someone on the other-side of the paper, pushing his face though it like a shroud. I could see the shape of a nose, wide and canine. A thick muzzle and firm lips. A brow that looked soft. Almost inquisitive. The ridge of ears near the edges of the paper and then a pair of soft white eyes that had no pupils. Pure white orbs on the face in the paper. It was looking straight at me. I looked at it. How long we stayed like this, I can not say.
And then it blinked. And smiled.

I screamed and didn't return to the library for several days.

-

I spent much of that time rationalizing what I had seen. I had stopped talking to the empty air. My hallucinations were getting weaker and less psychotic. And I was even starting to enjoy my solitude. Seeing a face in one of the books made me think that I had been experiencing a temporary reprieve. That I was going to soon find myself climbing the castle walls and attempting to fly like a bird.
It took a long time to bring myself under control. When I did, I debated never entering the library again. But I knew that was the same answer as throwing myself off the edge of the grounds.

No, I would have to face whatever I had seen. If I was merely going insane, so be it. I would be too mad to notice soon. But if what I saw was real, and considering the other enchanted things here, why not, I would need to accept that. And deal with it as necessary. It was just a book after all. What could it do?

-

I returned to the library armed with a fireplace poker and thick gloves meant for handing weeds. I was cautious, checking every nook and craning until I came back to the spot I had left off at. And on the floor where I left it was the book. Still wide open. And still with a canine snout protruding from its pages. I swallowed thickly and approached. The book, and face, did not move as I came to it. I stayed a good arm's length away and gently poked it with my weapon. It didn't rise it. No spells left its cover. I pushed it a bit harder. The snout twitched a bit, as if it had a itch. I jerked back and waited. When it didn't retaliate I slowly got closer to the book and took ahold of its edges with my gloved paws. I lifted the heavy thing up and set it down on a nearby desk. The face was still there and now I saw it was looking at me. And smirking slightly. I didn't know what to make of that. I used one of my gloved hands and touched the snout very gently. It wrinkled and the dog's nose began sneeze. I jerked back and held my hands to my chest, as if burned. The face twitched a bit more, as if the urge to sneeze had left it and then waited until I was looking at it again. It smiled brightly at me, showing a mouth that had dull rounded teeth. I swallowed and wiggled my fingers at it in a wave. The face tilted its chin down slightly, the closest thing it could manage to a nod. I looked it over now, seeing that the face took up only the right hand side page of the open book. The left side page was blank and smooth. I saw the face, which now that I studied it closely seemed to be male, was looking at me expectantly. I blushed. And wondered if he could even comprehend what was going on. Was this face merely some magical illusion? A thing Rookshire had created for God's knows why? Could it speak?

The face looked at me with patience but obvious want. I swallowed and spoke softly. “I...I’m sorry I dropped you. You...you startled me.” I told it. The fact I was holding conversation with a book was not lost on me. The face smiled and moved slightly to the left and then right, as if shaking his head. A 'think nothing of it' gesture. I glanced at the blank side of the page and saw it was no longer blank.
It read “I'm not hurt.” I read that aloud and the face seemed to smile wider. I watched the printed words for a few more moments until they started to fade away. Soon the page was blank again. I looked at the face and asked if this was his 'speech'? He nodded again and more words appeared on the blank page.
“Yes it is. I can understand you quite easily. Please do not run again. I didn't mean to scare you off earlier.” he begged. I swallowed and nodded. A million thoughts went though my head and I spat out the first one that came to mind.
“Are you real?”
The book blinked and replied in its printed speech “Beg pardon?”
I scrunched my face up and started over.
“You are really here right? You're...you're a book. A book with a face in it. I’m...mi not just going crazy am I?” I stuttered, asking both him and myself this question. The book looked at me and I could see his brow was heavy with worry. I frightened him.

“I do hope you're not crazy. But I am real. As real as any of the other books here anyways.” he replied. I nodded and pulled the gloves off my paws and set them aside. I hesitantly touched the paper. The book did not try to pull away, and I could feel the stiffness in my motions. The book's face softened and he 'spoke', “Don't worry. I'm just a book. I cant hurt you. Nor would I. Come on, don't be afraid.” he told him. I put my fingers to his chin, along his strong jaw and up to his lip. His 'skin' was indeed paper, although not like any I was familiar with. It felt more like a stiff cloth. Parchment maybe. But as I touched the rounded edges, felt his soft dull teeth, I found it was quite soft. Rough but gentle. A bit like over starched linens. I was cautious at first. I was afraid of both hurting him and him hurting me. But as I touched and studded his face with my hands, I saw and felt him relaxing. He wanted to be touched. Longed for it in fact. And in truth, I wanted to touch him too. I watched his face become purely contented as I ran my fingers over his brow, across his now closed eyes and cheeks. A strong wide snout and soft cheekbones. He was not furry in any way. Perfectly smooth like the other side of the paper. But I could almost sense the thick soft fur of his face. It was a good feeling and I was reluctant to remove my palms from him. When I had my satisfaction he was not a hallucination, I ended my explorations. He smiled as if in afterglow of a big meal. When he opened his soft white eyes again he seemed almost disappointed my touch was over. He asked me simply, “Satisfied?”. I nodded. “Yes, you seem to be real. But...what are you?” I asked. The book smiled and I watched his lips move as if he was actually speaking. I could see a soft paper tongue inside his lips as he spoke. The words printed onto his left side briskly and didn't fade until I had time to read them aloud.

-
7.

