A spider's web, wet with morning dew—like a veil that covers your true face.
"Hoheo Taralna, Rondero Tarel."
Nothing. Nothing but the cold air biting at bare, bloodied skin. Nothing but the frost melting around blackened feet. Nothing but a frail girl, standing alone looking like a fool, believing in child's tales. Nothing.
"Hoheo Taralna, Rondero Tarel!"
Echoes of an unheard cry of despair met her ears. Come. You have to. She tore the web away from her face, letting it fall to the pitiless earth. As her eyes followed the discarded veil, she noticed a mist clouding around her ankles only to be followed by . . .
Snow? She looked up to see trees enfolding around her, mocking her in her desolation; only now she could feel the fallen slivers of remains as they settled upon her face, soft and familiar. Ash.
Suddenly, the girl was pulled into the air by an unseen force, flying backwards in a frenzy until her widened eyes could no longer make out her surroundings. There was no time to scream as everything went to black and she was stopped gently, left bound to a sticky prison—a spider's web large enough to engulf the world. Or so it seemed to her.
Her panicked eyes darted about, but her sight fell to only the darkness surrounding her. Only when she made a move to rotate her head did she realize her hair was stuck firmly to the web, restricting the rotating motion. All of a sudden, the milky white web began to stir from above. Her breath quickened and her heart began to beat against her ribs—she knew what was coming. It was a spider, no doubt. And a web this big only gave the impression that this creature was not simply a nuisance one could easily step on without further conflict. No, this creature was large enough to make tremors surge throughout the in the web, growing more intense as the seconds ticked by.
She jerked her arms and legs forward, but it resulted in burning agony as the threads of the web began to tear at her skin. She growled in pain, then remained still as the web started to sink backwards from the weight of the mighty fiend above. Spiders were revolting, disturbing, intruding, and terrifying. Now she was faced with this—a great eight-legged figure approaching her from above. Her shallow, rapid breaths would allow her no room to cry for help as the monster approached, peering down at her with four distinct glowing eyes. She squeezed her tear-filled eyes shut with all of her might, so as to not see the hideous being while it tore her apart.
"What is your wish?" the beast grumbled, vibrating the web and echoing throughout the endless stretch of darkness.
"M-my . . . wish?" she stuttered between heaving breaths. Her eyes slowly opened, and she dared to look at the spider before her. It leaned its large head down in front of her face, eyeing her with what seemed to be great interest.
"You called on me without a wish? Perhaps there is someone you wish to get even with?" The spider's eyes closed and its head began to morph. It moved to wrap its two front legs around her, coming in close. The head changed—strange figures began to swirl about on the spider's face until it revealed a rather handsome yellow-eyed man. She began to calm, sensing what she perceived to be a protective aura from the beast. No, it was no normal spider. It would not harm her. She could assume it wanted more than just her life.
"Are you a genie? Is this some sort of trick?"
"I am a demon," it announced without malice, indifferent, as if it was unaware of the weight of its confession. "And you have summoned me. Now, tell me your wish and I shall form a contract with you."
"I-I don't. . ."
"As I thought."
The web dissipated, and she was once again left standing under a full moon, all but masked by trees now adorned with webs and spider-like branches.
"You may call on me again when you have your wish." Its voice reverberated throughout the woods, dissipating more into the distance with every word.
"Wait! Don't go! I have a wish!" She reached up to the branches desperately with a bloody, dirt-caked hand, and was soothed by the sound of a smooth, rumbling voice.
"Tell me."
"I do want to get even. I do want revenge. And I want you to help me."
"Is this truly what you want? You will forfeit your soul to me in favor, and there is no turning back."
The girl grit her teeth and balled her fists as she looked up to the branches, tears of fury blinding her eyes. She remembered the look on her mother's face when she would sing lullabies, and slowly that warm expression was replaced in her mind with tear-stained cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a crimson pool flowing from those once smiling lips. No! They will not escape my grasp again. I will have my revenge. Mother, Father, Brother—I will not fail you once more. I will let them know the suffering you experienced this night. Even if that is what it takes . . .
"I want this!" she screamed, "I want you!"
In the Morning
Claude gripped at the curtains, pulling them back to filter a bright light into the room.
"Master, it is time for you to wake."
Lelia turned over, facing away from the light as she groaned in displeasure. Claude emitted a small sigh and pushed his spectacles up to rest higher on the narrow bridge of his nose.
"This morning's tea is Her Majesty's Blend from Ridgways. Most excellent." The butler picked up a kettle and teacup from the vanity set against the wall of Lelia's room and proceeded to pour her a cup.
"Mmm, tea?" Lelia grabbed her blankets and scooted into a sitting position on her bed, stretching her arms and legs before rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.
