3 comments/ 67385 views/ 2 favorites Gothic Sacrifice By: nushu2 Warning: Contains explicit violence Hopefully, you find this story as disturbing to read as it was to write. ============================== Her legs were tingling, begging to flee but her guts were in a knot. Why was her village doing this to her? She wondered if she had done anything wrong and searched her memory to find her guilt. She had only seen him briefly through the years but he always frightened her. Those raven-black eyes of his piercing into her where she couldn't even bear to look. There was something evil about His Lordship, so evil that no one dared to speak. Her youthful inquiries about the recluse in the castle were always met by silence. For years, he was the source of her fear and her fascination. He haunted her thoughts during the day and her dreams at night. Recently, her dreams had changed. She would see those hypnotizing eyes close above her and felt his hands clutching her breasts and thighs. When she woke, trembling in fear, she found the hands had been her own and she was damp in sweat, but not just sweat. He was a handsome enough man, despite his features. His nose was large and sharp, like the beak of an eagle and his chin and cheekbones were just a bit too jutting as though his skin were too tight. There was something about him, something dark and mysterious that made him so attractive. Behind those intense eyes he was sullen and sad. She saw it in him last time, there was something lost and never forgiven. It was strange of her to look at him so directly but he turned so quickly and caught her by surprise. She was more afraid to look away and returned his gaze, transfixed. She just stood and watched as this black cloaked man and his black horse rode into the fog. It was unusual for him to be seen at all. Occasionally, strangers would come through the village on the way to the castle. They were dressed as nobility but looked bizarre. Her father mentioned that there was too much Hapsburg in their blue blood and not enough of anything else. He warned her to avoid them. Mostly, all that came out of that castle on the top of the cliff were his women servants. They were just as strange and just drifted into the seaside fishing village to gather food and wares. All three of them dressed only in black, as though in mourning but they had no husbands to mourn. They never talked, just pointed, and they never had to pay. That was the price for His Lordship's protection. Not just the food but the servants, too. She always wondered what he protected them from and how that lone man could be depended upon. Two of the women, she knew from before. She couldn't remember their names but she played with one when she was a child. That one was six years older than herself and joined His Lordship's service many years ago when she became a woman. The other had been her neighbour when she was very young and her parents still were, but she never returned to visit. It was odd that, just as they were old enough to marry, they would volunteer to live in that dreary castle. It was even odder that the men of the village would not talk to them or even look upon them as they were the fairest women of the village. "All the more for me to choose among," she thought, as she was 18 and coming of age as well. And she truly had her choice of suitors. She was a fair haired beauty of gentle character and pleasing proportions. The boys had always favoured her but her first kiss was to be her husband and that would not be a boy. The men looked at her wantonly but they had to wait and act appropriately. It was a small village with only one church and they had to be respectful. Still, it didn't keep the men from flirting and it, certainly, did not stop her. She smiled and gazed overtly at all the men, eligible or otherwise, just to see them squirm. It was her power, to make men drool, and she flaunted it at every opportunity. She was so secure that she could not tempt them beyond their tolerance because that had never happened, not to anyone. Not ever, not here. The Sabbath had always been her favourite day. After church, she would run home and change into her best dress. She had a lacy white skirt that scandalously exposed her ankles and a bliaut that was barely more than a corset. It was not the fancy silk and brocades of the nobility but she was the height of fashion for the village. Everyone, except for His Lordship, would be gathered and grateful for their blessings. Children would be playing while their parents would talk and eat and drink. Eventually, even they would be playing but they preferred to call it, 'sports'. The revelries continued until dark and longer for those without children. This was her day to shine "Good day gentlemen. Would you care to taste my wares," she would lead as she carried a platter of pickled eggs above her waist. "I would love to nibble on those juicy tomatoes." "But sir, I have no tomatoes... Oh