“I...or to be more accurate, WE, are the Book Of Faces.” he said.
“We?” I questioned. He nodded.
“Yes. We. The other pages and myself. We compose this tome you have before you. There are quite a number of us. I truthfully do not know how many. But I can assure you we are quite real.” he smiled. There was a odd softness to his mannerisms as he spoke. Although he had no actual voice, I found I was making one for him as I spoke aloud. By the time we had finished our first conversation, his 'voice' came out of me fully formed. It was a deep rustic thing but softened by years of unknown experience. At least, that's what I was reading into him. If this was truly how he sounded I had no way to know. He made no attempt to correct me regardless.
“Did Rookshire make you?” I asked. He shook slightly.
“No, he is merely our latest owner. Where is he by the way? We have not seen him in many years.” the book asked. I swallowed thickly. I had not expected to be the barer of bad news. Much less news that this creature had waited years to hear.
“I...I do not know. He purchased me as a housekeeper. Afterward he gazed into a magic sphere in his workshop. There was a glowing ribbon of light, he told me to keep track of things here and...there was a crack sound... He..his...his body dropped dead after. I...I do not know if he merely left it behind or if he is actually gone.” I answered. I barely registered the tears on my cheeks as I spoke. The book seemed less upset, more puzzled by this.
“Not exactly surprising...” he started then saw my expression. “Oh! Don't be upset! He isn't dead. Well, not likely anyways.” the book told me. I swallowed thickly and nodded. I could feel both relief and dread in my chest. He wasn't dead...that was good...but he would come back at some point...and I had no earthly idea what would become of me then. Until the book of faces told me this, my future was very clear. I was going to die in this place. One way or another. And now a new unknown was present. The book saw my grim face and misread it.
“Don't worry. He does this from time to time. He'll go off for months, years at a time. Other times just a few days. Its nothing to worry about...oh. Wait. You...you're alone here aren't you?” the book questioned. I nodded, letting the salt water leak from my eyes freely.
“Oh gods. I know he's absent minded but that's cruel.” he stated flatly. I shook my head. He shook his own back.
“Yes it is. Cruel and stupid of him. I'm not the only one who thinks so!” he spat. I realized now that when he was speaking he was doing so for all the pages in the book, or a least, most of them. There was a distracted quality to his expression now. As if he was arguing with voices only he could hear.
“They...you're all arguing over it now aren't you?” I spoke out loud. The face blinked, as if pulled away from another conversation. “I...yes. We were. Beg our pardon.” he apologized. I shrugged. “No don't. I'm not angry at him...not anymore. I don't think he meant me harm...” I reasoned. The book grunted,
“Still makes him a stupid tit.” the page responded flatly. I smiled. I wasn't use to being defended.
“I...thank you.” I offered. The face smiled. “Well enough about him for now. We'll have time to discuss him later. Now I think its fair to ask a question of our own. Who are you? What is your tale?” he asked. I blinked.
“I...really I’m nothing special.” I stammered. I could feel sweat down my brow and under my arms, reminding me I was still completely nude. Shame came to my face for the first time in months. The book smiled, obviously not minding. “don't be shy. We're a open book....so to speak. Sorry, that joke wasn't mine I swear. But you should be one. Tell us about yourself? We...I want to know.” the page asked. I could see sincerity in his soft paper face. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel lonely.

So I spoke. And the book read me as if I was the one made of paper...

-

When I was done, the book was quiet for a few moments, contemplating it all. “I told you it wasn't much of a story.” I sighed. The book shh'ed me. “You've had a hard life my friend. Don't be ashamed to tell me so. Tell us so.” he corrected himself. I smiled. And a thought occurred to me.
“So, Mr. Book Of Faces, do you have a name?” I asked and poked the canine's soft nose. He snorted and then I saw him become a bit absent looking. He seemed a bit disturbed as he responded. “...Actually I cant recall that. At least what I was called before I was this. None of us do actually. We are merely the pages of the book now.” he told me softly. I nodded and answered him back. “Page.”
He blinked and looked at me cock-eyed. “Huh?”
“Page. That's a name isn't it? I can call you that if you like.” I offered. The page smiled and rolled his soft white tongue on his lips. “Page huh?” he smiled. “Alright. Page it is then.” he replied. I rubbed his nose playfully and he giggled, his giggling onomatopoeia appearing on the page like his speech.
“And what do I call you?” Page asked me now. I nodded, knowing this was coming. My name was not something I gave out much. Truth be told I was hardly ever used. Usually I was addressed as “You” or “slave”.
“My name is Peshab.” I told him gently. The book rolled my name upon his tongue like he had with the name I had bestowed on him. “I am glad to meet you Peshab. We all are.” the book smiled. I smiled back.
“Me too.”

–

8.

Time passed as its wont to do. I had many conversations with Page in the following weeks. I told every detail of my existence and he shared his own. I also met many of the other pages in the heavy thing. Like Page, every one of them had a face. I was very weary to actually turn the page when he first proposed I 'meet' some of the others. A part of me was afraid that doing so would end the spell that kept my first friend in ages with me. Page offered me a constant stream of assurances that he would indeed not disappear if I turned his page over. He told me that being 'closed' only cut off his vision. He could still hear me quite clearly. He wouldn't be able to respond directly to me but he could speak with the other pages as needed. They were all connected inside and acted as a hive. All aware of the others and able to converse with them. In-fact that's what they had all been doing for quite some time. When there was no one to read them, all they had to share was each other. The idea that literally thousands of other minds, other beings were inside this fat heavy mound of paper and binding made me nauseous in contemplation. I asked Page what he had done to be reduced to such a fate. And he told me that, while he didn't remember exactly how he got this way, he remembered it was of his own choosing.