"Yes, my Lady. Just like every morning." Claude knew that the only way to wake his stubborn mistress was to announce the morning's tea. There was no other way she would move a muscle, other than to bury herself deeper into the blankets and tell him to get lost. She did love his tea; he always made it perfectly to her specifications. Claude couldn't deny he also enjoyed something to keep her mouth busy as he began to dress her. How she did love to find any excuse to say something ungrateful to him, no matter how perfectly he tried to maneuver his actions to please her. It wasn't easy keeping up his stoic demeanor when she belittled him in such a way—he had to muster up great control to keep himself from indulging further into her anger in the heat of the moment.
She slid to the side of her bed, still covering herself with blankets, and gladly took the cup from her butler's gloved hand. She emitted a pleased sound and nodded in approval after taking a drink. "Always 'most excellent'," she mocked, giving him a smirk. He made an effort not to look at her expression, as it was always condescending in nature—the face of a harsh noble. It almost dared him to step out of line. Instead, he went to reach for her clothes for the day.
"Claude." She said sternly, handing him a piece of brown cloth from her nightstand. He understood straightaway.
"Apologies, my Lady." He removed his spectacles and folded them, placing them in his breast pocket. He then delicately took the cloth from her hand and wrapped it around his head as a blindfold to shield his eyes from Lelia's state of undress. She stood from her bed, abandoning the blankets and waiting as Claude began to dress her. It was all but a simple task to ready her for the morning. One wrong move and she would immediately slap his hand away. She did a lot of slapping, but there was nothing for it. The master calls the shots—or in this case, the back-hand.
"Be more careful!" she cried, forcing his hands away in one sweep of her own.
"It would be much easier to mind myself if I could see," he stated calmly. She huffed at his assertion and removed the blindfold from his eyes. Taking his chin in her hand, she pulled him in close and pierced her emerald eyes right into his golden ones. Oh, how she hated his expressionless gaze, never giving her a bit of satisfaction. She wanted to see him angry, scared, upset, anything at all. But he never changed his expression, and his monotone voice made him seem incredibly bored of her. Lelia knew one thing: she would not stand around and let him make her feel so incredibly inferior. Her nails dug into the flesh on her butler's cheeks as she gave her orders, causing his eyes to flash.
"You will not speak back to me in such a way," she murmured sternly, releasing her grasp. "Now, see to it."
She took a sip of tea and sat it by her bedside table, then watched as Claude reapplied his glasses and began to dress her. She glowered at his indifferent face, the way he never smiled or looked remotely interested. He didn't seem to be moved at all by seeing her undressed either. Perhaps demons do not desire humans in any way more than as a snack. Any other man would feel faint. Is there absolutely nothing that phases this vile beast?
If Claude didn't seem interested in seeing her like this, then what on earth could he possibly be interested in? She was, after all, an elegant beauty. Her strawberry blonde hair fell down her back in many extravagant curls and her bangs adorned her face as if it was a sin to move an inch out of place. Her eyes were a deep green, flaked with specks of gold around the pupil. Her face was heart shaped, and her skin was a beautiful tone of ivory. Her waist was fairly slim and her lips were always soft. Even though her top lip was slightly bigger than the bottom, it worked for her. She was the self-proclaimed definition of beauty and grace.
This beauty, however, never seemed to reach deeper than the surface of her fair skin. She was arrogant, ill-tempered, smart-mouthed, and if Claude had been a human, he would go as far as to say she was frightening. No, he thought to himself, she is a furnace of a soul. Burning brighter with each passing hour. She acts as a storm of flame, scorching everything in her path—and how I love it when she burns me.
The sound of snapping fingers woke Claude from his thoughts. Lelia had been clothed in a black dress, complete with light blue trim around the neckline and shoulders. An intricate design at the bottom of the dress appeared to be a crocheted, light blue spider's web twisting around the circumference. She lifted her skirts as to not trip over them on the way to her vanity. Claude pulled out a chair for her and she sat, holding out her right hand expectantly.
Claude opened a small box on the vanity's countertop and pulled out a ring. He was gentle to place his palm underneath hers for support as he slid the ring onto her ring finger. It was a rather breath-taking adornment—a white gold ring, chiseled at the surface to depict a web. At the top was a finely crafted spider, the head and legs attached to a large green diamond that acted as the spider's abdomen. The face of the spider was adorned with four miniscule black diamonds, presenting themselves as the arachnid's eyes. The legs were molded around the ring, so as to not take away from the web on which they appeared to stand. The eight, thin legs bowed out and bent down in a fine diamond shape. The inner surface of the ring also bore a curious inscription that Lelia had never took notice of since the first day Claude placed it upon her finger.
Her eyes hovered over the ring and she allowed a small, dainty chuckle to escape her lips. "Isn't it amusing, Claude?"
"My Lady?" he enquired, never wavering in the slightest.
