Once there was a maiden.

	A sorceress touched by the sun.

	She came out of the desert to An-Tzang by the sea, dressed in rags and wearing a jade diadem. She marched at the head of an army of outcastes, of slaves, bandits and renegades, but worst of all of demons. The gates of An-Tzang were opened by treachery and the Autarch was drowned in a well. For one thousand days Lisha of the dunes ruled as witch queen of the coastlands and all the isles there about, until five princes of the earth led a legion of the Realm’s finest against her. The gates were smashed in, the demons scattered and Lisha of the dunes fled back into the desert whence she came. Only deer-footed Mara remained by her side, Mara who she had summoned to be her concubine and aide in sorcery. Together they vanished into the burning sands, crossed the silver wastes and came at last to a brass city under a pitiless green sun.
*
	A soft tapping sound broke the silence and Lisha woke up. She was lying naked on a bare pallet in a darkened room. A dim white lamp which sat on the floor, casting a small pool of light around her bed. Beyond the light was total blackness. Understanding hit her all at once; she remembered the battle, the flight and the terrible trek across the desert right up until the moment she collapsed of thirst into Mara’s arms. This then, she thought, is hell.

	The tap of hooves against marble sounded from the gloom and Mara stepped into the light. She was naked and carried a short red whip. As Lisha’s concubine she’d been plump and dark, just as the sorceress liked her women. Now she was taller, toned, with pale skin and straight black hair trailing to her shoulders. It was Lisha’s own body she wore, copied in every detail except for her cloven hooves and mocking blue eyes. They stared at each other in silence as the reality of Lisha’s situation settled about her like a cold weight.

	“I suppose I’m helpless then?” She said, sitting up and pulling her knees in. “My kingdom lost, my servants gone, trapped in hell completely at your mercy.” She smiled at her doppelganger, hoping for some hint of compassion or friendship in return.

	“Correct,” said Mara. “You’re completely in my power and our previous relationship is over. Uncover yourself; it’s your place to be exposed unless I say otherwise.” The command washed over her so gently that Lisha didn’t realise she’d been given an order until she’d already complied, spreading her legs and resting her hands at her sides to give the demon an unobstructed view of her pert breasts, her smooth belly and the soft curls of her fleece.

	“Is there any news from An-Tzang?” Lisha said, trying to take back her dignity in the only way she could. Although her mind was clear and her body free from pain she had only a dreg of solar essence left to her. There would be no escape by magic, much less by force.

	“It’s all gone I’m afraid, completely destroyed.” Mara smiled with mock compassion. “When the dragons saw what you did to their shrines they burned the city for not resisting harder.” Lisha closed her eyes and cursed to herself. She’d had something good in An-Tzang, a taste of the power and respect she knew was her right, a seed that could have blossomed with a thousand possibilities. For ten years she’d delved into the mysteries of sorcery and wrung precious knowledge from the slaves of hell. Now that knowledge was all she had left, but she was a naked slave herself.

	“What happens now?” she said. “Am I going to be your plaything?”

	“You have a sort of choice,” said Mara. “Your destination is decided but how you get there is up to you.  Come willingly or struggle as you will.” She nodded to the whip. It was the same lash that Lisha had used on her when she was rebellious; how it had reached hell Lisha couldn’t guess. “I’m going to take you before my great self, Lady Erembour, and you are going to submit to her completely and become our slave. The power of our father darkness will pour into your soul, and you will spend the rest of eternity as our tamed creature.” 
	
	“Will it hurt?”

	“It will be agony, and you’ll enjoy every moment of it”

	“What if I prefer to die?”

	“You can’t and you don’t.”

	“Will I have revenge on the dragons?”

	“More than you could ask for.”

	“You know me too well.” Lisha sighed. “You win Mara, I’m yours.”

	“Good, now stand.” Lisha rose to her feet and Mara embraced her. They kissed, and the demon’s lips tasted sickly-sweet. The strangeness of being hip to hip and breast to breast with her mirror image excited Lisha; she wondered why she hadn’t thought to try it before. Mara made her lower her neck and kissed her again, once on each eyelid. Suddenly the room was full of blazing light. Lisha screamed and covered her eyes with her hands before they could burn away. It was the blessing of dark sight which she’d read about in her books; the first step along a path that lead to becoming one of the dark father’s creatures forever.

	As quickly as it had come the blazing light vanished; Mara had snuffed out the tiny lamp. With her new eyes Lisha could see clearly in the pitch dark room. It was a great audience hall just like the one in An-Tzang. The white marble floor was streaked with black veins and pillars were of pitted malfean bronze, supporting a high, vaulted ceiling. Lisha’s pallet lay near the door and at the other end of the hall was a dais. On the dais, lounging naked and unashamed, was Erembour.  Against the blackness of the cloth she lay on her body was an even deeper darkness, a fathomless void in the shape of the most beautiful woman that Lisha had ever seen. Her hair was black with hints of silver, her eyes were grey and shimmered like moonlight on the ocean.  She was pregnant, her breasts and belly full and round. 

	“Get down on the floor.” Mara spoke in Lisha’s ear. “And crawl to her.”