It would take me a long time to comprehend, much less believe this.

When I did turn Page's page, I found he was correct. Another face, this time that of a kangaroo, started to push outward and form from the parchment. A large snout, flat nose and thick lips protruded from the book and smiled at me. I blinked and, rudely I know, flipped the page back over and checked that Page was still there. He blinked and then gave me a half serious glare. “Stop bein' a sissy. Turn me over!” he snapped playfully. I obeyed and found the roo's face once more staring out at me. He seemed a bit annoyed, his brow furrowed. I smiled shyly and apologized. His words materialized on the page next to him, a bit rougher and in a different handwriting then Page's neat typed words. “I was gonna say G'day to you but if you're gonna be a right tit about it well...” the roo started. I shook my head. “No no no! I'm sorry OK!” I whined. He nodded, and then smirked a bit. He had played me. I grunted and rubbed my face. “Had ya didn't I there?” he laughed. I laughed a bit too.

I met many other faces that day. Each page had its own individual owner and personality. Most were quite friendly and eager to receive my attention and curious touches. A few were a bit rougher and offered only hello before waiting for me to move on. One or two outright did not speak to me, their faces perfectly slack. They reminded me too much of death masks when they did that. After every few faces I would turn back to Page. He was always there to listen to me talk. To be read. And although I knew he was getting repeated information, (he had obviously been here for years and knew these other personalities better then I ever would) he was always eager to hear my voice. And I found I was always eager to see his face. To touch his firm brow and gentle jaw as I told him about the others, my thoughts and wants. My fantasies and tales of my admittedly unexciting life.

Page reciprocated with his own tales. While I learned that his real name and the details of his life were lost, others were not. They could not remember who exactly had done what, but there was a treasure trove of adventures and stories inside this book. It was a book of faces true, but it was more precisely a book of lives. It was full of philosophers and scientists. Lovers and cheats. Wizards and thieves. Fools and the foolish. The brave and the brave in only their own mind. Men, women, children and things that had no gender or age. All species, creed and minds. A perfect collection of souls all sharing one body and one mind. And Page knew them all. As if they were his own.

Time passes quickly when one is not paying attention to it. And soon I found that I always had the book by my side. Page was by my side. And somewhere along the way I realized I was perfectly content. I was...happy.

-

9.

I had never been in love before. Love was a luxury my class did not often have. Sex was ordered or merely occurred as a need. Not much different then breathing or eating. Love would have little time to grow if it ever did take root.
The only love I had know before was the one that children share with their parents. That pure love that springs forth from when a child first sees their parents from the womb.

I had no experience with the other kind of love. So much so that if it had been a viper, I would have been dead long before I knew I had stepped on it.

I realized this when one night I found I had taken the book to bed with me. I had taken the habit of keeping the book closed to my chest when I was walking. I was fearful of dropping it and somehow hurting it. Page had assured me that I couldn't harm him or the others short of throwing the book in a fire. Water would be unpleasant but not fatal. In fact Page liked a little moisture now and then. I had occasionally wet my fingers and let him suck upon them. It reminded him of what needing to eat and drink was like. I missed that too actually.

It had been a long day, cleaning and dusting. Talking to Page the whole while as I worked. There was always a good table or chair to sit him in while I went about my tasks. The time melted always as we joked, discussed and sometimes shared comfortable silence together. Routine had found me again but now it was shared.

And so it was I usually set Page down on a soft chair in the library before I would retire for the night. But this night I had wanted to show him my quarters. He had been trying to talk me into taking one of the larger bedrooms in the castle for myself. I had brought him along so I could convince him what I had was quite enough for my needs. He called it inadequate but he saw I was not going to be talked out of it. And then I rubbed his snout and closed the book before I sat down on my bed. Exhaustion was creeping upon me now. My body had reached that point where I would soon fall down in a heap. I never slept but I still needed to recover my strength. And I found myself now holding the book to my chest and quite unable (and unwilling) to trek back to the library to place him in his usual spot. I wondered and debated. I laid back on my bed, holding the book to my chest and finding perfect contentment. I didn't want to set him down. Ever again if possible. Page was a comfortable weight that I was happy to carry.

Hours passed and then I realized just exactly what had transpired. I was in love.
And in learned that terrible thing that all lovers must think when they first realize what deep shit they are in. Are they loved back?

I waited until the wee hours of dawn before I slowly opened the book and found Page once more. He feigned a yawn for my sake and smiled. Sleep was lost for him and the others much like it was for me.
“You're up early. Whats up?” he asked. I smiled. He smiled back.

I imagined I was a holding a set of cards. I placed my bets and looked the dealer in the eye. I smiled at him and played my hand.

I brought the book up to my face and pressed my lips to Page's own.

There was only a hint of resistance. Surprise more then anything else I assumed. I hoped.

And then I felt his tongue against my own. His lips pressing against mine. Nothing of protest. No resistance. Just eagerness.
Awkward as it was, moving the book to make up for Page's inability to do so, it was pure. It was perfect.

I had made a gamble. For once, it paid off.