"It's just . . . You came to me as a spider, and look." She flashed her hand near his face with that daring smirk she always wore. "It seems you're now wrapped around my finger."
"I believe it is your finger that is caught in my web," he retorted with a slow blink. He could see her whip her head around, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with the abrupt movement. Claude sensed that all traces of amusement vanished within her. Yes, my Diamond. Let me feel your flame.
Smack!
Claude was left with his head turned slightly at the force of her strike, his spectacles nearly dropping from his head. He allowed his eyes to flash a bright crimson for a moment, his pupils turning to devilish slits. He forced back the smile that threatened to creep upon his pale lips. No, he couldn't let her see the pleasure that spread across his face at her ouburst. That would ruin the game—rile her up and watch her explode.
"Do you never think before you speak? I'll have your head next time," she growled. Claude only closed his eyes and bowed apologetically.
You have nothing without me, he thought. You were nothing without me. Cheap and tasteless. He pushed and straightened his glasses upon the bridge of his nose, letting his hand linger to cover his expression. An image of her reaching out to him in nothing but torn rags, begging for his help crossed his mind. He couldn't resist allowing a sinister grin to cross his pale lips. You were a most pitiable sight, but now I hunger more and more with every spark I ignite inside of you. Just like a slaughtered dove being seasoned for the infernal meal.
The demon stood once more to attend to his master's appearance, bringing her strawberry locks up into a bun fit for royalty. He snapped pins to hold down the stray hairs that attempted to make Lelia look any less than perfect, and then opened up the toilet chest to retrieve her cosmetics. Claude reached first for the small, round container of pearl powder. He bent, lowering himself slightly above eye-level with his youthful master, and she closed her eyes. He gingerly placed a gloved hand on her chin and tilted her face up, dabbing her nose and under her eyes with the powder. Lelia didn't have many freckles, but those that she did have, she would not leave her quarters without covering first.
Once Claude was done administering the powdery makeup, he set it down and picked up a smaller container. He removed a glove, setting it aside on the dressing table before opening the container. Lelia's eyes opened once the powder settled and she watched as her butler dipped a black-nailed digit into the small container. Once again, he held her chin in place as he administered the next cosmetic. Lelia parted her lips as she felt the cool, waxy balm being applied by Claude's finger, providing a bit of fleshly warmth through the gel as he evened it out on each lip. She gazed up at him as he did so, wondering what could be going through his demonic mind as he studied her lips with a blank expression. He seemed distant and unresponsive, completely and totally unaffected by her beauty. If she was honest, it bothered her. She could have any man she wanted. Not like she wanted him, a lowly butler, but she was still baffled. Shouldn't demons indulge in impropriety? Shouldn't they be drawn to misbehavior? But not Claude. No, he was a mystery. However, there was a way she could try to uncover him.
Claude eyed his master's lips and restrained his eyes from flashing with hunger. Those lips, smooth and delicate like the petals of a fine rose; her tongue the harsh thorns that pierce into my skin without remorse. He kept himself from shivering in delight, letting his finger slip away from her bottom lip with hesitancy. He noticed her watching his face intently. A verdant gaze like two poised daggers, ready to drag along my flesh and rip into my veins. Lelia's eyes narrowed into his.
"Claude," she started, "do you desire me?"
"Yes, Mistress. More than anything. You have a truly fine soul," he replied, his hunger not evident in his voice.
Lelia frowned, her lips shimmering against the sunlight seeping through her window.
"I know that, demon. I wasn't referring to my soul."
Claude let his golden eyes close before straightening himself out and retrieving his glove from the dressing table. Lelia stood, looking up at the taller with demanding eyes. He knew better than to deny his master answers, so he forced his gaze into hers with such intensity that Lelia almost backed down.
"I would never disgrace my Mistress in such a way," he murmured. "You are fit for the highest of nobles, not a lowly butler. What an insult it would be if I held that desire for my master."
Lelia, for the first time since the day she acquired Claude, was stunned into silence. On one hand, he was right. A butler had no right to feel such things toward a noblewoman. On the other hand, he didn't answer the question. If it was a yes, it would be an insult to her heritage. If it was a no, it would be an affront to her beauty. Lelia saw no other alternative, and she immediately regretted the question.
"Nevermind. Your kind are detestable either way," she decided. "It was foolish of me to ask such a thing from the likes of you."
With that, Lelia pushed Claude aside and strode out the door. Claude stumbled as he watched her leave, his tongue darting out of his mouth to pass over his top lip. A gait encompassing power and control. . . such unwavering confidence. The nobility and tyranny of one who has subjugated others all her life by right of birth. He allowed a crooked smile to gracelessly take refuge upon his lips.
Yes, my Diamond . . . I will make one hell of a feast out of you.