Forbidden Fables, page 16
“I doubt we will be so lucky, we already lost one father, what are the chances we will lose another?” I say, adjusting my hood against the wet fog that has settled.
“We can kill him. I doubt anyone will miss him besides Charles. And I’m sure you can distract him…” she teases, elbowing me and wagging her eyebrows.
I laugh but shush her as Dr. Morgan steps up to the pulpit.
“Good morning, friends and family. I understand that everyone is very upset at the recent events over the last week. One boy who lost his life at the hands of a wild animal and another missing already. A memorial will be held for the boy tonight at the church, all are welcomed.”
“Do you think he will name Thomas as Pastor? Or, perhaps, Albert? He has been vying for the position for yea—” she whispers before I shush her again, only louder this time.
Dr. Morgan continues with a prayer and a warning of the dangers of being outside alone late at night. A point I felt is obvious, he continued, “I will like to formally announce the new placement of pastor and leader: Thomas Bryce.”
Everyone remained silent, most likely in shock at a renaming right in the middle of a tragedy like this. One we have never once experienced since I am alive.
I look around me at dirty faces and ripped clothes. It sickens me to think of the two families whose children were taken from them. The loss of my father was a pain I will never be able to express in words and nothing I will wish on my worst enemy. There were times I didn’t want to move from my bed, days when mother woudn’t.
Thomas hobbles to the pulpit, looking old, wise, and as modest as ever. He was the perfect image of humility.
He makes a dramatic movement of the cross in the air above him and places his hands together in prayer. “Our God is a loving God, but at times can be a punishing God. While this death pains our hearts, we understand that God has a purpose. Perhaps these sacrifices necessary for us to continue to live and thrive.”
A lump forms in my throat as I hear a woman wail.
Is he justifying these deaths through God? As if that will be of some comfort to a mother bereft her child?
“Protecting this town and its people is the only way we will ensure the safety of our wives and children. Which is why I—we, have decided to place everyone in lockdown until further notice.” Thomas sighs dramatically, the people moaning and arguing at the announcement.
He holds up a single leaf, bright orange and yellow. It is hard to make out from where I stand, but as he shows the crowd, he rotates with a solemn look on his face.
“Blood. Upon a single leaf found at the edge of the forest. You can see the discoloration. The work of a witch.”
Gasps ripple through the throng of people, and I watch their faces of shock.
He speaks, following his outlandish statement, “Let us pray.”
Everyone recites the Lord’s Prayer in unison, and I turn away, suddenly overcome by nausea and sticky sweat.
A lockdown? What did that mean? We were never to leave our homes? The town?
All because of a turning leaf?
The ground pitches beneath me, and I stumble, my sister catching my elbow before I fall.
“What is it? Cher?” she asks, but her voice sounds far away and muffled. I close my eyes, suddenly feeling very sleepy. I will just rest for a while, then I will feel better.
Surely when I wake, I will remember this all as just a bad dream.
Chapter 10
Freyja
She spoke to me mostly at night, The Dark Mother. The stealer of souls.
It is a huge responsibility listening to a Goddess. One must have a keen sense of reality—an inward acceptance of all one can be. I have reckoned with my demons and made friends with my nightmares. I welcomed all the blessings she bestowed upon me.
The Dark Mother gave me unconditional love.
A man has wandered into your wards, ready for your taking. He is one of them.
The end of my name is left in a whisper like the wind, forcing my eyes open. I sit up on the raised dais covered in furs and silk pillows of red and purple. Tucking my hair back over my naked shoulder, I light two red candles and two black. Picking up the gold candelabra, I walk with my robe draped around me—the finest woven silk from India, in colors only available to the wealthiest of patrons. A luxury I afforded through my magic.
I walk down the short hallway, lined with more woven carpets from Asaahn. I allow him to live because his gifts are abundant and worthy of my approval. I lick at my fangs, the sharp points grazing my tongue, sending a sting of pleasure down my spine. With my robe open, and the tips of my pink nipples exposed, I step outside into the night. My bare feet meet the cold ground and dirt, making me smile. I take a deep breath in, smelling his sweat already. I can feel him inside my wards, a small tickle at the back of my neck. My pupils double in size as I adjust to the dark night. Parting my mouth, I salivate at the smell of his fear. I drop the robe to the ground, the crescent moon washing over my glittering skin. I hold out the candles in front of me, lighting his way straight to where I stand. As he comes into view, the candlelight highlights his dark eyes and long beard first. Toe to toe, I smile, showing him the sharp fangs inside. He stares, unmoving, just focusing on my mouth and my breasts. His black coat and hat are covered with moisture from his long walk; it is a wonder the poor thing didn’t drown.
He walks to me as though compelled, enraptured by my wards and pheromones.
“Come to me, sweet, lost soul.” I say, opening my arms to embrace him.
“Dem…on…bitch,” he slurs into my neck but licks it all the same. “Tastes…so sweet.”
“Shh…hush. You are free now.” I steady him by placing my hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down onto his knees. He kneels before me, his head upturned, awaiting my next command.