-

I had read stories about these first weeks of love. Tales of wild lusty sex passing over the couples like a tornado. Ours was different but no less eager. Page was limited by his form. And I found I had to do much of the work. But I didn't mind. Again, routine found us as soon we would take every opportunity to be with each other physically as well as mentally. I would dust the shelves while letting Page lick and suck upon my toes. I would lay upon a chair and let him run his soft face across my naked chest and chew on my nipples with his soft little teeth. I would kiss him and let him nose around my nooks and craning s as he wished. Always I would lower him to my hips and slip off my clothing (if I was wearing any at the time). His lips would find my manhood and softly suck upon it. He was a perfect gentleman, always gentle but speeding or roughing it up as I requested. Licking and running that very long soft tongue over me. It was always dry but nothing unpleasant. As if I was being touched by a tongue coated in soft bed sheet. I would moan and squeak, curling my long toes as he pleasured me. He told me my feet were adorable and that I made the cutest sounds when I came. And came I did. Again and again until my balls ached.

And then I felt a creeping dread. A guilt that I could not pleasure Page like he did me. A worry that that aspect of our relationship could spread as a deadly poison. I cried a few times over the thought. Page heard me and when I told him, he offered me a gentle kiss and licked my tears from my face. He was smiling. “If I was merely a letter on the pages of this book, I would relish ever second you were staring at me. That will never change. Besides...” he started.

“There's more to this book then just faces. There are other volumes my dear friend...” he said coyly.
I did not understand at first. He told me to head to the library and help him find what he needed.

We searched that day and night until we had a neat stack of five other books. Four roughly the same size as the Book of Faces, and one that was was the size of a door meant for a child to pass though. They all were of the same material and binding, each with that same mask shaped embellishment on their spine.

“These are the Books of the Flesh” Page told me proudly. And then he showed me what that entailed...


10.

The books had no titles or labels upon them but opening them made their roles quite clear. The large book revealed a soft paper torso. It ran from the edge of the collarbones, down the trunk and ended just above the groin. The sides ended at the shoulders so that there were no arms. Just the torso. “The Book of Torso.” Page told me. The first page I opened in this book was that of what I think was a young lion man. A firm well defined chest. Abs that were chiseled despite the soft paper flesh. Even soft nipples that stiffened with enough touch. Page's face stiffened a bit and I realized he was a bit jealous. I blushed and started to turn the pages. Thick trunks of elephants and boars. Thin wispy builds. And every shape in-between. Then I came to Page's own. I'm proud that I recognized it without being told. It was exactly as I imagined his chest would be. Firm round pectorals greeted me, topped with wide nipples that peaked with just a touch. The belly was not as firm as some I had seen but was full and pleasing to hold. His navel was a soft thing that I ran my fingertip into teasingly. Page cooed and twitched a bit, both on the book of faces and this new part of his anatomy I had to myself. I placed the book of faces above the torso and positioned where a head should be. He would have been tall. Pleasingly so. And wide. Wide enough to wrap his arms around me like a cloak. My cock stiffened at the thought and he saw it and smiled. “You might want to save that for the other books...” he told me, his grin infectious. I found the book of hands and then the book of feet right after. These books were slightly different then the other books. Those had had a blank left side and a 'full' right half. Opening these books produced appendages on both pages. A pair of thick two fingered hands, rough and callused, greeted me and shook my paws when I opened the book of hands. I was startled and bit my lip to keep from yelping aloud. The hands had a strong grip and I realized that if they wanted they could possibly break my fingers. Maybe. It wasn't something I wanted to test. Page saw my distress and after a moment the hands let go and held themselves wide, apologetic.

“That one is spouting a stream of apologies. He didn't mean to hurt you if he did. We...he. He hasn't held someone's hands in a long long time...” Page spoke for the nameless palms, his voice a bit hesitant. It was obvious he wanted to touch me. And I was eager for that too.
“It's alright. I...I’m OK. I..I want to shake your hands. All of them honestly. Its just going to take a long time. P..Page comes first though. That's all I want to say.” I stammered as I addressed them all though my lover.
He nodded and the nameless hands on the book pointed at me and made a 'OK' symbol. I nodded and rubbed one of the thick fingers and the hard wide fingernail at the tip. A rhino perhaps. I wasn't sure. I turned the page and met the next hands. And so on until I found Page's own. He was the only one not to try and shake or point at me. His hands flinched, as if struck. He was nervous. As was I. Still, I had wanted to hold his hands for gods knows how long. I wasn't going to be denied. I ran my hairless palms to his paper ones and gripped. I saw his face moan as we felt each others palms for the first time. He had strong fingers. Thick knuckles. Short claws that felt lovely as he ran them down the back of my hands. He had the long strong fingers of someone who worked with his hands. A artist perhaps or someone who built things in a constant flurry. Hands that I had imagined and now held. I do not think we let go until the following morning.

The book of feet were a bit less exciting. Feet had never been exactly a big feature for me. I was told by Page that my own hairless pink toes were quite adorable. Page's own were longer then I expected. Like the book of hands, the feet were produced on both pages. But while the hands poked outward as and stood tall from the pages, the feet were positioned differently. The soles of them were presented first instead and then they pointed upward towards the top edge of the book. It reminded me of a man in the stocks. Page's feet were long toed and tipped with dull but long claws. They confirmed his canine nature to me with the rounded shape of his digits and the rough round pads on their bottoms. I found Page to be quite ticklish. And quite dexterous as his toes were almost as good as his hands when it came to my neither regions.

