Prologue: The Arising -
The storm finally broke. Illuminated in stark white flashes of lightning, the
castle squatted on its rocky perch, high above the skeletal late autumn forest,
its four unevenly spaced spiky turrets giving it the appearance against the
night sky of some hideously misshapen lurking beast, waiting for its prey...
***
The noise of the storm was to some extent muffled by three feet of solid stone
walls, but the staccato of rain lashing the windows disturbed the peace of the
great hall. Fat white candles sputtered on their heavy iron sconces as a chill
breeze occasionally nibbled at their flames. The fire popped and crackled
beneath the high stone mantel, its flickering light twisting the cherubs' faces
of the cherubs carved upon it into something malevolent, demonic. They stared
unseeingly across the cavernous room, the well-worn heavy oak furniture, and
over the cold stone flags to the huge brass-bound wooden door, set into a stone
niche at the far end.
***
Water dripped slowly but incessantly, the echoes rising up to the vaulted
ceiling, there to be lost in the deep darkness. A heavy, still darkness, like
molasses. Nothing else could be heard in the cellars, not even the rage of the
storm fifteen feet and a hundred tons of stone above. Even the rats eschewed the
place.
All was still. Then, a whisper of air, and in each corner of the chamber, dried
bundles of wood tied together into an inverted cone and strapped to the damp
stone with brackets of blackened iron suddenly burst into flame, illuminating
all but the uppermost reaches of the vaulted ceiling with a fierce yellow light.
Beneath a plain carved arch at the rear of the long chamber lay four featureless
stone biers, mere rectangular blocks. Upon each bier, fitting its dimensions
exactly, rested a long, polished box of a deep dark wood, also rectangular. The
dancing torchlight was reflected in the rich reddish surface of the wood.
In the blinking of an eye, the lid of one of the boxes lifted and slid smoothly
and silently upright. Inside, lay the body of a young woman. Her face was thin,
almost pixie-like, with high cheek bones, its milky white complexion framed with
long, shining raven hair, curling freely down past her shoulders. She lay in
perfect repose.
The torches flared as if caressed by an unexpected breeze. Almond-shaped green
eyes suddenly flicked open, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She sat up, as if
pulled by strings. The porcelain features remained still, expressionless; she
might have been a china doll. With a curiously smooth, almost mechanical motion,
as if she were not in charge of her own body, she rose to her feet. In another
blink of an eye, she stood on the cold flags of the cellar floor, with no
indication as to how she got there. Her slender form was wrapped in a shining
silk corset of deep crimson, which nipped her waist and pushed up her smooth
white breasts. Her trim legs were encased in black silk stockings, running up to
the pale marble of her thighs, and fastened to the corset by black garters. On
her small feet were laced black patent leather ankle boots, with a tapering two
inch-heel. Red opera gloves spun a web of silk from her fingers to her elbows,
broken only by the thick glossy leather cuffs around each wrist, strapped tight
and held with silver buckles. Two silver rings were clipped together, holding
her wrists crossed, and resting in the small of her back. A crimson scarf of
pure silk parted her ruby lips, holding them slightly apart. Her bloodless
cheeks bulged slightly indicating that there was more of the smooth soft
material inside her mouth, ensuring her silence.
Time passed, a mere few heartbeats, then the woman appeared to come to life. A
small red flame began to twinkle from the depths of her shining pupils, a quiet
moan from her cloth-filled mouth. She turned smoothly, and heels tapping on the
stone floor, moved over to the box next to hers. It was identical in every way,
yet she sank lithely to the floor, falling gracefully into a kneeling position
with her legs open, exposing her naked and shaved crotch. She waited there, arms
held firmly behind her, as the second lid whispered open...
