Monster
Author's Notes: Wow, I haven't written any horror since... 2015? On a different account, no less. I think this story will soon explain why. If you want a fun, light-hearted, saccharine read, this is NOT the story you want.
This fic was sparked by an anonymous user on tumblr who asked about Cecelia and Mai's resemblance, which in turn led to old fan theories I had formed when I was younger, and then it all spiraled out of control and became Monster.
I confess that while it was an interesting idea that gave me an opportunity to experiment with both my writing and my photoshop skills doing all the art for this story, I'm "happy" to get this all out of my head. Though I do hope you all "enjoy" it if you are in the mood for something macabre this Halloween season. Once again, there is no fluff to be found here.
I will be using the dub names for most of the cast in this story, as it goes along the vein of the dub version's plot in Pegasus wanting to use the Millennium Items to revive Cecelia. I have, however, kept all the Ishtar's names as they were in the original (ie: Isis, Malik) because I like them better, and Isis' name has more significance to the subject matter.
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! and its characters are copy-written to Kazuki Takahashi and Konami.
Warnings: Strong language, vulgarity, sexual content, violence, abuse, force feeding, misogyny, racial fetishization, strangulation, drugging, non-con, dub-con, animal sacrifice, allusion to gang rape, licentious Lovecraftian creatures, mutilation, mention of suicide, and gruesome depictions of major character deaths. You may feel the need to take a shower to feel "clean" during and/or after reading, and might acquire an aversion to red jams after the third chapter. I apologize in advance if that is the case.
So, now that you know what you're getting into... Let's get started.
No hesitation
No heart of gold
Just flesh and blood
I do not know (I do not know)
From my heart and from my hand
Why don't people understand
My intentions?
Weird Science, Oingo Boingo
I
Mai squeezed a long, manicured fingernail underneath the titanium cuff on her wrist, scratching at the flesh beneath the metal as the chains clinked with the motion. She wasn't entirely certain if the itch was due to the residual water from her previous shower or if it was due to her own sweat, not that it mattered much at this point. She sighed and ran her hands through her tousled blonde hair, arching her back away from the bed and groaning when she felt one of her vertebrae pop from the stretch. The small ties on the white lace chemise tickled her back, a design more akin to a hospital gown than sleeping attire. There was an ache behind her violet eyes, and she squeezed them shut to dull the sensory assault of light bouncing off the white padded cell.
This wasn't at all what she imagined.
When Mai had set foot on the shores of Pegasus' island, all she wanted was information about what was left of her family. For as far back as she could remember, she was alone. She saw blank slates where her parents' faces should have been. Aunts or uncles were nonexistent or outright refused to get involved, the butlers and maids no more than passing ghosts in the halls of the lavish Victorian home that had been left to her in the inheritance, the house she eventually had to sell. If she could do things over again—
Well, there was a lot she wanted to do over again. If she had a dollar for every regret she had, perhaps she wouldn't have needed to get a job with the cruise liner when she blew her fortune in her wild teens. Perhaps she wouldn't have needed to play Duel Monsters, wouldn't have gotten involved in the tournaments, wouldn't have gained recognition in the Western circuits, wouldn't have opened that letter from Maximillion Pegasus that spoke in equal parts praise and promise.
She reached over to the nightstand next to her bed and opened the drawer, picking out a single card, what rested on top of her deck.
The Harpie Lady Sisters, her only family until recent happenstance.
She had been vaguely aware of a distant relative in Las Vegas, someone on her father's side, the owner of the very cruise line of which she had worked and the sire of a daughter she had not known of until a little over a month ago: a cousin, Cecelia. Their resemblance was uncanny; the picture included with Pegasus' letter was almost as though she had been staring at a funhouse mirror, seeing her own face without the prior hardships, wondering if she would have looked that soft had she not lost her parents all that time ago. It was uplifting and unnerving in the same breadth. Yet Mai couldn't help but think in hindsight that there had been a sadness under her cousin's eyes in that photograph, like a person who wanted to cry but couldn't produce the tears. In that, she supposed they were quite similar.
A wiser person would have been more skeptical of such eerie likeness, questioned the notion of being invited so openly from a wealthy stranger. Yet the years of desperation, of loneliness, of solitude, the knowledge that she had some family out there, a heritage not of cardboard or holograms, but of flesh and blood, made her heart cry out and deafened the sirens in her head.
Sirens.
"Wish I'd listened to you," Mai murmured. Her pink lips, healthy and luscious, but bare of her usual makeup, moved against the faces on the card, an act in comfort and deference. They weren't all that powerful on their own, but power alone does not win battles. They covered their bodies with layers of armor to bear any blow, equipped themselves with whips to strike from a distance, and bared their talons to carve whatever got too close; they were forces to be reckoned with when backed by savvy strategy and ironclad tactics, a solid game plan. The Harpies understood her better than any person. A sharp wit and a bulletproof will kept you alive.
An open mind and an exposed heart got you killed.
Gets you captured.
But the temptation of family, of knowing she wasn't entirely alone, was greater than the voices coming from her deck. The fact that she was having small chats with the stiff slips of paper more often than not was enough proof that she needed to get out more, and how could she resist an all expenses paid trip to a private island in the Pacific to meet her cousin of such striking resemblance?
"I am terribly loathe to inform you that my wife is not quite in the condition to receive you at this moment, but worry not, Miss Valentine! You will have the opportunity to meet her in good time. If you'll come along this way..."
Pegasus had been amicable at first, and she knew it was an act (she'd learned enough from prior experience with patrons on the cruise liner), but she'd been willing to endure the false pleasantries and praise if it meant she could meet Cecelia after the formal tour of the island. She had tolerated his rambling, his soliloquies, his fanciful diction and eccentricities. She had brushed off his curious, lingering glances and the upward turn in the corner of his lip as he spoke, a hunger therein she chose not to acknowledge. She always had that effect on men.
So she thought.
No good will come of that castle.
Mai still wasn't sure if it had been the voice in her head or the voice of the Sisters speaking when she laid eyes on the ominous stonework at the top of the mount. Was there a difference at this point? The loneliness had changed her in more ways that one, and she had spent the last year in desperation to rid herself of the mania. For her to have any inkling to a lineage aside from illustrations and coding made her chest swell with hope, the ache in her heart drowning out the pounding of logic in her skull.
"Oooh, how foolish of me! In my haste to contact you, and amidst all the excitement of today's activities, I forgot to mention one detail in regards to your cousin. It's not all that serious, but..."