my, such a scoundrel. Besides, they're not quite ripe enough for a toothless old man like yourself ," she said with a coy smile and walked away to a chorus of laughter from his friends. Recently, things had changed. Some of the older men had no patience for her antics and became sombre just being in her presence. Women, too, always seemed on the verge of tears. Somehow, she felt responsible. They all went silent when she entered a room and looked at her forlornly. Sadness followed her like a shadow. She asked her mother about the villager's ominous behaviour and was assured her that it was just the times and that she was being vain. Her mother's eyes seemed to be telling a different story but, perhaps, that was just her own vanity, as well. There was plenty to be sad about lately. She blamed it on the weather. The skies had been grey for weeks but the rain never fell. Lightning burnt land, a boat and even a farmhouse and thunder shook them from their beds. The house was rebuilt within days and with the help of the entire village but they couldn't fix everything. At dusk, the fog rolled in from the cliffs as if emanating from the castle and covered the village in stillness. The air grew stagnant and smelled of rot. The crops were only producing half as much in the gloomy weather and a plague of insects were taking more than their share. If that wasn't bad enough, fishermen were returning with empty boats. All this had happened before in her memory but that was several years ago. Eventually it cleared, back then, and the village went back to being such a happy place. Even at church, this morning, the pastor gave an unusual sermon. She remembered it vividly. "It is in these times of strife we must forgive. Take pity on those in league with the Devil for they corrupt only themselves. Only fortune differs us from them and in our sympathy for them, we bless ourselves. In sacrifice, we find salvation and absolve ourselves of our flirt with evil. May God forgive us." "Such strange words," she thought to herself and struggled to find their meaning. Was he talking about the mysterious Lordship, who never came to church? What about that "flirt with evil"? Was he talking about her? Do they blame her for what's happening? She decided to change her ways. She would avert her eyes from men and show restraint. She swore never to use her smile as a weapon or a tool. It was too late. After church that day, there was no celebration, no playing. Everyone returned to their homes in quiet contemplation. That evening, dinner was all her favourite foods, as if it was prepared just for her. She could not enjoy it amidst the grave expressions of her parents that spread like a sickness to her younger sister and brother. A knock came on the door and her parents seemed to nearly faint. Her father visibly exhaled like he had been hit in the gut and her mother covered her face in her hands. Nobody moved to answer the door, not even the children, who felt, but could not know, that it was bad. Another knock and her father rallied his strength and instead of letting the visitor in, stepped outside and closed the door behind him. She heard talking outside but could not make out the words. The tone was of pleading. Minutes later, the door creaked open and her father led the pastor inside. Her mother led her siblings to their beds and came back, wiping the tears from her eyes. The pastor started in a soft but commanding voice, "Dear girl, you have been chosen to serve His Lordship. You will be escorted to his castle shortly. No need to gather your belongings. Everything will be provided. Please accompany me to the church." At first, she was relieved but it slowly began to dawn on her. Outside the door were a dozen of the elder villagers with torches that led the way. She clung onto her father, who supported her as she walked, but it soon became apparent that it was her mother that needed help. As she walked alone, she begged, "I'm sorry. I promise not to tease the men. I'll be good." "Oh, sweet girl," the pastor's voice trembled, "You were chosen for your innocence, not your guilt. His Lordship selected you." Three women in black awaited outside the church. They had stern expressions and walked up to her and took her hand, leading her away without a word. She turned around to see her mother crying in her father's arms, "Don't worry, I'll be seeing you soon." Her mother knew better or knew worse, to be accurate. Perhaps 'castle' is an inaccurate term, it was more of a chateau within a fort. The outer walls were twice as tall as her and had a wooden gate that she had never seen open before. The building inside was two stories tall with a high pitched roof. In the middle was a tower with battlements above and a large arched gateway that led through to the stables and courtyard. Between the gates and the castle was a long neglected garden that was wild with vines and thorns. The castle, itself, was intact but