That just left the last two books. I had a idea of what at least one of them would be. I decided to be greedy and flipped them both open at once. There was a twitch from the one on my right and a wiggle from the book on my left. A round buttock, complete with a thin feline tail protruded from the pages of the left book. Co currently a thick short penis of odd humanoid shape poked upward from the other book. The book of arse was like the feet and hands. One ass cheek on each side of the page that when the book was opened, produced a round firm buttock. Each one of these was different in shape and size, constrained to the dimensions of the book. Some spilled over the binding onto the table. Others were thin affairs that were barely enough to hold. The owner's tails were of more note. Thick ones, small ones. Stubs and points. All eagerly wagging or swaying. A couple even would wrap around my wrist tickle my nose. And between each set of cheeks was their most private bit of anatomy. I was very hesitant at first. And worried. I wanted to be perfect for Page when I found him. I thought of perhaps practicing with some of these other rumps while I had the chance. But a glance at Page's face showed me he was practically salivating. He wanted this as bad as I did. More so likely.

I spun the pages, admiring the assorted anatomical shapes before I found his. And I kissed it immediately. He made a silent squeak from the face book as I did so. His arse was firm and tight. Well toned and topped with a thick tail that would have been fluffy if it had been fur. As paper it was rounded and softened in shape and texture. Almost like a paper balloon. But it was quite mobile, wagging back and forth and rubbing against my chin and chest. I rested my head upon Page's rump and quietly enjoyed myself. And slowly I danced my finger along his crack. Tiptoeing. Teasing him with my hesitant touches. Then I parted his twin peaks and slipped a digit inside him. He was almost warm inside. I pressed further, watching his face moan and rythe in pleasure. The most he had sensed in many a year. I barely noticed I had put my entire hand inside him until I realized my fist was lower then it should be. I pulled back a bit, hand still inside him and stood up. I then experimented. I pushed forward and down. Deeper. Deeper still. And never hit the end. Even once my elbow found the meat of his cheeks around it. And I felt along the table's underside. My hand was not poking though the book. I was going inside it. Realizing this I pulled out immediately. Page screamed and hung his tongue from the side of his snout in panting gasps. I felt my hand and arm. It was still there. Untouched and unchanged. But it had sunk inside the book. Deeply.

This would be the start of my idea.

But for now that would wait and I looked to the ultimate book of the flesh. The flesh of sex. I ran a finger along the penis that had been silently waiting as I pleasured Page. It twitched and the round balls it rested on seemed to throb. I looked back at Page and gave the cock one last tap. It jerked and wiggled on the base that the open book served. Nothing left the tip of the shaft but the urethra opened and gulped like a fish. A silent dry orgasm. But obviously one that had no loss of sensation. I hurriedly span the though the pages. A wide assortment of shapes, sizes and even smells. I knew that I would be very tempted to try them all. I had never thought of the taboos of loving the same sex as myself before. It came to me now and I dismissed it. I was in love. That was all that mattered. And if I were to be tempted by other flesh, It would be up to Page. In a way, these were all his flesh. His body. All of them part of the tome of flesh he was fused to. And then I saw it. And Page moaned and his book head physically bounced on the table. I was surprised by that. And by what I saw. He was much bigger then I thought. And the shape was not what I was use to. I had expected something like my own maleness. His was larger. A pointed tip that ran to a fat swollen knot of flesh above his scrotum. His balls throbbed and I could tell he was mere moments from release. They all likely were. I took the book into my lap (feeling my own flesh touch the book's backside) and wondered what to do. Page whined and looked pleadingly at me. We had all the time in the world. But this was the start. This would be the one we remembered for all our time together. I put my lips to his body and made sure it was worth remembering.

-
11.

The days I spent with Page and the books of flesh were the best days of my life. I lost countless hours with him. Talking. Touching. Thinking and feeling. Sex was almost a constant activity as I found that he had little to no recovery time. And the portable nature of his body parts meant many possibilities for debauchery. There was one particularly fun period where I kept his rump around my cock with a belt and went about my day of cleaning. Another belt and I walked awkwardly up and down the halls with two books held tightly to my hips. Time passed and soon I forgoes leaving his side whatsoever. We even made a bit of a game of what part of him I would take to bed with me. Some time just his hands. Sometime just his feet or maleness. I could hear his teased yips and howls as I lay in bed with just his cock against my entrance as I lay and rest. Other times we could just hold hands till morning.

Eventually, as always does, we became very familiar with each others flesh. And boredom set in. and thus variety was added to the mix. It took me a long time to become OK with using the other parts of books of flesh. Page assured me there was no ill will or even the slightest hint of jealousy or abuse by doing so. He was part of the books of flesh. And they were him. And so, I found myself lowing my small round arse down onto the long flared shaft of a stallion. And then a boar. And later on, that kangaroo. There was even a human penis inside the books. That was a odd feeling one but not bad. The rumps varied in tightness, shape and smell (although no scent was able to overcome the smell of the paper they were made of). Even the hands and feet were used. The one thing I never did however was kiss another face but Page's. That was the one taboo I refused to break.

I was happy. And I could have stayed this way forever.

But then one evening I was exploring the book of penises, looking for something exotic. And then I found the one thing I had yet to encounter with any of the books so far: a blank page. The books themselves had seemed endless. Thousands of pages in each volume. I had lost the idea of ever reaching the 'end' of one of them. But here it was. A blank page about three fourths of the way though the book in my paws. I swallowed thickly. Page's face book was in the library, currently reading himself a history of family lines. He had a knack to find any family history of mine he could. If he realized I had found a blank page, there was no immediate reaction from the book itself. I was hesitant. I had grown use to seeing something new with each turn of the page...a blank one was unnerving to me now. As if it was a empty soul, staring at me with vacant eyes. I touched it. And yelped. My finger sunk downward slightly. I pulled away and fell out of my bed with a soft thump. I scrambled back to my feet and eyed the book once more. Nothing different. I looked at my fingertip. Still there. I wondered...