All her hopes and expectations had been dashed the moment Pegasus showed her the portrait in the tower, but she didn't have long to be disappointed in learning Cecelia had been deceased for seven years before the guards poured through the door and seized her. Her last memory of Pegasus was of his stupid, smug face, blowing her a kiss over his wine glass and waving goodbye with the waggling of his fingers as the guards dragged her away, kicking and screaming, to the dungeons beneath. When she heard him give the command with the snap of his fingers, she conjured the image of rusty chains and drab stone walls, iron bars and bones littered across the floor, lit torches in the halls and a stench that would make one's head spin.
Even in that, Pegasus skewed her expectations.
Her eyes traced the corners of the cell, tidy padded walls and a neatly tiled floor bearing an iridescent sheen. It was the same pearly cut as what covered the interior of her bathroom, a sink and tub of smooth porcelain while her shower consisted of a polished, peppery granite. Mai's fingers ran along the plush lining of her king-sized mattress, supposedly a Swedish-crafted import of hand-stitched flax and cotton stuffed with horsehair, along with matching pillows. They didn't give her any sheets or pillow cases, however.
That one guard with the creepy sunglasses and porno 'stache, Croquet, said something about not wanting her to strangle herself, as if she had the option. There were no anchors for her to tie them to, as her bed didn't have a frame; it rested on the floor. Her nightstand lacked legs as it was a solid, minimalist piece of white marble that was bolted to the floor. There were no windows to jump from since she was underground, and she had no significant reach to the cell's door, stopping two meters before the black marble bars when her titanium chains were at full extension.
All that was missing from her upscale Bedlam Asylum studio apartment was a kitchenette, but all her food was prepared for her: three square meals of fresh fruits, vegetables, duck or goose meat depending on the day, a dessert of sweet bread with honey, a cup of beer at lunch and red wine at dinner (the beer was supposedly brewed by German monks while the wine came from a convent north of Rome), along with water upon request. Had it been under another circumstance, Mai had it better here than she did at any Four Seasons.
She wiggled her finger under the cuff at her ankle, scratching at her Achilles tendon with a grimace and hugging the Sisters to her chest. She was being kept like a prized canary in a cage, but she was no canary. Mai was not a songbird, not a dainty thing that existed to be put on display and admired for its pretty colors while it swang on a perch and tittered for treats. She was a raptor, a bird of prey, built to soar and impose her will on those who dared to challenge her, and no amount of plush accommodations or forged chains would change that nature. She wasn't going to sing for anyone.
She wondered, briefly, if her cousin had ever felt the same way.
The reverie was short-lived as she saw the suited guards on either side of her cell stiffen at the sound of jangling metal, the distinct ringing of gold. Mai lifted her torso from the bed and placed the Sisters back into the nightstand with a curled lip.
The witch doctor was in.
"Miss Ishtar," Mai heard one of the guards whisper. The exchange was brief and Mai couldn't decipher anything else under the hushed tone. The witch doctor apparently wasn't very happy with whatever was said, because Mai heard a long, familiar sigh, and imagined her shaking her head and placing a hand on her hip with the expression. Mai detested that woman's voice, always a soft, serene tone that conjured the image of spring water at an oasis, but there was something else clinging to the edges, a chill lurking beneath that she could never shake.
A sound she could never trust.
Mai propped herself on her elbows and tucked her chin into her chest, crossing her legs at the ankles as she stared from the other side of the cell, waiting for the witch doctor to walk into view. What costume would she have on today?
Blonde eyebrows perked with the pursing of her lips, looking the Egyptian woman up and down.
Well, well, it was the cop outfit. Mai hadn't seen her in that number for a while.
She stood out against the white backdrop of the hallway, dressed in black from head to toe, a shade that matched the woman's hair and made it hard to tell where clothing ended and raven strands began. Laced, stiletto-heeled boots that reached to her knees clicked against the floor while black stockings hugged supple tan things and stayed in place with the help of gold garters engraved with ankh and water lily motifs. At her waist was a utility belt, and Mai questioned the functionality of the solid gold handcuffs clipped at her hip.
Her body was wrapped with a stark tube dress, outlining a trim hourglass figure as she sported a pair of gloves, and it was then Mai noticed there was a clipboard in her hands. The cuffs of the gloves ended with a thin band of gold encircling her deltoids, emphasizing the fine toning of her bronze shoulders. The stiff rim of her police hat hovered over a pair of pilot sunglasses, a brilliant gradient of red and yet even more gold, an obnoxious contrast against the black adorning her lips. Mai couldn't help but focus on that damned necklace she always wore, ornamented with that same unnerving eye that was in Pegasus's head. All things considered, the two were probably part of some creepy cult.
What was different today, however, was that the witch doctor's jaw kept moving in circular motions while she kept her mouth closed. Mai quickly realized she was chewing on a piece of gum as she leaned in and placed her gloved hands through the slots in the cell entrance. The clipboard dangled from her left hand as she held a silver pen in her right, resting her forearms on the horizontal supports. She blew a small, pale pink bubble and preemptively popped it with an audible bite, a flash of white teeth before the frowning black lips took their place.
Well, she was really getting into the role today, wasn't she?
Fine, if that's what she was in the mood for.
"Is there a problem, officer?" Mai asked coquettishly, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder with a whip of her head.
"The guards tell me you haven't touched any of your food today," said the witch doctor, unamused.
Then again, the witch doctor was never amused.
Mai placed her hand to her chest as though offended by the accusation.
"Untrue, officer!" Mai whooped. "I worked very hard today to make a sculpture of you and Pegasus out of my potatoes." Mai took a plastic fork from underneath her pillow and made a show of picking at her teeth with one of the prongs. The white plastic utensil was so flimsy, that's all it was good for. She had learned that on her first day when she tried to pick the locks on her bonds with no success.
"Unfortunately, I had to abandon the project."
"We cannot provide you with metal utensils, Miss Valentine."
"Oh, no, officer! That has nothing to do with it!" Mai trilled, chewing on the tips of the prongs. "I just overestimated my artistic skills. I tried and I tried, but I just couldn't capture how far your tongue is up that horse's ass."
Mai liked to think the next bubble she blew and popped was a sign that she had irked her.
Stuffy bitch.
"You need to eat," the witch doctor said, ignoring Mai's previous comment. "You skipped your breakfast and your lunch. You need not gorge yourself on those missed meals, but I cannot allow you to refuse your dinner."
"All that oily bird meat and beer packs on the pounds," Mai shrugged. "A girl's gotta watch her figure."
"You need to eat at least once a day, Miss Valentine," the Egyptian said, "and the portions are measured, if that truly is your concern."
"You say that, yet I can't help but get the feeling I'm being fattened up for the slaughter."
"The ritual is not a slaughter, Miss Valentine."
As if that statement was supposed be comforting.