corroded. The dark grey of the stones from which it was built was all too familiar but, somehow, imposing. Inside, the walls closed in around her in dark corridors, lit only by sparse candles. There was an odour of soot and mould. Closed doors hid the contents of the rooms behind and a stairway led to the upper floor. She was led into the left wing of the castle and into a dreary room with bars in the window and only a straw mattress on the floor. The two younger women stood back while the one she didn't know asked, "What is your name?" "Elizabeth," she answered, surprised because she assumed that they taken a vow of silence. The woman slapped her across the face, "Your name is Number Four! ......What is your name?" The slap had stung but only enough to make her defiant. She noticed that the youngest of the women, the one whose name she couldn't remember, had a sympathetically pained expression. "My name ... is Elizabeth!" The next slap sent her to the floor. By the time she could focus again, she saw that she was alone. She tried the door but it was locked. Her mind was racing with the thoughts of what she had gotten into and she didn't think she would ever sleep but she was exhausted, more emotionally than physically, and fell asleep while staring at the iron rings on the ceiling. She was startled awake by the sound of the latch and all three women entered the room. The light through the window meant that it was morning. She stood up as they walked up to her slowly. "My name is Number One. This is Number Two and Number Three. What is your name?" "Num... Num ...Number Four," she stuttered. Number Two threw a black walking dress on to the bed and ordered, "Put that on." She could tell that they weren't going anywhere until she did and felt uncomfortable getting undressed in front of them. She stripped to her underclothes and reached for the black garment on the bed. "No, all of it." Number One ordered with a sinister grin. She tried to cover herself as best she could but she only had two hands. Number One and Number Two leered at her, like the way she liked men to do, but this made her scared. She put on the dress but still felt exposed without a petticoat and pantaloons. "Number Four has taken her first step," Number One stated sarcastically, "The next steps will be much more difficult." The first day, she was assigned to scrubbing floors. All day and deep into the night. The other three took turns watching over her. She never saw His Lordship and she never was offered food. She wanted to ask for food but she didn't. She didn't talk at all and they didn't talk to her. She did what she was told to the best of her ability and continued from one room to the next, only getting off her knees to refill the wooden bucket with water and lye. Finally, Number Two told her that it was time for sleep. She collapsed onto the mattress, aching, exhausted and hungry. She looked at her hands that were white and wrinkled. The lye burned her skin but it stopped the bleeding. She didn't have the energy to look at her sore knees. All she knew was that she could barely walk. She was woken in the morning again but only by Number One and Number Two. "You did a very good job yesterday and we have a reward for you," Number Two told her and handed her fresh clothes. "That isn't it. We have breakfast waiting for you." Every joint in her body ached, including some that she didn't know she had, and she felt like she had been run over by a horse. She had trouble getting her dress over her head. "Let us help you with that." She was too sore for humility and it seemed as if they weren't so bad. They certainly helped her remove her dress but their hands continued on her body. She felt her breasts being squeezed and a hand slid down between her legs. "Stop!" she yelled and fell to the floor. She huddled in the corner and whimpered, "Please stop." "Get dressed and come down to the kitchen." They left her alone with the door unlocked and she knew it was a chance to escape but she was too weak. She went to the kitchen and cowered in front of them. She could not even look at them. "Sit down," Number Three offered, "I'll get your breakfast". She gobbled down her breakfast and spent the rest of the day with Number Three. They cleaned the stables fed the livestock and other duties. They talked a little bit between long silences. "It's really not so bad here but you must never refuse them, especially His Lordship. They will only be harder on you." "You're not like them. Have you ever tried to escape?" "No, and you won't either. Give it some time. You can't go back home." "I remember you but I can't remember your real name?" "Number Three. That's my only name. You don't know me." she yelled but then paused and continued softly, "Do yourself a favour and forget everything and everybody you ever knew before. Memories will only hurt. Your life started yesterday. Trust me, I'm just trying to help." It only made her more