I pushed a finger against the page, and again, it sank downward. It was much like the rear end of one of the rumps I had enjoyed so many times. There was a difference though. While all the other pages and their shapes had a stillness to them, this page felt...almost wet. As if it was flowing. I sank the finger in to the tip and waited. The paper sank around it...and then it started to compress. To flow inward around my finger like slow moving gel. I didn't pull away this time. I felt a odd tingling and then...

Fingers. Thousands. All at once touching my own. Caressing it. Rubbing against it. Poking and prodding. A sea all around it of all shapes, sizes, and textures. I moaned in surprise and pulled my hand away...minus that finger.

I almost didn't realize it was gone. Save for the missing digit, my hand looked untouched. It was simply as if I had never had that finger to begin with. But I could still feel it. A bit more distant but I could still feel it as hundreds among hundreds of fingers and now full hands touched and caressed it. Loving it as tenderly as I had been with Page. The only real sign of my mutilation was the white patch of bare skin left behind. Skin that felt oddly close to the parchment of the books. I sat there, looking at my diminished hand and feeling the ghostly touch of the paper lovers. And soon I heard a sobbing. And felt a familiar hand on my missing finger: Page's.

-

“Please don't do this.”
“You know I have to. I am not going to die here.”
“You don't know what you are giving up. There is no going back. You are going to be trapped in here forever.”
“As long as you're there, forever is plenty of time.”
“Dammit. You stupid shit. Do you know what its like to never die? To be utterly helpless? We're never going to ... I can't...I wish I could stop you. I really do.”
“I know you do. But you know what's here for me. Nothing. You are all I have. And I refuse to loose you.”
“...you're a fool. A stupid fool.”
“...I'm your fool.”
“...”

-

Page refused to speak with me for several days after that. I was and still am stubborn. I was not going be persuaded. I was making a choice. A real choice for myself. My own path. It if led to damnation, so be it. It was my choice alone.

I made preparations beforehand. The castle received the deepest cleaning its walls had ever seen. I even made sure the grime was spotless. Because I was never coming back to it. I had to hope that Rookshire didn't realize where I had gone too when and if he ever did return. I had no idea if he might be of mind to tear me out of the book or throw the whole thing in the fire. I was endangering them all I knew. And a part of me, a selfish part that now was alive with fire, didn't care. This was MY story.
I prayed the gods had pity on me...or at least Page and the books, if this went sour.

I knew the book of faces would be last. I knew roughly what to do at this point for having no idea of what I was doing. . I set out the other books of flesh and decided to finish what I had started with my missing finger. I took the book of hands,ignoring the grasping hands when I turned past them, and opened it to the blank pages. Again, like the blanks in the previous volume, the texture felt almost wet and spongy. It was as if the book itself had a liking to what I was going to do. It had a taste of me and wanted the rest.
I breathed deeply for I don't know how long. It was much like bringing myself to plunge a hand into open flame. At some point I pressed my palm into the page and pushed forward. I let out a gasp as the material again parted and then flowed around my wrist, completely obscuring my hand. Two things happened in mere moments. I realized the missing digit was now back on my submerged palm. And that someone was gripping my hand. It wasn't Page. This was a much stronger grip. Thick callused feeling hands. Two large fingers and a thumb. He pulled up and down on my hand and I was forced to follow the motion. I dimly realized I was having my hand shaken. After a moment I broke the grip and pulled myself away and out of the book's grasp.

My hand was no longer a hand. The shape was a fingerless mitten without a thumb. It was painless but almost totally numb. And like that small patch of skin had been, a faded off white color and textured like parchment. The realization that I had just crippled myself gripped my heart and kept me silent as I starred at the thing that was lately my hand. Then a warm grip grasped my hand in the book. And I knew it anywhere. A pair of hands holding the detached hand in their own. Holding it tightly and giving me strength. I didn't have the book of faces with me but I knew what Page was saying without it. All had been forgiven in just that firm heartfelt touch. I sobbed and gathered myself before going to my room and retreating Page's face. His face was strained but he had the softest hint of a smile.
“You're a damned fool. But you are my fool.” his words appeared on the page beside him. I nodded and pressed my forehead against his own. And I realized that for the first time I could truly 'feel' his hands. While I knew their shape and grip well, I had never known their texture. Their fuzzy writs. For the first time I was truly holding my lover's hands. And I never wanted to let go.