"But it's still a sacrifice," Mai sneered, pointing the fork at the Egyptian. "That cop getup is cute, honey, but your persuasive skills need serious improvement. I'm not eating any of your hocus-pocus family recipes."
The witch doctor sighed again, and Mai wasn't sure if the woman was furrowing her brow or narrowing her eyes. She couldn't make anything out behind those godawful sunglasses.
"I take no joy in seeing you suffer, Miss Valentine—"
"Could have fooled me."
"You need to eat," she repeated, undeterred by Mai's interruption, "for the ritual and for your own sake. While I understand your reluctance partaking in the ceremonial diet..."
Mai punctuated the brief pause with a scoff.
"... I do not wish to tell the guards to get the feeding tube again."
"Smoothies are all the rage nowadays," Mai quipped.
The witch doctor tilted her head and stared, mulling over her reply while she chewed on her gum. She blew another bubble, slowly, and Mai held her breath as she saw the pink sphere grow, only inhaling through her nose when the ball reached the limits of its elasticity and popped. The witch doctor flicked her tongue across her dark lips to gather the xylitol concoction back into her mouth, and she chewed on it some more. There was a signal to the end of her internal monologue when she pushed the gum to the side of her mouth, storing the small morsel in her cheek, presenting a rude slant to her jaw as she finally spoke.
"You should feel honored, Miss Valentine," she said. "To play a part in this, even as a sacrifice, is a fate more noble than most."
Mai bit the lining of her cheek and pushed herself off the bed, bending one leg and resting the crook of her elbow on the knee. The white chemise rode up her thighs with the lewd posturing, and she could care less if the witch doctor got a good look.
"Noble, huh? Now there's a thought," Mai placed the fork to her lips and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as though considering the words. "Yeah, that's quite a spin on perspective. Y'know what? I'm pretty sure 'honor' was the exact sentiment of all those human sacrifices when the Aztec priests ripped their hearts out and cut off their heads."
There was a small dip in the witch doctor's shoulders at the reply. Mai's smile didn't reach her eyes when she turned her attention away from the padded ceiling and back to the Egyptian.
"You can spray all the perfume in the world over a cow pie, honey, but in the end, it's still going to be a pile of bullshit."
She enforced the statement and made a circle around the witch doctor's face with the plastic utensil.
"... It is your choice, Miss Valentine," said the witch doctor, her voice a pitch perfect match for her unreadable eyes. "The fork or the tube."
Mai cocked her jaw and violet eyes went half-lidded, turning her nose up at the options while the witch doctor went back to chewing on her gum. After some seconds of reflection and consideration, she looked the Egyptian woman in the sunglasses, stretched her arm to full extension with the fork, and forced her hand to go limp. Mai found an odd satisfaction at hearing the hollow, plastic clatter when it struck the ground.
The witch doctor was not satisfied.
"... So be it," she sighed with a shake of her head, pulling her hands out of the cell. She turned with the click of her heel and gave a command to the guards in passing as she jotted something down on her clipboard.
"Restrain her. She gets the tube today."
"Goddammit..."
A nasty smile crossed Mai's lips as the reluctant guards opened her cell. She had figured out within the first week that there was a reason for all the fine treatment: Pegasus didn't want her getting roughed up before the big day. Rather, he didn't want her body getting roughed up. What that meant to Mai was that she could hit, bite, kick, thrash, and scratch the suits all she wanted, and there was jack shit they could do about it. A thought crossed her mind, and the guards swore as they saw her dive for the plastic fork.
The tube was a bitch, but Mai was determined to prove she was a bigger one.
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
"Once I get out of here and regain control of the Rod, I'm going to make you watch me skin Pegasus alive, and you'll join your brother sucking at Ammut's teat for eternity."
"I see nothing has changed with you."
Isis marked a small "X" on the third sheet on her clipboard. She found herself missing the blinding white of Mai's holding place, squinting at the small print on her chart. Her eyes had trouble adjusting to the lighting in the dark stone tomb, a more "traditional" prison compared to Miss Valentine's. The guards waited on the other side of a bolted door, the only entrance and exit of a narrow hall lined with flickering torches that cast a fluctuating swirl of shadows leading to the Dark Thing's cell, but she refused to remove the sunglasses. She wasn't going to give it the satisfaction of seeing her eyes.
The Dark Thing sat crossed-legged on the ground as it stared at her from the back of its cell. The lavender pinpoints of its eyes were obscured by messy, jagged locks of platinum blonde hair sticking out in all directions. It squirmed in the confines of its straight jacket as its cackles bounced off the muzzle, and it waggled its tongue through the vertical slits in the mask, neck restrained by a robust collar attached to thick chains anchored to the floor.
She stood with a rigid posture on the other side of the cell's gate, and she kept her distance from the galvanized steel bars. Why were they so moist? And why were there quarter-sized puddles on the floor? There were no pipe leaks of which she was aware...
"You don't know how to take a joke," it giggled.
"There is no humor in an Afterlife where one feeds at the breast of the beast," Isis droned.
"But you think it'll be funny if I peel the flesh off your boyfriend like a big red grape?" It wiggled excitedly at the thought, the chains rattling with the motion.
"He is not my boyfriend," Isis said tersely, grinding the gum between her teeth as she refused to look up from her notes. "I am a servant of Fate. His role is—"
"If he's not your boyfriend, then you've been letting him get away with some very questionable things, sister."
"Do not call me 'sister'. I have no relation to you," she said pointedly. The bright sunglasses hid the small twitch to her left eye, but she didn't hide the curl of her dark lips as the pen moved furiously across the board. "You are an abomination."
"And you're a whore."
She cocked her jaw with a concise shake of her head, saying nothing in return as she stayed focused on the notes. The Dark Thing rested its ear to one shoulder as it rocked back and forth in place.
"Those shoes look very uncomfortable, sister."
"I told you not to call me that."
"Those shoes look very uncomfortable, slut."
Isis tamed the instinct to bare her teeth and wrinkle her nose in disgust, maintaining neutral lines across her features, still keeping her attention to his chart, flipping through the papers.
"You are hydrated," she muttered, intermittently chewing on the stale piece of gum in her mouth. It had lost most of its elasticity and all its flavor long ago; she couldn't wait to be rid of it.
"Can you breathe all right in that dress? It looks like you're suffocating in it."
"You've eaten," she said flatly.
"Sunglasses are a bit much. I like the hat, though. It's a nice touch."
"The guards changed you this morning."
"I didn't know you liked gum. Is that part of the costume, too?" it jeered. "Or is it supposed to warm up your jaw for something else?"
"Utter all the vulgarities you wish. I am not opening this cell," she retorted, her gaze remaining on the papers in her hands. "I know what you're trying to do, and I refuse to play your games."
