Golden Girl

Epilogue

The first chill of Autumn was just beginning to bite into Summer's soft, ripe heat. The days were yet warm, but the nights were cool enough to raise gooseflesh. Livia shivered in the breeze as she crossed the courtyard of the Chateau. What was this place? What was happening here? She had always been told it was an honour to serve at the Duc's table, so she hadn't hesitated to volunteer herself upon returning home to her village from Paris. Well, in fairness, she hadn't come to the Chateau only for honour. She also had vague hopes of winning the Duc's favour, or at least gaining access to his fine silverware and cashbox. Times were hard. She needed something to keep her going. Even a night's wages would do.

Instead of a night's work, however, she had found herself forcibly stripped and her best dress (indeed, her only dress) torn to shreds. She had been subjected to a humiliating, frigid scrubbing. And now she was told she had to go stand in some frontispiece or other, still naked but for a few copper-wire ornaments in her nut-brown hair. All in all, Livia was not impressed with the way this estate was being run. She intended to let the staff know her thoughts on the matter at the first opportunity.

What did impress Livia was the opulence that surrounded her. The furniture was all antique and of the finest make. The glass windowpanes and mirrors had barely a ripple. As she was lead through the main dining hall, she caught tantalizing glimpses of crystal and silver on the table. She wanted to stay there, but the footmen who were taking her group to the frontispiece hurried her onwards. She was marched through a larger, more lavish hallway and finally into a grand Gothic foyer. Well, surely they couldn't keep an eye on her all night. She could slip away, find something to cover herself and something to put things in...

"Here!" The footman suddenly stopped, holding an arm in front of her. Unable to stop herself in time, Livia ran into his open hand. The footman took the opportunity to fondle her ample breasts.

"Salaud!" She snapped, jerking back and throwing off his hand.

The footman snorted and elbowed his companion casually.

"She has spirit. I like this one."

Just as casually, he seized Livia's wrist and twisted it until she came to her knees before him, squeaking in pain. He pressed her face into his crotch while saying,

"You can bark, girl, but you can't bite. Do it and you'll be punished in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

After five years on the streets of Paris, Livia could imagine quite it a bit. It was not the threat, but the tone that stilled her. That was the tone of someone used to obedience. Even as a minor functionary, he knew he could get away with treating her this way, and in front of witnesses, too. There must be a much more powerful figure behind him -one that backed up petty bullies and then made the bullies fall in line themselves. Until she knew who that was, there was no point in fighting.

Livia remained on her knees, breathing in his musky scent, until she was told to rise. She received a pat on the bum for her compliance. She wanted to snarl at him but held her temper for now.

The men led her to a niche in the wall flanked by two columns with silver rings embedded in them. Once she was in the niche, her wrists and ankles were fitted into manacles and chained to the rings. Livia has spent her fair share of time in the stockade, but this was the first time she had ever been chained in the vestibule of a great mansion. The view here was much nicer. More marble, plush rugs. She could hear a quartet tuning their instruments on the other side of the hall. There were other niches, too, where other young women and men -all younger than her- were chained just as she was. Most of the girls were tearful and their cheeks were stained red with shame. Inexperienced country girls, Livia thought. Though she had to admit, it was unnerving to be so exposed. Gooseflesh rose again on her skin, not from cold, but from the sense that at any moment a dagger could be driven into her vulnerable belly. A dagger of steel, or one of flesh. Despite her bravado, her hands clenched, pulling against the chains as a powerful, instinctive reflex to defend herself took hold of her. The chains clanked against the stone of the column.

A passing guard rapped her thigh with the butt of his spear.

"Quiet down."

Livia stopped moving. May as well wait this one out until she could come up with a better plan.

Soon enough, people began to arrive at the main door. Livia pegged them as nobility by their dress and manner, but she didn't recognize any of them. No, wait, there was one she knew, all dressed in black and scarlet. It was the Marquise Rufina, wasn't it? Livia had seen her carriage sometimes in Paris, always in the winter. Now, to her shock (and secret thrill), she saw that this respected noblewoman was leading a woman and a man by collars about their necks, like dogs.

"On all fours now, Berenice. Luc, you too." She said. The pair dropped to their hands and knees and began to crawl. Livia winced to think of how the marble must hurt their kneecaps. But the woman seemed to enjoy it -and bizarrely, so did the "dogs." Well, well. Who knew this was how nobles entertained themselves even outside the brothels?

Suddenly she heard an exclamation of joy, and another Lady came into the vestibule to greet the Marquise. She was clad all in cloth-of-gold and looked...

Livia shook her head. It couldn't be. For a second, it almost looked like her sister. But Dorée was a mousy, skinny, pious little girl. She would never nudge a nude man's cock with her toe, the way this Lady did to Rufina's male "dog." Dorée's hair had not curled so golden along a swan-like neck, and her décolletage had not been so deep and inviting. This was another woman entirely. It must be.

The two Ladies exclaimed together. The others watched them the way small fish watch large ones.

"Would you look at that," one nobleman near Livia's niche muttered to another. "When the nobility falls, the peasants will rise. This is the new way of the Chateau."

"The way of the world," the other man added. "Look at America."

"It'll be France next. And the peasants won't be content to serve once they're in charge, either."

The conversation trailed off uneasily.

A bell rang from inside the Chateau. The two Ladies both looked up at once, then gathered their human accessories and began to process towards the inner halls.

As the Golden Lady passed, her gaze flickered toward Livia. For a moment, she paused, her eyes haughty and assessing. She looked again, a small, uncertain frown creasing her brow. Then she shook her head and continued her procession into the inner reaches of the hall.

'Such a beautiful woman,' Livia thought idly. 'So sure of herself and in command. She must have been born into power, that Golden Lady.'

Of course, Livia had no idea of the sacrifices required to reach such a position in the Chateau.

At least, not yet.