scared. What could be so horrible that she had to forget her family? They betrayed her and sold her into slavery and terror but there had to be a reason. She began to wonder about His Lordship and being "in league with the Devil". There truly was evil here. She felt it. She smelled and tasted it. The air was thick with it and everything she touched was dirty with it but she didn't know what it truly was. She was only beginning to learn. All four of them had dinner together and she was told that there were special plans for later. She was led to a room that she had never seen before. In the room were chains and unusual furnishings.... "Oh God! Save me Lord." "Your God can't help you here and neither will your begging." "So, sweet cheeks doesn't like to be touched," Number Two said threateningly. "Shut up and strip her," Number One ordered. "My pleasure," Number Two whispered as she leaned in and started to unbutton the blouse. Soon, she stood naked and resigned to take her punishment and have it over with. She continued to mouth the words of a prayer under her breath. She shivered when Number Two fondled her breast but fought the urge to pull away. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." "See, this doesn't hurt so bad, does it? How about this?" She pinched a nipple between her thumb and finger and twisted. Number Four screamed but regained her composure quickly. She couldn't look her assailant in the eye. "Stop playing!" Number One barked. With that, her limp body was led to chains hanging from the ceiling and she was shackled by her wrists. Number One walked in front of her holding a handful of canes about three feet long and warned, "This is the price of refusal. Try to relax. You might even learn to enjoy it." "Not the ass," Number Two suggested, "I want a piece of that, myself." The first lash was the worst. She knew it would hurt, but not that much. Through the next seventeen, she summoned all her strength to keep from crying and screaming. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt her. The whipping had stopped but they weren't through quite yet. Number Two came up behind her, grabbed her ass with both hands and stuck her tongue in the newcomer's ear. "I'll see you later, sweet cheeks" "Clean her up but let her hang there for the night," ordered Number One. A few minutes later, Number Three returned with a bowl and a wet cloth and gently sponged the blood of her back. She couldn't hold it in anymore. She started to cry uncontrollably and not just tears, her body shook as if she couldn't stop coughing and her legs could no longer support her weight. The shackles dug into her wrists. "Shh. It'll be alright. Please stand up. C'mon stand up. You'll hurt yourself." Number Three tried to support her but she wouldn't stop crying. Eventually, she unlocked the shackles and Number Four collapsed to the floor in a naked heap. Number Three held her as she continued to cry. The tears stopped but only because her eyes had run dry. "Why?...sniff...Why me?...Why do the want to hurt me?" "Because you are here. We have to." "But you wouldn't hurt me ... sniff. " "Shhh." Number Three stayed awake all night with the new girl's sleeping head in the her lap. Before dawn, Number Three woke the newcomer and put her back in the shackles before returning to her room. About an hour later, all three returned and released her. After a silent breakfast, she was locked back down in the same room, with a bucket. She inspected the tools of torture as she cleaned them and was horrified by their cruelty. There were racks for stretching and other's that could only maim or kill. She prayed never to see this room again but considered it unlikely. She was beginning to understand. She was so pleased to go to her room that night with no further punishment. It was short-lived. She was awoken again but it was still dark outside. Since there were no sheets on the bed, she slept in her clothes but that wasn't the only reason. Number Two scared her. "Come with us," Number One insisted with Number Two standing beside her. She followed them down the hall and feared what they had in mind for tonight but resigned herself to the inevitable. They stopped at Number Three's bedroom door and gestured for the newcomer to enter. Number Three was shackled with chains hanging naked from the iron rings in the ceiling just as she, herself had been last night. "Did you really think we wouldn't know?" "Please don't hurt her. It was my fault. Punish me instead." "We have a better idea. You are going to punish her." "No, I can't...." Number Three interrupted, "Do it. Do it or they'll double it for both of us." Number Two handed over the canes. They were wrapped together neatly at the base by leather strapping a foot long. Number Four took the implement of torture and considered her options. There was only one. She looked at the back of Number Three and noticed the scars. She was covered in them. One scar led