The desire to throttle it was ample, but she wasn't going willingly into that cell, nor was she going to put her hands anywhere near its person, even if it was under restraint. She knew better by now.
The Dark Thing pouted in disdain.
"You really are a humorless cunt," it growled. "Fine! If that's how you want to play."
The Dark Thing arched its back inward and broadened its chest as it made an atrocious gargling sound. Upon exhalation, it hocked a thick, mucous glob through one of the holes in its muzzle and sent the wad soaring across the cell, landing just below the rim of Isis' sunglasses and splattering across her left cheek.
"Hahahaha! Bulls-eye! All that practice paid off!"
That explained the wet bars and the small puddles.
To the woman's credit, she didn't recoil at the contact, but her revulsion was evident in the way she stiffly placed the pen into its designated slot on the board before she lifted her head to stare at the Dark Thing. The corner of her lip spasmed, feeling the warm, sticky mixture of phlegm and saliva making its way down her cheek.
"Why do you look so bothered, sister? I would think you're accustomed to such treatment by now," it guffawed. "Or maybe you're just used to having something else on your face?"
The stale gum compressed between her molars, her jaw set in place as she summoned the discipline to cease the shaking of her lip.
"Your weekly check-up is complete," she said, tone dispassionate and distant as she deliberately smoothed her gloved thumb over her cheek to wipe off the demonic loogie. "We're done here."
She scraped her thumb against a bar on its cell before turning on her heel, rolling her gloved fingers together to dry off what little saliva was left.
"Oh, sister, going so soon? You just got here!"
She didn't acknowledge the words and kept walking down the hall, her black garb blending with the surrounding stone as she fell out of the Dark Thing's view. The gold handcuffs on her belt glinted in the shifting light of the tomb's fire, the small chains clinking with each step she took.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings! Don't leave me all alone in the dark!"
She kept walking.
"Come back, sister!"
And walking...
"Wait, sister!"
Heels echoing.
Click-clack.
"Sister!"
A brisk pace.
Tip-tap.
"Sis... Sister..."
And she stopped.
Silence.
No, it couldn't be.
That whimper, that voice.
She hadn't heard it in a long time.
Not since Rishid—
"Isis... P-please... Come back..."
Could it really...?
No, it couldn't be.
Could it?
"I-I... don't... have much time... Sister... Please..."
Isis stayed in place, but she dared to look over her shoulder.
"Malik?" she whispered.
"I've... I've been fighting... so long... Sister..."
"Malik?" she gasped.
"No time... I need... I need to tell you... before it's too late..."
Her shoulders dropped at the feeble tone.
"I want... I want to say..."
She turned her body to match the direction of her head. She was standing half-way up the hall, and it was difficult for her to compose the shape in the cell. The head was hung low to its chest, hiding the face from view. It may have been a trick of the lighting and the tinting of the sunglasses, but she could have sworn the platinum blonde hair had lost volume.
"... What is it, Malik?"
"Keep me in your thoughts when the stallion mounts you in his stock tonight! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
She dashed the clipboard against the ground with a loud "SNAP!"
You hideous parasite.
Her teeth chomped down on the hard piece of gum at the sight of its head falling back while it roared, blood pulsing in her neck as she stomped over to its cell, straight raven hair bouncing in waves with every step.
"Aw, did I hit a soft spot, sister?" it teased. "But I suppose you're plenty tender after a year of—"
Shut up.
She made the sentiment known as she leaned into a slot in the cell's door and spat out her gum. The stiff little wad flew in a perfect arc and landed on the top of its head, getting lost in the tangled mass of pale hair. The Dark Thing made a gagging sound and shrank back from the impact.
"Ugh! Ew! That's not very nice!"
It whined like a six-year-old that had been told to eat the under-seasoned vegetables on its plate. It slid its feet across the floor in an attempt to get away from the offending article to no avail, taking all the slack out of its chains in the process.
"You know I can't get it out! The guards already cleaned me today! It's going to be there all night! H-hey! Stop walking away and get back here! Get this gross thing off my head, right now! It's got your whore spit all over it! I don't want it in my hair! Get back here! GET BACK HERE!"
The Dark Thing continued to gag and gripe while the woman in black sauntered away. She only stopped to collect her clipboard off the ground and brushed off the pages before she flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder with a small huff. All that could be heard thereafter was the clicking of her stiletto heels on the ground and the clinking of the handcuff's chains at her waist as she disappeared up the path.
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
A castle awash with blue rays of moonlight, a starless night.
Room alight with a vivid incandescence, the orange radiance of mounted candles.
Writhing shadows cast across books, an oak writing desk from who knows how many generations past.
Deft fingers running over the folds of the dress, the delicate texture of royal blue taffeta.
Acrylics and oils from another lifetime, a woman sealed in varnish and cloaked by burgundy drapes.
Not for much longer.
Whispers of artifacts locked away in a safe.
A spark of amber in his right eye, a shimmer of gold to his left.
How astonishing, this ancient sorcery.
Red wine to his lips, a fruity note ending with a dry bite to his tongue, a contrast and complement to the rosy aroma—not that flavor was ever an issue.
Candlelight bouncing off silver strands, a warm glow against his pale hand hovering over the glass, wine rippling with a new essence.
Smoothing out a scarlet lapel, fingers slipping the vial back in place.
What a marvel, this modern alchemy.
The chime of gold chains and percussive taps coming up the steps, beckoning her return.
The intoxication of women.
Magic.
Slender digits pinched the hem, thumb rolling in circles over the luxurious fabric.
"If the ritual fails, Miss Ishtar, it will be you in this dress," Pegasus drawled, eye tracing the ruffles at the bust. He would have to dye it if it came to that. This particular shade of blue was an atrocious combination with bronze, and he smiled at the possibilities. He would be terribly distraught if Miss Valentine were to be a failure, but the alternative was quite compelling.
It was an alternative Isis did not entertain. She refused to look at the Victorian-inspired dress hanging on the wall, averting the warm cobalt eyes of the deceased woman's portrait as she completed her ascension of the stairs.
"I assure you, Mister Pegasus, it will not come to that. The resurrection has a 100 percent chance of success."
She stopped a handful of paces behind him, staring at the broad back of his suit as he appeared to be busying himself with smoothing out the dress, clipboard raised with one hand to instinctively cover her chest. Her upstanding posture and cool, steady tone were at odds with the burning pins and needles in her heels. After spending the better half of the day with the check-ups in the dungeons, only to come rising back to the tower, her feet were killing her.
"Oh? And how did my lovely assistant come to calculate such promising odds?" He swirled the wine glass in small circles before lifting it to the candle on the wall. Isis found something unnerving about the color when held to flame.