	Lisha did not need to be told to lie down, flat on her face like a serpent eating dust. Mara give her a firm kick to the behind and she began to drag herself forward across the cold stone floor, eyes down in reverence. As Lisha pulled herself forward by her forearms Mara began to crack her whip. There was no pain from it yet however; the strokes hit the ground beside her or broke the air an inch above her back. Lisha kept her head down and kept crawling, until she reached at last she lay, aching, at Erembour’s feet.

	“Kiss her,” said Mara. Lisha reached out with her mouth and placed the gentlest kiss on the very tip of her lady’s toe. There was that taste again, the subtle tang of corruption. “Very good,” Mara said. “Do you want to kiss her higher?” Lisha nodded, not daring to speak, and received in return a stinging blow from the whip across her ass. “Kiss her.”  Lisha edged forward and kissed the flat of Erembour’s foot. “And again?” said Mara. Another nod from Lisha, another stroke of the lash, and she was free to press her lips to her goddess’ ankle. Again the question, again the cutting pain, and now she was lavishing kisses on Erembour’s perfect calf. Higher and higher up the demon’s body she climbed, her back and behind taking a blow for every kiss until she burned and throbbed with the pain of her devotion. Blood began to flow. She moved forward another inch and kissed Erembour’s navel and suddenly the demon sprang forwards, caught Lisha’s arms in a superhuman grip and pulled her up to lie on top of her, breast to breast and hip to hip.

	Mara raised her whip, held it high in the air for a moment, and then brought it down with all the wrath of hell behind it. Lisha howled in pain and in her agony she looked up and gazed into Erembours’s eyes. The light of them caught her, held her, enchanted her even deeper. She made no further sound as Mara flogged her, no noise as her back was torn and her life’s blood ran down her sides to stain the sable sheets and splatter on Erembour’s flawless skin. Finally the whip fell silent, and Mara whispered in her ear.

	“You are bleeding slave. Luckily, there is something that my great self can do to help you.” She reached out, took Lisha by the hair and guided her roughly downwards while Erembour sat back and spread her legs wide. The demon’s pussy was as perfect as every other part of her. Lisha went to work greedily, lapping away at Erembour’s folds. Stronger than ever, honey and sweetness masked the rotten aftertaste of corruption

	The demon’s hips began to rock. Her breasts began to heave. A new taste struck Lisha’s tongue, one that wasn’t a taste at all but a rush of base emotion. She tasted fear, she tasted gluttony, inconstancy and cruelty.  She saw herself watching as a hundred immaculate priests were marched in to the burning husk of their temple.  She saw herself at ease in her bed while a weeping girl in manacles lay beside her. She saw herself knee deep in blood, drinking gore from a golden goblet.

	The rush of essence grew stronger. It was physical now, a flow of pitch black oil which leaked from Erembour’s entrance to be lapped up by Lisha. The darkness filled her up from top to toe. Now there was more of it than she could drink, essence trickling down her chin, covering her face and breasts, pooling around her arms. She thrust her face forward and licked and licked as though she were trying to climb inside her goddess. Erembour moaned in satisfaction and locked her legs around Lisha’s head, holding her in to the flow which now seemed enough to drown her. Lisha chocked as the fluid filled her nose and mouth, but her mind was gone past awareness of where she was or what was happening to her. There was only the Ebon Dragon, her God and Master. The Titan’s eyes filled by the universe, his claws racked her body, his tongue invaded every secret corner of her mind and licked her bare of secrets.

	She was standing outside the study where her mother, Erembour, was waiting. She wore her first formal sari and she hated it, so heavy and uncomfortable it was. Mara the maid servant took her gently by the hand and ushered her in to the room. The dragon’s eye filled up the big window behind her beautiful mama. 

	She was in Sister Mara’s schoolroom, bent over her desk with her dress hiked up around her waist. A portrait of empress Erembour hung on the wall at the end of the room; Lisha kept her eyes fixed on it as she counted off the strokes her teacher gave her with a thin black switch. The switch had eyes, claws and a smile full of black teeth.

	She was out riding with her best friend Mara and Erembour, her father’s bodyguard. Mara fell from her horse and lay bleeding in the dirt, but Lisha squeezed venom from the mouth of a black serpent in to her friend’s mouth and her life was saved.

	She was in a brothel in An-Tzang, half mad with the anticipation of her first time. Madame Erembour lined by her girls for inspection; all of them were lovely, but it was the one with cloven feet who Lisha liked best. She took hold of the girl’s leash and led her to the bedroom. The leash was scaled and writhed of its own accord.

	She was in the desert, cradling the corpse of her father the dragon and weeping for her lost innocence. Her little talent for magic could not save him and everything was gone, gone in a wave of betrayal and spite.

	She was in the temple of the traitor sun, reading in ancient hieroglyphs the empty promises of false gods. The dragon reached down from the sky, filled her up with cold fire, and Lisha of the dunes took her third breath. 

	Finally she was back in the great hall, lapping up the afterbirth like a dog. Without comment Mara grabbed Lisha by the hair again and yanked her to her feet. She marched Lisha from the hall, down a corridor and flight of spiral stairs to a forge where red light through obscene shadows on the walls. The rest was a blur. Lisha was branded with strange runes, pierced with strange metals, tattooed with strange inks and harnessed in human leather. A dress of spider silk and butterfly cotton went over her harness, a wig of milk white hair was placed on her shaven head. A collar of red jade was placed around her throat and Mara led her joyfully to her presentation before the assembled souls of the dragon on a silver chain.