to another and they wrapped around her sides and down her ass and legs as if they searched for more flesh to disfigure. She saw her future. Gothic Sacrifice "Get it over with." Number Three yelled. She raised the canes above her head and brought them down on her friend's back. She closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears. "Harder!" Number One shouted, "We'll start counting when you start hitting hard enough." She tried again. "Harder!" Tears rolled down from Number Four's eyes but she would not cry. In the past few days of pain and betrayal, this is what hurt her most. She brought the canes down with a crack. Number Three whimpered and her back became red and welted. "Forgive me." "One." She wiped her eyes and raised those canes seventeen more times. Each time, she felt the pain as if it were her own and she wished it was. Number Three struggled back to her feet several times but bore the pain as only a woman can. Blood ran down her back and sprayed to the walls off the tips of the canes and, still, she didn't scream. Each time it made the same sound. First the whistle of the canes through the air and, then, the sharp slap as they hit and the involuntary moan of a breath too quick. Finally , it was over, or so she thought. "I think it's time she learned to use the other side of it," Number Two suggested with a sneer. Number Four looked in her hand at the leather handle. It had a bulb at it's base so that it wouldn't slip but she was too stunned to know what was meant. All she knew was that it couldn't be good. "Good idea," said Number One, "Number Four, kneel in front of the offender." She did, still confused but seeing the naked girl in front of her clued her in. "Oh God. No, she's had enough." "I will say when she has had enough. Insert the handle." It was if she couldn't move. She wasn't defying but she wasn't complying either. It just wasn't in her nature. "Would you rather continue lashing?" Number Three spread her legs and the newcomer looked up to see her nodding. She gently placed the bulb of the handle between the legs and pushed. "That's it. ... A little further.... Further... Pull it back and forth." She noticed Number Three's hips moving but she didn't move away from the strokes, she pushed into them. The handle became wet and slid easier. Just like her empathy during the lashing, she began to feel this herself and it really didn't hurt. She didn't want to feel like this, not now, but couldn't stop the tingling heat of her own. The musky smell of the wet leather was intoxicating and the sight of her pulsating hips was hypnotizing. "Stop! Leave it there and stand up." Number One demanded, "Remove your clothes and straddle the canes.... Get closer.... Grip it between your legs.... You know what to do. I can see it in your face." She did know what to do. She needed no encouragement but received it in Number Three's eyes. She liked it and it felt so good to give her pleasure. The feel of their naked breasts squeezing together and nipples brushing against each other. She was careful not to touch her tender back but was drawn to feel her flesh. Her skin was bumpy with tiny scars but soft and warm, especially her ass. She held onto it and fondled it as she pushed their hairy mounds together. Her legs quivered against their instinct as she clenched onto the canes and she was beginning to slip as the wetness ran down her leg. Eventually, she just slid along the strapping and onto Number Three who was biting her reddened lips. She gently pulled the handle out and entwined their legs together, like a moving vine, grinding and squeezing. Sliding in their own juices against each other's legs. She saw the other two behind them, obviously getting flustered. They seemed to twitch inside their clothes and they had sinister grins but their eyes were unblinking in absolute attention. Number Four began to feel that she actually had some power. She would tease them like she had done to so many men. She kissed those reddened lips, gently at first but Number Three showed her how. She glided down her neck shoulders and paused upon her breasts. Her tongue learned quickly and battled with her lips to give and receive but they were both the same. She even bit pinched the nipples between her lips, learning that there can be pleasure in pain. She traced her lips and tongue from scar to intersecting scar, winding her way down until she came upon the lips that had been kissing leather minutes ago. They had looked so inviting with the shaft of the handle inside her that she was almost jealous. Now, it was her turn. Her tongue emulated what her own finger had done for herself at night but had a bit of trouble wrestling against Number Three's pulsing hips. Still, she didn't stop until the pulse became a shiver and she knew she attained her goal. "That's enough." Number One choked on her words and cleared her throat with a cough, "Clean her up and leave her there for the