"It has been predetermined by Fate, Mister Pegasus. I have seen all that has been and all that will be. I can say to you with utmost certainty that the experiment will yield the outcome we desire. My Millennium Necklace is never wrong."
"Thus far," Pegasus added. "Status report on our guests, if you please."
Spoken as though refusal was a choice.
"She denied the ceremonial rations again."
"But you took care of it the usual way?"
"Correct." She still nodded despite having his back turned to her.
His hair lightly shifted from side to side, a dramatic slump to his shoulders with a "tsk, tsk, tsk" and the shake of his head.
"What a shame! My talented chefs work tirelessly to bring out the best in a limited menu, only for it to end up in a bag, and let us not forget the efforts of our devout friends in Europe! To toil in the wake of God and have all that beer and wine refused, it would wound them to know the Lord's work gets funneled into a tube with nary a chance for the recipient to appreciate their labors."
He languished with a deep sigh, making a show of swirling the wine.
"Sometimes there is just no pleasing a woman. Oh, well, nothing a little attitude adjustment won't fix."
There was a brief flash of yellow against the dress, and Isis almost felt guilty when she found herself agreeing with the implication.
"And what of our other guest, Miss Ishtar?" he inquired, bringing the wine glass to his chest, still moving the liquid in small, practiced circles.
"There have been no changes in its condition," she informed dully.
"I'm quite sorry to hear that, Miss Ishtar," he sighed in a tone that was anything but. "Had I known the long-term effects, I would not have been so harsh with my penalty game."
Her lips remained still, but her jaw worked methodically on the piece of gum in her mouth, sharpening her eyes behind the polished sunset gradient.
"Ah, yes, the delicate matter of the other fellow. The quiet one of you three. What was his name, again? Rasheed?"
"Rishid," she muttered brusquely. She knew he was damn well aware of the name.
"Yes, that's it!" Pegasus brightened with the snap of his finger. "To reiterate, I had no intention of including your adopted brother among the fallen in that massacre with the Rare Hunters. I do so like to think myself well-practiced with my Item, but what a terrible time to underestimate my power! Once again, my sincerest apologies for what happened back in Egypt. I do hope, after all that time ago, you've found it in your heart to forgive me for such a careless transgression!"
Her grip tightened at the edge of the clipboard, teeth locking down on the gum.
"At the very least, you had time to perform the funeral rites in accordance with your lovely religion. May he find peace in the next life."
He lifted the wine glass once more in a toast, and lowered it when another thought crossed his mind.
"Speaking of your religion, Miss Ishtar," Pegasus piqued, pinching a pink bow between his fingers. "You are certain we have everything we need for the big night?"
"So long as we follow the guidance of my codex in tandem with the use of the gathered Items, the plan will come to fruition, Mister Pegasus. You needn't worry about any deviation from our plans. I have foreseen it," she reassured.
"So sayeth my faithful soothsayer," Pegasus hummed, "but I am familiar with the workings of magic. One cannot receive without having something taken away; it is a transaction, not a gift. With the day drawing near, I must confess I am anxious. Your Necklace guards your mind from my Eye, and I cannot see this future you promise. So is there anything you would like to tell me while there is still a chance?"
"... Are you asking if I am deceiving you, Mister Pegasus?" Isis asked with the subtle tilt of her head, storing the gum in the pocket of her cheek. "After everything I have done thus far, you doubt my intentions?"
There was no tremor or hesitation to her voice; she couldn't afford to have him hear either.
"I am asking if I am going to lose another eye in exchange for seeing my dearly beloved again," he intoned with a frown. "What is the catch?"
"The ritual will cause some fatigue to your person, but the worst you will feel is a headache," she relayed with a hand over her Millennium Necklace. "It will not last long, I assure you."
"A headache, you say?" Pegasus drawled, looking over his shoulder with his biological eye and a raised brow. "Is that it? That seems too good to be true."
"Have faith, Mister Pegasus," she advised. "Rest assured, you may put your trust in Fate. Everything is as it will be."
"Que sera sera, hm?" Pegasus said with another rotation of the glass. "An odd choice of perspective from my clever clairvoyant. Are you certain of your vision?"
"Absolutely," she affirmed. A smile tugged at his lips then, his natural eye tracing her up and down. Her tone matched her standing: stiff, strict, a model of discipline, the ideal complement to her current accoutrements.
He needed to change that.
"There is no need to be so severe all the time, Miss Ishtar. We are business partners, after all," he proclaimed airily. He let go of the dress and turned so he was facing the Egyptian completely, taking a step towards her.
"Would you care for a sip of wine?" he asked, offering the glass with an outstretched hand. "It is from my vineyard in Napa Valley. The shipment arrived this morning and I must say, while it is a tad sweet throughout, there is a very refreshing bite that revitalizes the palate."
The small, audible click of his teeth made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She reviewed that he hadn't taken a sip from the glass the entire time she had been in the room.
"I am grateful for the offer, Mister Pegasus, but I must abstain," she said steadily, carefully, raising the clipboard and placing it between herself and the glass. "As I am due to lead the procession in three days, it would be poor practice to take part in any vices—"
"But it is not forbidden, is it?" Pegasus asked, inching the glass further forward. "Is there anything in your little spell book saying you absolutely cannot take part in an award winning Pinot Noir?"
"It is looked down upon—"
"But there is nothing that says it will interfere with the ritual. Surely, you can spare yourself one drink," he urged with raised brows and a wide grin. The wine moved in small waves with the subtle back-and-forth tilt of his fingers, liquid curling inward in its glass, as though beckoning to her.
"Please, Mister Pegasus," Isis said quickly, "I understand your generous intentions, but it is important we adhere to the guidelines as closely as possible. While I have foreseen the success of the ceremony, I do not desire to incur the disdain of my gods in the process."
She found herself wary of the way his biological eye glinted in the flickering candlelight, smile retreating but teeth still shown. He brought the wine glass below his chin, a reflection of red bouncing off the drink and glowing across face.
"Pity," he said lowly.
His hair inched down his shoulders when he tilted his head back, knuckles to his forehead with a heavy, defeated sigh.
"It's your choice," he said with a hapless shrug and a pout. He improved his posture and set the wine glass aside on the oak writing desk. "I thought you would so enjoy it, but alas! You are correct. We must postpone such distractions. We are business partners. So let us talk business, yes?"
He held out his left hand with an open palm facing the ceiling, curving his index and middle fingers in a "come hither" motion. Isis bit down once on her gum as she held the clipboard to this outstretched hand, but Pegasus refused it and turned his open palm into a fist.