He closes his eyes, a languid fluidity in his motions. Tears wet his cheeks as he licks his lips again, a hunger behind eyes that rival possession. His desire for me runs deeper than my spells, the forbidden fruit to a man of Christ. Men denied the fleshy juice between a woman’s thighs because of a purity unseen.
Pureness is a thing for fairytales and children.
“Lick.” I command, spreading my legs apart for his mouth. With my hand curled into his wavy hair, his hat falls to the ground as I shove his face to my cunt, his slippery tongue eagerly wiggling up and down my slit. I gasp at the contact of his mouth to the little hill between my nether lips. Looking down over his wet face, I roll my hips over his nose, rubbing the sweet spot that throbs with need. I bare my teeth, fangs tingling and body humming.
I shove him onto the ground, my naked body on display above him. His eyes roam over my heavy breasts, nipples peaked. His cock is hard against his thigh as I crouch down over him, pushing my face into his neck, grinding myself into him. “Are you ready to die for this sweet cunt?” I whisper into his ear.
His face remains unmoving, his eyes wide with wonder. I lean back, my knees on either side of him, and look down over my torso to my pubis mound, cleanly shaven. Running my right hand down over my breast, I cup it but continue running my other hand down to my cunt. Spreading my lips slightly, I watch his face as he stares at it in awe, mouth agape.
The last thing he sees is the majestic contours of the female organ that births the very breath of life.
I circle the tiny hill with my middle finger, and he begins to drool. Bloodlust throbs inside my veins, and I can already taste the metal running over my tongue. I rear my head back and strike the main jugular artery that pulsates beneath his skin. My aim is perfect, for I feel the blood squirt into my mouth as I suck, swallowing over and over. I reach behind me and grab his stiff cock from his trousers, impaling myself until he cries out. He is larger in size than most of the men I have encountered over the years. I begin to suck again as I ride his cock until the pressure cannot build any longer, and I explode above him. I buck and scream over his corpse as blood decorates my face and neck.
I sigh, still seated atop him, replete.
I will leave his body here and tell Garm. He will get rid of him for me before morning.
Right now, I need a bath.
Chapter 11
Charity
Iwake to my mother and sister’s worried faces. My mother holds a warm cloth against my brow, and as I peel my eyes open slowly, she smiles.
“Oh, Cher. We were so worried! Are you alright, love?” My mother’s soft voice comforts my aching head, and her smell of freshly washed linens make me smile in return.
“I’m alright mum, I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I’m sure that was all it was.” I feel warm and flush but sit up slowly, taking the tray my mother put together of stale bread and the last of our canned peppers. I knew it is the last because it is my favorite.
“Here is some tea. The neighbor brought some over.” Clarise sets a chipped mug down on the tray like a royal with her pinky in the air. She has always wanted to visit the palaces in London but is humble enough to understand that is a far reach.
“Thank you both. I think I’ll rest some more. I have plenty of books to read.”
The last word I remember before I fall asleep is lockdown. I’m not sure why this word triggered me so physically. It felt like a solidification of my already less-than-desirable circumstances. I will never be able to openly care for Tris in a way more than friendship. It is a sin. Something people are damned to hell for, and I did not want to go to hell for all eternity.
Eternal damnation all because of a pulse beating between my thighs for both a man and woman.
A short burst of satisfaction for such a sinful crime. Father Patrick’s voice slithered inside my ear as his hand slipped between my thighs.
That short burst of satisfaction is everything to me, and the one time I chose to confess out loud I am chastised…corrected.
The stars that lit behind my eyes with her fingers in my mouth. They exploded over and over until I rolled my hips against her thigh, panting like a wild animal and sweating just the same. Those moments were my most cherished ones, and I wasn’t ready to give them up.
The thought of coming into Tris’ sweet mouth has me squirming under the covers after my mother and sister leave.
After Charles’ warnings, it made it all the more difficult not to think about the pleasure I am able to give myself with just a flick of the wrist.
The forbidden is thrilling; it created an illusion that the idea is more exciting than the act itself. I pull my hand between my legs, dragging my thin undergarments up with it until I reach the warmth between my thighs, pulling aside my panties, my lips ready and wet with fantasies of Tris, as my slit meets my fingertips with eager need. I sink one finger slowly inside, my breath hitching at its firm entrance. One more finger follows the other as I roll my hips up to meet it. I whimper, needing to be filled by more than just two fingers, but not brave enough yet to try. Pulling out both, I skitter over my sensitive nub, my hips jerking at the contact. I try rubbing it gently, but I feel as if I will wet myself if I continue stroking. Instead, I flick it, sending jolts of pleasure through my body before I reach for the wooden doll beneath my pillow. The paint faded from all the times the foreign object entered me, bringing me to orgasm over and over again. I slide the doll down the length of my body, finding the tender spot that I wanted to be filled.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What are you doing!?” Thomas’ graveled voice rips through my cloudy fantasy. I pull the covers up over my half-naked body, the book that laid across my chest falling to the floor at his feet.
Clutching the blankets to my chest, I watch in horror as he roars, tossing the book into the fire at the foot of the bed. I gasp, and he turns to me, looking down over my body in silence. His face is that of shock, which must have matched mine.