With Page watching my every move, I began the task of inserting myself into the other books. Having rendered one hand useless, I decided to leave my remaining one for last. Before my face of course. I looked at the books before me and settled on what I could loose without any major impairment. The book of buttock was eager for me as I opened it to the blank pages. I debated for a moment or two before I decided how to approach this. I began by squatting over the book, as if I was to defecate upon it. From here I began to slowly feed my tail downward. It too was eagerly accepted by the book's paper flesh. And again, like my finger and hand before it, I felt a assault of flesh on my own. Tails wrapping around my own ropey one. Thick things. Stubs and fluffy puffs of fur. Some rough, some smooth. And as I lowered myself down, I felt my ass cheeks press into the book with the same response. At first I felt other buttocks against my own. Bumping against me, rubbing and teasing. And then to my surprise, I felt hands once more. Many of them. I howled in reply as I felt several digits touch and then spread my exit. Probing and teasing. Some more eager then others. I started to scream and pull away...until again, a familiar pair of hands found my rump cheeks and caressed them slowly. I panted and took deep breaths till I calmed myself. I looked at Page's face, seeing it soothing me as well as any touch, and nodded. There was a bit more exploration before something new pressed against my submerged cheeks. Something firm warm and thick. I gasped as his cock spread my cheeks and rested between them. My anus quivered as he touched and rubbed against it. I put my good hand to his face and my now paper one gripped his own inside the void that was the books of flesh. He entered me. And it was better then I could ever hope for. I was slow to pull myself away from the book...and much more pleased to find that despite the fact I was standing up, I could still feel him inside me. I ran my good hand along my back end and found a smooth unblemished round shape that went from my lower back to just below my scrotum. A perfectly round rump with no crack or exit to interrupt it. I squeaked as I felt Page start to thrust inside me and I knelt down in shock. I moaned and started to masturbate myself greedily as he took my disembodied rear and made It his. It was exquisite. After a handful of half hear-ted strokes I realized the obvious thing do to here. I felt Page slapping into my ass and crawled till I had the book of flesh in my hand and stump. I flipped though the collection of now engorged erections till I found the blank parchment. I made no hesitant touches here. I slammed my manhood inside it as if it was Page's own flesh. And I screamed as I came. And again. And once more as I saw Page's eyes close and his mouth part around a unseen item that now was inside his lips. I saw his tongue felting a invisible organ. But it was not invisible. It was my own manhood. And I could feel his hot wet mouth around me. Sucking and lapping his long tongue around my shaft. His hands gripped my balls and rubbed and kneaded them in his strong hands. And his sharp teeth teased my cock head. I squeaked and beat upon the floor with my fist as I felt him draw another climax from me before I rolled over, the book dislodging from my groin.

I laid there for quite a bit, taking in the sensations. And every so often I would grunt and shiver as I came again. I found myself actually asking Page to stop at one point. He did but not without hesitation. He did not stop at my ass. I could feel his hot liquids inside my disembodied ass and a odd fullness in my gut. I wagered he was experiencing something much worse then I in terms of blue balls. I would let him have his fill. But I needed to focus at least somewhat. There was a bit more to do...

The book of torsos was a heavy thing and opening it and dragging the many pages open took me quite awhile. I was not helped by Page's still constant assault on my ass. But it felt too good to stop and I owed him that much. Eventually I found the blank pages and crawled across the paper like a beached whale. Once I had my chest and belly against it I felt the paper begin to take my skin with it. This was a bit of a quicker process then the other parts. The only areas I particularly felt were my nipples. And only once I rolled off of it did I notice their removal. I could feel tinder fingers, then lips and teeth upon then in moments. Hands and even penises touched and poked at my navel. I giggled and smiled between pants. I ran my hand over my now smooth and featureless chest. There was no fur, now it was that same paper texture that was now rapidly replacing my skin. I could feel it replacing my backside fur and traveling down my legs and arms. And with it, the feel of thousands of bodies, hands and other things against my own. My paw walked down my navel-less belly and found the soft smooth bulge that was now my groin. There was no real sensation. Touching and squeezing it felt much like playing with my elbow skin. Traveling further, I ran along to where my body should have parted and became my arse. There was nothing now. Smooth skin that wrinkled on occasion. I had become a pale smooth thing save for my feet, face and now single hand. I had wondered what had become of the other book occupant's bodies. Now I was finding out first hand.
It was almost done. I found the book of feet and gently dipped my feet in. it felt like stepping into a warm soft lake of liquid paper. And then I felt strong hands kneading my soles. Something sucking upon my little toes. And someone had their penis against it in most ticklish thrusting. I giggled and 'mmm'ed at the sensations before I pulled my feet away. While I had expected stumps, I was pleased to find round shoe like booties when I removed them. They too were smooth and featureless. But I could stand with them. I dimly wondered what would be left of my head once I put it to the book. Would my body still live after I was no longer connected to it? I had a grim thought of a body, unable to eat breath or release, simply dying in silence on the floor. I shivered. Still, it was too late. I had come this far.

I slipped my remaining hand into the book of hands. I felt Page's strong grip on it instantly as he held me tightly. I found a second mitten and, in a bit of curiosity, I closed the book of hands awkwardly with my stumps. I then opened it once more, turning the pages by dragging the mittens across them. And then I saw my own hands protruding from the book's paper. I felt the strangest sensations though my hands now. It was as if I was pushing them though wet paper that was perfectly dry. Paper that would never part or tear. I gripped one of my fingers and pulled in a most wrong direction. No pain. No resistance. The paper was hollow inside. Like all the rest. I touched my mitten stumps and then my own face with my hands in this manner. My sense of touch was only slightly dampened by being inside the book. I felt the dampness on my cheeks and it moisten my paper digits a bit. A most peculiar sensation. Satisfied, I turned to the book of faces, wanting one last look at Page before I finished adding myself to the book itself...

It was gone. Specificity, it was not on the floor next to me. It had been picked up. By a pair of golden two fingered hands that danced with bird like grace.

Rookshire 'hmm'ed to himself a bit as he flipped though the pages of the book of faces, getting a wide assortment of confused and shocked looks from its occupants. He found Page once more and stopped after a moment's thought. He then turned to me.

“Hello little housekeeper. You found the library I see.”