"No, not that," Pegasus chirped and chastising wave of his index finger. He opened his hand once more and repeated his prior gesture in front of her face. The words were coy, his voice suave and inviting, but the demure smile at his lips did not match what she saw behind his pupil when he spoke.
"Spit it out."
Copper jaw losing tension.
Her heart stalling in her chest.
Gloved fingers loosening around the clipboard.
His smile stretching.
His hand still waiting.
The realization.
Her mistake.
With a blink, she tried to gather her composure and closed her mouth, but it was too late.
"Oh, come now!" he laughed. "Surely, you must be dying to be rid of it, Miss Ishtar. You've had it all day! I imagine it must feel like chewing on the sole of a shoe at this point. It's intolerable just thinking about it! Please, let me relieve your anguish."
His fingers twitched, and her eyes mimicked motion.
"Spit it out."
The enamel of her teeth strained under the pressure of her clenched jaw, a discomfort that radiated from her gums to her cheekbones, the flesh connecting her head to her neck becoming taut. She could feel the rush of blood to her head, heat pooling around the top of her scalp, and she had to tell herself to steady her shaking hands.
A canine tooth grazed Pegasus' bottom lip as he smirked down at her. He couldn't use the Eye to read her mind, but his nose deciphered the unmistakeable scent of spearmint on her breath.
He did not curve his fingers this time, merely holding his open hand expectantly below her mouth.
"Don't make me repeat myself a third time, Miss Ishtar."
It was a throaty purr, the sound of a lion that had cornered a fawn in its den, and Isis exhaled with an audible shudder through her teeth. She chewed on the sticky concoction one, twice, and rolled it into a ball against the roof of her mouth before she gently spat it out into his exposed palm.
"There, now was that so hard?" Pegasus asked cordially with a guileful nod of his head. Isis' heart wrenched in her chest when he glanced at the little green wad in his hand.
"Oh, my! Now, just what...? Hmm," Pegasus held his chin with his other hand and he observed the sample with scrutiny, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and bringing it within an inch of his natural eye. "Now, Miss Ishtar, forgive me for the repetition. I know I have a hard habit of being incredibly absent-minded at the most inopportune times, but I distinctly remember giving you very explicit instructions not to spit out the piece of gum I gave you this morning, isn't that correct?"
The crackles of candlelight.
The whistling breeze through the window.
The tapping of his shoes against the floor as he circled her.
The pounding of her heart in her ears.
Silence.
"Answer me, Miss Ishtar."
"... Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Mister Pegasus." Her dark lips had been pressed as close as she could get them when she uttered the title.
"And I think I made it quite clear that there were to be severe repercussions if you were to violate the rules of conduct while you're dressed as The Decadent Authoritarian, isn't that also correct?"
"Yes, Mister Pegasus." She bowed her head, hands pressed to the sides of her hips, and she kept her knees steady despite the relentless throbbing in her feet. That was the least of her problems right now.
"So, let us examine what we have here, shall we?" He made a grand, sweeping circle with his free hand. "Before me, I have this little piece of gum. It is a very squishy morsel with adequate elasticity, moist to the touch, with a brilliant green hue. Hm, but if memory serves me right, the piece I gave you was pink. A stunning shade of fuchsia, if I am to be more specific."
He tapped the air once with the note, continuing to circle her like a buzzard as she stared at the floor and focused on her breathing.
"Last I checked, this particular brand of candy doesn't possess any sort of radical gimmick such as changing color over the course of the day, nor did it advertise changing its flavor profile. I know for certain that you received the insipid yet traditional 'bubblegum' flavor, but the piece I have in my hand bears the distinct, sharp note of a type of mint. How very suspicious..."
Pegasus placed his right hand on his hip, left hand holding the gum to the light with an upturned lip. She stared at his pristine white shoes as he stopped in front of her, and refused to raise her chin to meet his gaze, but could feel his wayward grin hovering above her head.
"Though hasty and albeit brief, I do declare, after my examination and review of the evidence provided, I have come to this conclusion!"
Pegasus grabbed her chin with his right hand and forced her to stare at the fresh wad of gum in his left, waving it back and forth across her field of view.
"This is not remotely close to the same piece I gave you this morning."
Using the woman's jaw as leverage, he torqued Isis' neck and shoved her down at an angle, toppling her off balance on the thin stiletto heels of her torturous boots, forcing her to drop her clipboard while whipping her hat off in the process. She stumbled to the floor and caught herself on her hands, crouched on her haunches as her hair fanned over her face. She kept one hand braced on the ground and raised the other across her head in preparation for a harder blow, but no such action came.
Pegasus' shadow moved across her body, ignoring her squatting form on the floor and strolling over to the open window. With a sideways swipe of his arm and a quiet huff, the piece of gum went flying out of the tower and into the woodline below. Cautiously, the Egyptian got back to her feet and gathered the clipboard back into her grasp, holding it just below her cheek in the event of another hit when she saw him turn around and stalk towards her.
"Honestly, Miss Ishtar, if you aren't going to take our games seriously, the least you could do is put forth some effort when you're trying to cheat."
A quiver ran up her spine and a bubble formed in her throat when Pegasus reached out with a nonchalant gaze, looking through and past her, and wiped his wet hand against her bare shoulder. He completed the cleaning regimen with the flexing of his pale digits through her stark raven hair and a flick of his wrist, and she couldn't contain her grimace. The silver-haired man leaned against the edge of the writing desk and eyed her with an upturned chin, arms across his chest and one ankle over the other. He looked spectacularly irritated, but the inner workings of his mind were fighting the urge to giggle incessantly.
He was the only person on the island who had regular bubblegum.
All of his guards on staff had peppermint, with the exception of one.
He had given the spearmint to Croquet.
Pegasus would have to give that man a good lecture about interfering with his games.
Later.
Pegasus relaxed his posture with his stare, a gentle smile smoothing across his features as he picked the wine glass off the corner of the desk.
"Though, I suppose, it is very silly, now isn't it? Telling someone to stretch out the life of a piece of gum over anything more than an hour is quite unimaginative. Trite, really," he shrugged, staring into the sweet scarlet liquid. "In hindsight, I can't blame you for finding such a challenge to be, well, unchallenging. It's really very childish when you think about it, isn't it? Such frivolous games are better left in primary school."
Isis observed him over the edge of the clipboard as he twirled the wine for several seconds, as though reflecting on his words, before setting it back down on the desk. She took a step back when she saw him push himself off the polished old oak, dipping a hand underneath his red blazer and pulling a small eggshell white envelope out of the hidden chest pocket.
"So let's act like adults, shall we?" He gripped the paper between both hands and presented it to her with an air of consideration, bowing his head with a small smile. "For you."