With a hard, abrupt motion, he strikes me with the back of his hand. My head is tossed to the side as I whimper, grabbing my stinging cheek.
His eyes are dark, sweat trickling down the side of his forehead, a slimy rivulet of hate.
Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, he’s out of breath from the exertion and says, “Now you must repent. Ten hail Mary’s and fifty our fathers.” He turns, slamming the door behind him and leaving me in a pile on my bed sobbing—a mess of confusion and shame.
****
After a lukewarm bath, my body still feels as though I have been injected with poison, slowly seeping its way through my blood and curdling my soul. I vomited directly after his outburst, feigning something rotten I must have eaten when my mother asked my what is really going on.
I can never tell her.
How can I take away my mother’s false sense of security so selfishly? She is happy, and I have not seen him raise a hand to her. I want her to be happy, regardless of my misery.
I still think he is rotten…a rotten root of a man hiding behind God’s protection.
I flip to the page in my favorite book where Miranda accuses her love interest of rape, and he is thrown into prison forever.
Although I am no galloping nun…so perhaps no one will even believe me.
I only need confirmation of my marriage to Troy from Thomas, no doubt, because his father is one of the most wealthy and powerful men in our town. It will not only gain Mr. Morgan as an additional ally but will unload Thomas’ responsibility of me anymore.
It's the middle of the night now, and Clarise is snoring on the bed beside mine, the candle on the bedstand flickering dimly as the warm wax pools around the wick. Sitting up, I grab the candle by the handle and crouch on the floor beside my bed. Looking over my shoulder, I arch my neck to see my sleeping sister’s body. Satisfied with the small amount of privacy I have for a moment, I grab the hand mirror from under my bed and bring it to my face.
My cheeks are streaked with red from crying. Swollen patches under my eyes match my puffy, red lips. I have always been a little bit plain, with fair skin and brown hair. My sister is blessed with the blonde hair of our father to match her fair skin, creating a luminous sunshine that beams from within her when she smiles.
I feel jealousy creep up my cheeks, but I swallow it down—I loved my sister and didn’t want to leave her sarcasm and jests behind.
I will have to marry a man I don’t love very soon, move away from the only comfort I’ve ever known, and deny my true feelings for a girl I’ve cared for since I was a child.
I begin to sob again, understanding the weight of my next choice.
What am I going to do? Sit here and sob? I prayed to God every single night and saw no help, no pity. It must be because I am a sinner, and I do not deserve to be happy. Only how can that be true? I help mother with chores without argument. I care for the garden every day, even when others refuse. I sat by my father’s bedside night after night when he was sick and dying.
Am I doomed to hell all because of a few small indiscretions?
It cann’t be; I willn’t accept it. If God isn’t going to help me, then I will help myself. I need to come up with something.
Thomas may have shown up here with a plan, but I can devise a plan of my own.
I will find out what is really going on from Charles, he will know, and he will tell me. I’ve seen the way his breathing quickens when he looks at me. The way his pupils grow larger when his eyes meet mine. Perhaps Charles and I can run away together. Find a nearby town to take pity on us. I laugh to myself as I entertain the forbidden idea of Charles and I starting over somewhere new…together.
I wonder if Charles really thought a witch is behind it all; he is the one who told me about the succubus woman and the wolf.
If it is really a witch, will he want her killed? Burn her alive?
I shiver at the thought of a human burning alive, my brain is unable to comprehend the pain of fire consuming a body from toe to hair.
Tomorrow, I will get Charles alone and get him to talk.
Perhaps the pest isn’t a witch at all, but a man. Thomas can try and get rid of me, but not if I get rid of him first.
Chapter 12
Charles
This sham of a family is quickly eating away at me and my spirit. If it weren’t for the debt—the debt I owe to Domenico for saving me—I will have left by now. I have to focus on my mission, and I willn’t be able to do that if I continue obsessing about Charity and the soft curls that wisp around her face so perfectly. She is as fragile as an open wound; it felt as though I may destroy her with just one touch.
Part of me wanted to take her beneath my body and show her what it is truly like to be touched by someone. I want to destroy her in the most beautiful way, break her open and explore her from within.
Did she feel the same way about me? Did she wonder what it will feel like to have her body pressed against mine?
It wasn’t long before a letter from Domenico came following Thomas’ announcement. Thomas’ suspicions of witches are his own. Domenico is looking for someone in particular. Someone who I knew little about, only that I will know it when I saw her.
You must journey into the woods without Thomas and draw her out. Bring her to the tall house beyond the river, and I will be there…waiting.
“How will I know?”
“You will just know.”
I laugh to myself, thinking back on our conversation before Thomas and I set out to Bethlehem.
My futile response is an attempt to call off the search, but in the end, I only ended up agreeing.
Weak.
After all, Domenico is the very reason I am alive.
There are no signs of witches in this town, and I believe that Thomas will only make us look suspicious to the people here. I have met women who read and others who have been allowed into the church at an older age. This does not align with our task at hand. I encourage you to pull Thomas from this place and insert him elsewhere. I will remain, continuing our endeavor to find the one you seek, even if it means I must enter into the woods.
