The Blood – Prelude

Dipping her fingers into the gaping wound welling at the child’s neck, she smeared the blood in concentric circles on her breasts. Taking one last lick of the quickly drying blood , she slapped the child in the face to wake him up. His eyes open and with horror he realised this was real. With a serene smile she methodically and calmly beat him to death with a brick. Picking him up and holding him at arms length she carried the boy to the oubliette and let him fall to join the others.

Locking the trap door, she placed the tarnished bronze key on the ebony marble fireplace mantelpiece. She would need fire. Once the flames were roasting hot she stood tall and proud, naked and bloody in the dim light. Reaching up, she undid the ribbons that held her hair in a tight bun. Long black hair cascaded down to her buttocks.

Going to the large pantry nearby she took out rugs and silk cushions, placing them in a large circle on the stone floor. She she lit the wicks on the tallow candles adorning the alter. All naked and swinging hips, a coven of women entered. There was a fragrance in the air – a stench of death, pain, pleasure and blood.

Drinking from a chalice, she gently teased “anyone for a bite?” Laughing the ladies seated themselves, bloody bare breasts mingling. Flesh was there for the sacrifice. Leaning forward, her nipples tickled the alter as she groped for her ivory bell. New to her service, two female teenagers arrived. With their eyes looking at the floor in subservience, they approached the dais with a sense of foreboding.

“Come my children, drink to your fill.” She beckoned to the coven who surrounded the teenagers and started feeding. Satiated, one by one they stopped. Blood dripping down from the corner of their mouths, each stepped away from the dais, bowed and seated themselves.

She slapped both girls on the buttocks and sent them reeling in their weakened state onto a pile on the floor. Unconscious, neither girl moved. The ladies laughed. The ivory bell sang again. A young servant scurried in, and she beckoned to the unconscious girls. Hoping to avoid eye contact, the servant bowed while walking backwards, slowly dragging one unconscious girl away. Sadly the servant would have to return for the other girl and that was always a risk. But the risk was worth it, such sweet heroin for the taking.

The coven turned to their leader for direction. She waved them toward the next room. The ornate great hall was a sight to behold. Chandlers glittering in the firelight from a massive hearth to warm the room. In the middle of the room lay the prepared feasts. Vulnerable in his nakedness, a fourteen year old boy lay roasted and skinned. His eyes were shut but his mouth was kept open by an apple. Just like any stuffed pig.

When the ladies had finished gorging themselves on the dead boy’s flesh, she called silence. Covered in human fat dripping down cleavages they were a surreal image to espy. With silent approval she looked at her coven – Morya she loved, the rest were negotiable.


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