Though Pegasus couldn't see it, he knew her brows were knitted underneath the sunglasses, and he laughed.
"Come now, Miss Ishtar! It's just a card. Don't be so hesitant!"
Haltingly, Isis lowered the clipboard from her face, staring at the envelope as though an electric shock would run through her fingers if she touched it (it wouldn't be the first time Pegasus had rigged something with a joy buzzer). She pinched the corner with the very tips of her fingers and gently lifted the tab on the back, revealing a card within.
It was the size of a postcard with a colorful illustration of Funny Bunny. She recognized the cartoon rabbit as Pegasus had taken it upon himself to educate her about the character early on in their "partnership", but there had been an alteration to the lagomorph's usual attire. The pink rabbit's signature goofy, unnerving expression and miscolored eyes were present, but where there would have been coveralls, the cartoon was donning a dark suit and red bow tie with white gloves, pointing to the upper left hand corner of the invitation while staring at the viewer.
It was an awkward composition with the words "You're invited to the big show!" hovering over Funny Bunny's hand in cursive type against a background of what appeared to be a set of red stage curtains. Isis flipped the card over and found the other side blank.
"... What is this?" Isis asked nervously, looking up at Pegasus.
"Why, isn't it obvious?" Pegasus chuckled. "It's an invitation to my bachelor party."
She nearly dropped the card and its envelope on the ground when her jaw went slack, shrinking away from him.
No.
"Why would you want to invite me to your bachelor party?" she asked. She internally cursed at herself for allowing a tremor to seep into her voice, and Pegasus smiled sweetly at the sound.
"Well, seeing as how the ritual is due to take place in three days, I thought it only practical to cherish what little time I have left as a free man," he explained, and he placed his hands with familiarity on her elbows. "As it is, everything thus far would not have been possible without you. It only seems appropriate to include you with the revelries."
At that moment, the agony in her feet could not contend with the weakness in her knees.
The cold that ran through her veins.
The sinking of her heart into her stomach.
The blooming terror.
No.
"That is... very thoughtful of you, Mister Pegasus," Isis said, inching away from his touch with a backwards step, making her way for the stairs, "but I must decline."
Pegasus feigned his dismay, pouting with a listless sigh and placing a hand over his chest.
"I was hoping you wouldn't say that, Miss Ishtar," he bemoaned, reaching for her with a step forward. "It breaks my heart."
"Is that so?" Isis countered, taking two steps back, the invitation shaking in her hands. If she could make it to the stairs...
"Well, for you to decline my invitation, it's terribly problematic," Pegasus soothed, teeth glistening in the candlelight, hands still extending for her person.
"In what way, Mister Pegasus?"
Sweat gathering underneath the gloves.
Heart thrumming against her rib cage.
Springs coiling in her legs.
Lightness in her nerves.
Her mind screaming.
Take flight.
"Your attendance to my party is essential, Miss Ishtar," Pegasus crooned.
The eye of the Necklace, pulsing.
Ethereal hands measuring threads.
Fate's design before her eyes.
What will be, will be.
He slipped his right hand into her hair, brushing the shell of her ear with his fingertips and trailing his thumb along her quivering cheek.
"You're the guest of honor."
No.
Energy gathered in the Millennium Necklace lashed forward and struck his Eye with a jolt of light, the invitation falling in a graceless spin to the ground as she turned on her heel.
"Oooh, you have tricks, do you?" Pegasus drawled, Eye glowing with her Necklace's 'gift'. "How bold! I've quite a few myself, you know."
A surge of static belted the crown of her head and penetrated through grey matter and optic nerves, scrambling her vision and causing her temples to throb with a sudden agony, losing sight of the stairs and stumbling at the momentary loss. The pain in her forehead was replaced with something sharper at the base of her skull as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and twisted, jerking her head and tweaking the muscles in her neck, bringing her back flush against his chest.
"Don't toy with the toy-master, doll," Pegasus growled huskily in her ear, his free hand running down her shoulder, along the side of her breast, across her belly and drifting to her hip, fingers hooking around the dangling gold chains. Isis reached back with her hands in an effort to pry his fingers from her hair, heels scraping the floor as she struggled to gain purchase when he tugged her up, and gasped when something clicked around a wrist.
"Are you even trying to play seriously? You're making this too easy!" he giggled as he secured the other handcuff over the remaining wrist, restraining her hands to her lower back.
"Let me go!" she snarled.
"If that's what you really want..."
He clapped his hands around her shoulders and lifted her off the ground, pushing her up in a small arc and dropping her like a rag doll on top of the oak writing desk. A small cry scratched at her throat as she landed on her wrists, the dense gold of the cuffs exalted into her tailbone, a sharp pain radiating from her lower back at the contact and wrists bruising through her gloves. Her head thumped against the dense wood and a flurry of stars flashed before her eyes.
After several blinks in an attempt to regain some cognitive function, Isis cried out again when he buried a knee into her pelvis, forcing her back against the unforgiving gold entrapping her wrists, and she choked when he wrapped his hand around her neck. The shaded tint to her field of view disappeared as he pinched the bridge of her sunglasses and flung them over his shoulder, and he savored the wide, wet shimmer to her dark blue eyes.
He smiled in remembrance.
Cecelia had blue eyes, too.
"It really is fantastic wine," Pegasus intoned, reaching for the glass at the corner of the table and holding it over Isis' head. "Very unlike your typical Cabernet Sauvignon or a Merlot in that it doesn't need to age to bring out its full potential. A Pinot Noir, such as this, is meant to be enjoyed within the year it's produced. There are hacks that claim the grape gains 'complexity' over time, but let us be honest: when one tries to claim something is complex without prompting, it is done more out of a sense of pretension than genuine intricacy."
Isis wanted to sneer, but she kept her lips closed, taking shallow breaths through her nose as his grip tightened around her neck.
"Ah, but I'm starting to go down a rabbit hole. Let us stay on topic, yes? Regarding this particular wine in my hand, it is very sensitive to air exposure, and as such," Pegasus smiled and placed a thumb to her lip, grazing the tender flesh while the rest of his fingers dug into the curve of her jawline, giving her windpipe some reprieve.
"It is best enjoyed as soon as possible. So I suggest you drink your fill before this glass gets stale."
She didn't want a single drop of that wine.
Isis struggled to turn her head to the side with a strained groan, squirming under his body and thumping the sides of his hips with her knees with little effect. She arched her back to relieve the pressure of the gold cuffs digging into her lumbar and squishing her hands, and was nauseated at feeling his knee firmly at its place on her womb.