night. Do you think you can do that? Number Two, come with me." "But ..but she..." "You know the rules. Come with me." Number Four went to the kitchen to retrieve a pot of water and a cloth. She returned and stained the cloth red but the wounds weren't deep and stopped bleeding quickly. "I will let you down like you did for me. I can't watch you suffer. I will gladly take your place." "No. Let me be. This is not the first time and it won't be the last but there is no reason to invite it on yourself ...any more than necessary." "Then I'll stay with you." "Get some sleep. I'll be fine. Dream of happy times, it's the only escape we have." "Fine, but I'm still staying here." She tried to stay awake but she had been through so much in the past few days. Her head hurt so badly that she almost forgot the pain of her body. When she awoke, in the morning, Number Three had disappeared, chains and all. She went down to the kitchen where Number One and Number Two prepared breakfast for His Lordship. "Where is she?" "That's none of your concern." "Well, I am concerned. Where is Number Three." "Standing right in front of us. You are Number Three now." Her mind raced with the implications of what she just heard but, after the horrors she had been through, she couldn't help but assume the worst. She ran down the grey stone corridors to the torture chamber and opened the heavy arched door. The room was empty except for the implements of pain but that didn't relieve her anxiety, only made it grow. She ran from room to room and only came across one locked door. This door was larger than the others and had ugly carvings indicating it was special. She assumed it was His Lordship's room and backed away in fear. If Number Three was in there, she didn't want to know. She continued her search outside in the courtyard and the stables but did not find her. All through her search she eliminated possibilities. She couldn't have gone to village, they never travelled alone. She was only left with three options, Number Three had been released, killed or this was all a cruel joke. Since they had never shown either mercy or humour, she feared it was the cruellest. She thought she was, partly, to blame. She expected to cry but couldn't. She just felt numb and collapsed to her knees, oblivious to the mud covering her dress. She remembered when she was younger and saw a murder of crows cackling from the trees after one of their fallen brothers. She thought they were mourning but they were just testing before they swooped in and pecked it's eye's out. That's why they call a them a murder. She had seen sheep slaughtered in front of their own flock and the flock just continued to eat grass and blindly fill their days until it was their turn. She was nothing more than flesh and blood, a beast of burden dressed in black. Deep inside her was still that little glimmer but not of hope, just doubt that, maybe, she was wrong. She almost wished she wasn't wrong, at least, it would be concluded. She kneeled in the mud for hours without purpose and without feeling. Eventually, they came and led her back and she followed orders without question. Most of the next day was just the same and it seemed, to her, that it had passed in minutes. Her chores were consuming but not exhausting. She was assigned to refill the water tank on the roof. This was a monotonous job of transferring buckets that had been lifted by mule and pulley from a well. Once on the roof, the water could be diverted into spillways running down to the kitchen reservoir and others. She felt as though she were already dead but her body hadn't caught up yet. They didn't torture her for those two days, it would have been useless. It only made her heart jump a little bit when they called her Number Three. She kept looking around to see if she was there. It was actually kind of nice to be left alone and even when she did start feeling better, she kept up the act. By the third day, she felt bad for not feeling worse. She wanted to be numb again but, at least, she knew how to fake it. Unfortunately, she still couldn't grasp who she was dealing with. They had years of experience and knew exactly how much a human mind and body can endure and what it took to break.. She heard their footsteps coming down the hallway and then the creak of her bedroom door. Candle light filled the room and Number Two led the way. From behind stepped .... "I thought you were dead," she screamed as she jumped up and threw her arms around her. She felt hands squeezing her ass an a tongue inside her ear and withdrew to see her face, to see if she had been mistaken. "Glad to see you too, sweet cheeks," It was her but she was different. She winked slyly and wore a smiled wickedly. Suddenly, it struck her. She had been fooled all along. The torture was not only on her body. It was all just a game to them. "So, I am back to being Number Four?" "You are Number Three. I am Number Two and she is Number