-
12.

It was over. I was going to die for sure now. Much worse, Rookshire had come to find me utterly helpless. I had no hands, no feet, and all of my body felt numb compared to the firestorm of sensation from what was inside the book. I felt my face slacken like a mask and felt my soul shiver.
It was over. And worse, he would punish the book and Page as well. Likely put him in the fireplace. Maybe me too.
A unending dance of horrible fates went though my head as Rookshire stared at me, still with that unceasing smile on his beak. He blinked, his eyes clicking slightly.
“You look as if you've seen a ghost.” he commented. I slackened and could barely hold my head up to look at him.
“Just do it. Kill me. Turn me into whatever you wish. Its over.” I breathed. The mechanical man said nothing for a horrible, horrible moment before he spoke again.
“Why would I wish to kill you now? I haven't had a reason to yet. And besides, you've done as I've asked so far.” he told me. There was a detached glee to his manner. As if he was teasing me. He likely was now that I think about it.
“The castle is spotless. As clean as the day I conjured it into existence. And the plants are lively and lush!” he beamed. I felt my lip hanging open and used a mitten stump to close it.
“But...but I found the library. I found Pa..Page and the book of faces. The books of the flesh... I...I...” I found myself gaping and stuttering, tears making my vision a puddle. Rookshire's cold finger touched my cheek, making me stiffen. I felt myself try to void inside the books. Nothing came of course. I wiped my eyes enough to see Rookshire examining the tears on his metal finger as if he had not seen them before. “My my you are upset. What gave you the impression I would punish you for finding my books? I would think it most unpleasant to be here without some manner to entertain yourself. Besides, you did the task I gave you spindly. And you had the foresight to wait until I returned before attempting to nullify yourself.” he said simply.

A sharp sob left my chest but my heart seemed to swell up once more. “...don't be joking. You aren't angry? You...you don't mean to stop me?” I whimpered happily.
Rookshire looked almost hurt. “Not at all. You are actually the first housekeeper that kept their end of the bargain. Most of them just lazed about the grounds and left the place in shambles. I turned them into furniture if I recall. Been too long.” he mused as he helped me to my feet and set the book of faces down on the table beside us. He ran a hand over my smooth papery skin and seemed to be studding me. He bade me to lift my arms, to turn and show off my now smooth taint and tush. He poked and prodded me occasionally, making clicking sounds that sounded pleased.
“Well it would seem that my Books of the Flesh quite like you. You have almost been fully absorbed.” he commented. I felt my cheeks blush slightly. He smiled that unending smile and ran a hand along my scalp. It was a gesture by something that I did not know could fully comprehend the act. I decided to believe it regardless.
“M..may I finish what I started Mr. Rookshire?” I asked softly.
“Of course. I'll even help.” he replied. I stood and watched as the clockwork folk gently picked up the book. His delicate fingers found the blank pages in a flash. And I found myself smiling as he slowly pressed the book to my face...
-
-
-
epilogue:


Rookshire smiled as he finished reading the words on the newest page of his book of faces. The mouse's paper features smiled brightly as the mechanical man spoke the last printed thoughts on the page. “and that ends my tale it seems. You know the rest.” the mouse 'spoke'.
Rookshire nodded and ran a finger along the page's nose and short little snout as it protruded from the paper. “And it was a pleasing little tale indeed. I'm glad to have read it.” he told him. The mouse in the book of faces smiled back and wished a bit he could still blush.
Rookshire sat up from his chair and adjusted his cowl a bit. The machine man had been reading and speaking with this little page for many days now. Neither of them tiring. Now that he had caught up with the little mouse's adventure, he had things to do. Many many things indeed. He preened a bit like a bird and once he was satisfied, he turned to the book and addressed it once more.
“Well my former housekeeper, I must bid you adieu once more. I have some matters to attend to. And you my friend, have a spot in the library that needs refilled.” he smiled. The mouse nodded. Time had become even more of a disconnected thing for him. He was only fully aware of its passage when a book of the flesh actually was opened. When they were closed, he was with Page and all the others inside the volumes. And that was perfectly fine by him. Page was with him now. Encouraging him though every word as he told Rookshire what had transpired. And as the clockwork folk closed the book, he found himself back in Page's embrace. He would be perfectly satisfied even if the books were never opened again...

-

Rookshire replaced the book of faces into its proper slot on the shelf in the library. He took a moment to set one of the books of flesh on its side, to mark their place for him. He had forgotten where he had put them truthfully. He was quite thankful to the little former mouse for rediscovering the books for him. He would be sure to browse them more often now when he had the time. Speaking of time, it was time for his next pressing appointment. Rookshire walked to his lab, whistling a tune all the way . After a few minutes there was a soft 'pat pat' of feet. A off white creature came into the room with nary a word. Mostly because it had no mouth to make words with. Or eyes. Or any features of any kind. The mouse's body was totally nullified now that he had been absorbed into the books. Usually when someone was taken by the books of the flesh, the form left behind would simply suffocate and die. As luck would have it, the spell that had been placed on the body was enough to keep it alive once the owner was gone. A few simple enchantments and Rookshire had made the genderless null self sufficient. It was little more then a animate doll but with some training it would be able to preform simple tasks. Rookshire liked the idea of training it to respond to musical commands. Now that it was before him he saw it had successfully followed the musical command he had been whistling. He was holding a box, containing a set of gold coins. Coins that were humans at one point. Humans that would very shortly have a tale of their own to tell...

-


end.