"Oh, come now, Miss Ishtar. Always so stringent! Was it not one of your own gods who partook in drink after smiting mankind at the request of Ra? Sekhmet, was it? Or was it Hathor who had turned into Sekhmet, abandoning motherhood to take up the warrior role, trading her horns for a lion's head? But, if I remember that story correctly, she became Hathor again after she drank a river's quantity and passed out. Got her horns back," Pegasus droned. "Just imagine! A lion turning into a cow. What a droll thought."
Her narrowed eyes snapped open at the words, pupils dilating with the dawning realization.
"No need for a river's worth in this day and age," Pegasus whispered, twirling the glass with a grin. One sip was all it would take.
Isis shook her head and clamped her mouth shut when she felt him try to pry his thumb between her lips, and he couldn't help but chuckle. The Egyptian was usually so calm, so collected, taking so much pride in her austere demeanor. It was thrilling to see her resist him in this way, to witness that defiance, that little lick of fire in her eyes, but alas!
He wasn't in the mood to wrestle with her today.
Pegasus moved his thumb from her lip and trailed it down the hollow of Isis' heck, becoming slick with her sweat, and dug his nail into her jugular notch. He saw the whites of her eyes as they rolled to the back of her head, a muffled whine falling on his ears as she still so desperately tried to keep her mouth shut, corralling every part of her being not to scream at the pain of him crushing her trachea. He continued to swirl the wine in its glass, holding it to the side of her head while the rest of his fingers busied themselves with wrapping around her trapezius curve and digging into the stiff muscle, imagining his fingertips sinking through the tissue and meeting his thumb on the other side of her neck.
He savored her rapid pulse, biting his lip at the sound of her short, shallow chokes as he applied more pressure with each second, tears pricking the corners of her stunning blue eyes. He had fond memories of Cecelia, of her own beautiful blue eyes that had shined in their moments together. His heart skipped a beat at the whimper that escaped through Isis' closed lips as she struggled against his grasp, and he remembered the soft, wanton sounds of his dearly beloved as she had writhed beneath him.
Which begged the question: What would Cecelia sound like with Mai's voice? Would it be the same aching chirps that she had allowed herself to expend at their most intimate? Or would it be rougher, an abrasive trill like when she had been dragged off to her holding place, telling him to copulate with himself in an explicit fashion? What of other features? Surely, their bright blonde hair wouldn't feel all that different under his fingers, and while Mai was admittedly fuller in all the right areas compared to Cecelia's petite frame, he imagined there wasn't any considerable deviation in the texture of their flesh. After the initial reintroduction at her resurrection, the inevitable adjustment period, he was certain the differences would be minimal if not moot once everything was settled.
Isis, though, was a different animal entirely.
"Come now, Miss Ishtar, you're really going to hold your breath to the point of fainting?" Pegasus sighed wearily, observing the pallor of her face as her eyes trembled. "That's just a tad childish, don't you think? I thought we were going to be adults about this."
He angled his thumb from its 90 degree orientation to 45 in the notch and envisioned trying to dig for her heart, yet Isis kept her lips sealed. Pegasus felt and heard a grinding wail roll about in her throat, a wretched, unattractive sound to his ears, but still, he smiled. Her endurance was something to be admired, yet he knew what the end result would be. For all her stubbornness and willpower, all that intention and discipline, even arcane magic could not best basic biology. That handy mechanism, that vital piece of her brain stem, his helpful friend and the bane of her resolve, would give the command—
Right...
About...
Now.
Breathe.
Her lips and teeth parted in a desperate gasp for air to compensate for her choked windpipe, and her cry at her mind's betrayal was short-lived when Pegasus dumped all the contents of the glass into her gaping maw. Her cheeks bulged when she tried to spit it out, but Pegasus clamped his hand over her face, digging his fingers into her cheekbones and compressing down while his thumb maintained an upward pressure on her mandible. A paltry amount squirted through her lips and an embarrassing quantity sputtered through her nostrils, giving the appearance of an aggressive nose bleed and leaking out over Pegasus hand, but most of it had raced down her esophagus when she swallowed.
"It really is good wine," Pegasus commented with a lifted brow. "A shame some of it spilled, but you need not worry about that. There's plenty more in the cellar."
He loosened his grip on her face and took his knee out of her pelvis, placing the now empty glass aside. He reached into the chest pocket of his blazer to retrieve a handkerchief while Isis gritted her teeth in a shaky hiss, head rolling back on the table with a miserable, defeated moan. She quietly sobbed as she refused to look at the man leaning above her, and she recoiled from his touch when he dabbed at her face to clean up the wasted wine between her intermittent sniffles and coughs. When he finished wiping her face and his hand, he tossed the dirtied cloth to the side and reached down for her once more. Pegasus pursed his lips in sympathy and made a "tsk" sound between his teeth, caressing her jawline and massaging the base of her skull.
"Oh, Isis, you poor thing," he lulled, leaning into the side of her head and nuzzling her ear. "I've been so looking forward to seeing Cecelia again, but I must confess I've become quite attached to you as well. You've not only given me hope, but you've been such a comfort to me this past year. If only we could have met sooner, or in another place, under different circumstances. Who knows? Perhaps Fate would be so kind as so we can meet in another life."
Curtains, stone, and candlelight melted into a hypnotic spiral, and Isis was uncertain if the urge to vomit came from the tainted wine seeping into the lining of her stomach or his lips grazing the line of her jaw. She could think of no greater hell than be damned to be entwined with this man.
"Now, now, Isis, dry those tears," he murmured against her wet cheek. "I understand. Really, I do. This year together has been so precious, but with the ritual over the horizon, our time alone is finite, and I must, above all, be loyal to my wife."
Isis wanted to scream, but nothing came out. The multi-colored tornado in her vision formed a haze to the edges, Cecelia's portrait stretching and condensing its proportions on the wall. She felt her mouth watering and her legs were weightless, the ache in her wrists and back fading. In her daze, she thought she felt his hands wander over her torso and slide further down to grasp her thighs, pulling them over his hips and pressing something firm against her stomach.
"However, until that night comes," Pegasus purred into her neck, "I will thank you properly."
Author's Notes: Not too much to say on this one (aside from "ick"). I originally wasn't going to have Isis in the cop outfit at all in this story, as it was supposed to be an isolated thing for the first teaser poster I put up back in September, which was also supposed to be a parody to the Beyond Reanimator "Move Your Dead Bones" music video, due of the Frankenstein-esque theme (and it's a catchy tune).
But the theme of prison and authority was so prevalent in this chapter, the cop outfit stuck and the gum scenario got in there too. Sorry, Isis.
Stay tuned for the next chapter on the 19th of October.
Or just stop reading here and find something in a more jovial vein, because if you think this story is bad already...