One. She wondered if this was just another game as she was led down the hall but they entered the room that contained the large wooden tub. There were no chains, just the tub and a fireplace used to heat pots of water. The new Number One gestured toward the tub. Such an exquisite luxury to bathe in hot water that she found it hard to believe. She suspected that water would be scalding so she tested it with a finger. It was merely warm. She looked up to see Number One gesturing more impatiently. Number Two had already moved behind her and began to unfasten the straps of her dress. It fell to the floor and she carefully stepped into the tub. She slid into the water and breathed a sigh of relief. They washed her hair and padded her back that was still sore from the lashings. They were quite concerned with washing her breasts and between her legs but she didn't really mind. The thought that they were just preparing her for their pleasure seemed much less offensive than the lash, even exciting. Another pot of hot water caressed her legs as it blended and the scent of lilac filled overwhelmed her. She was disappointed when she was urged to get out. They dried and brushed her hair and powdered her skin as if she were nobility. She was handed a silk dressing gown that tied in the front, black of course. What a strange place of pleasure and pain this was. She had not forgotten, there was so much more pain. She was still a prisoner, a slave and a victim and a few moments of happiness could not balance that. She was led down the hallway, following the other's candles and this direction only led to that one carved door. She stopped in her tracks. The other two also stopped and she looked back at her. She imagined the slap of canes and her back twitched involuntarily. She was expecting to be threatened or forced but that didn't happen. "You are ready." It was finally happening. She knew it had to, sooner or later, but she had been so distracted that it was pushed to the back of her mind. Now, all of a sudden, she had a date with the Devil, almost. "Is it true what they say about him?" "What do they say?" "That he's in league with the Devil." "We all are," Number Two said with a laugh, "Have been since we came here. Now, it's your turn." "I would rather die than sell my soul." "He doesn't want to buy it, merely borrow it for a while and it's not just your life in the bargain." They both turned around and walked up to the door assuming she would follow. She glanced into the darkness of the hallway behind her and knew that she couldn't go back. They swung open the door as though they were expected and gestured her inward. Only a few candles flickered in the room and it was difficult to make out details. It must be a large room because the light never seemed to find a wall. She could make out a large four post bed and, as her eyes adjusted, a small table and a high back chair. The door closed behind her. "Welcome," came the sound of a calm male voice. "Your Lordship," she answered with a hint of a curtsey to a shadow of a figure sitting in the chair "I will not waste words but you need to make a choice... Nearly a century ago, the village was a corrupt and sinful place. The Devil held sway but I made a deal to bestow all their evil on myself and let the village be. The Devil made some stipulations to the deal, which you know, in part. For what is evil by itself? I am damned and ageless but you, in time and deeds, can earn your freedom. Do not think for a moment that I do not enjoy this or that the danger is not real. I contain evil beyond bearing and lack compassion. It is my curse and it can be yours but you have to choose it. Deny it and we are free but the village's curse has just begun... Make your choice." She didn't take more than a moment to consider, but in that moment, she saw a memory of her family and her village on a fine summer Sabbath. "My name is Number Three." She tugged on her gown and it fell and crumpled to the floor, leaving her naked to those penetrating eyes. The outline of his figure raised and drifted toward her. She couldn't see his face until he was right in front of her. Those black eyes, that she once thought were so sad, were just empty. It must have been her imagination that ascribed feelings to them because, now, there was none. These were the eyes of a crow that knew nothing more than survival. He pulled her, by the hand, to the bed. In the darkness, he inspected her with is hands. He cupped her breasts and squeezed, checking their firmness. He firmly ran a hand down her thigh and spread her legs apart. His weight pressed against her and her breathing became shallow and difficult. This all seemed so familiar to her, as if it were not the first time. It was like a dream she had another time and another place. Perhaps that other time and place was the dream. It all seemed so faded and unreal. Then, between her legs, a surge of both pain and pleasure. That was real.