Ragdoll

I am nearly pinned upon my back beneath the Demon Bitch. I claw and scrape and kick, seeking desperately to scurry back, to avoid and to escape the sinuous tail that darts and plunges against my robes, between my legs. It snakes and thrashes, guided by the wicked intent of its owner, seeking to pierce the core of me. She seeks to defile me, to make me what she is. This is the way of the scourge. It compels them beyond all other drives.

A cat sized black widow spider jumps from the Demon's shoulder, pouncing upon my thigh. It skitters its way quickly until it looms hideous and obscene between my breasts, hissing at me and clicking its mandibles threateningly. The Bitch is silent, deadly, eyes blazing amber gold as she leers at me. I see the vestige of Victoria in this fallen creature and I want to scream. For a moment, time seems frozen. My thoughts shift backward to the morn of this day.

* * *

A wind too hot for the dawn of autumn swirls around the convent courtyard. Dry brown leaves cavort against worn cobblestones. The sound is like a death rattle. A statue of la Pucelle stands vigilant nearby.

There are four of us gathered together in the morning shadows. Divine Mother speaks to us in soft tones, her voice trembling just a little, seemingly with age. She is serenity and grace, and I wish that one day I might be like her. Her countenance is veiled within the cowl of her pearl white robe. I have never seen her face. Tiffany stands close beside me, to my right. Jos is a pillar of strength and resolve poised protectively to my left.

Mother tells us that the veil is always thin at this time of year, but that at twenty year intervals, the veil becomes so fragile that it is possible to cross between planes of existence.

I slip my hand into Tiffany's hand as Mother explains that the veil separates creation, life, and joy from destruction, death, and despair. We three are here in this place, at this time, because we must do something vital, and, should we fail, a scourge which comes will unleash a campaign of lust and vile depravity upon us all.

Spirits will cross the veil but even the worst of these can do little to harm the living. It is the Demon Lords and Bitches who will wreak havoc upon us, corrupting the flesh and souls of mortals in order to swell their ranks. Those who are innocent, mostly children, are simply consumed, their souls ripped from their mortal shells and fed upon, erased from existence. This is an abomination against the creator.

We are to bring a ward which has been kept hidden to a place of refuge across the city. This is where the children are gathered. The ward will save them at least.

Mother hands a small wooden box to me. I release Tiffany's hand and accept the box from Mother. I feel reverence but also fear. It is a simple thing with a few vague carvings cut into its surface. Mother extends her hands and places her fingers at specific locations around the box. Her touch is light and she applies no pressure. I still cannot see her visage. She asks me if I see the pattern. When I nod, she drops her hands, but leans close to me and whispers that I will know when the time is come to open the box, but that if I should open it before the proper time, all will be lost.

Mother moves to Tiffany and then in turn to Jos, whispering something to each of them that only they can hear. They look at me. They understand what they must do. I see it in their eyes. Each of them loves me.

* * *

It is afternoon now but the sky is dark, ominous, unsettled. The heat has become oppressive. We have made our way into the verdant central park in the middle of the city. We stand beneath a great oak. All is still. We rest for a few moments, and then move onward.

We exit from the park beneath a crumbling stone archway, emerging onto a long cobblestone street. In the distance I see the old cathedral. It stands majestic, inspiring, a bastion upon a hill in the middle of a lake. One long arching bridge offers the only access across the water. This is our goal.

Behind us, there is a sound like thunder, tenfold, and the ground trembles. Unseen as we flee, an abyss opens in the center of the park. It is a tear in the fabric of the veil. A Demon Prince, first among his kind, emerges. He lifts his malevolent gaze to the heavens briefly before growling harsh commands in the language of Hell to others who have now appeared all around him. They are hooved beings with flesh like molten copper, beautiful wicked nightmare creatures of carnal lust.

A female slinks to a nearby male and assumes the position, on hands and knees, her jutting breasts against the earth, her backside raised. The male takes her roughly, his bull-like cock forced into her ass, leaving her cunt empty. She ruts with complete abandon upon him, clawing with one hand at her sex as he fucks her.

We see a shop or a home nearby with its door ajar and we seek refuge within. We feel safe momentarily, but we know it will not last. Jos beckons us to move upstairs. We need to be able to see the Demon horde and plan our course to the bridge. I hope that reaching it is still a possibility. We will try.

Screams resound as the scourge begins to move across the city. The cathedral is a limited sanctuary for the children and their guardians. Many will be lost this day.

* * *

It is just past dusk. We are near the base of the bridge, hidden in dense shrubbery. Acrid smoke drifts around us. Much of the city burns. There are Demons all around us. It seems a miracle that we have not yet been discovered. Jos looks at me. I know what he will say. I shake my head from side to side and then embrace him fiercely. His arms enfold me firmly. I breathe. Tiffany places a hand upon my shoulder gently, and leans to kiss Jos upon his cheek. It is a farewell but I can hope. I slip from Jos's arms and steel myself. He slips away into the night to distract the Demons nearest to the bridge.

I glance upward at the harvest moon. Tiffany and I move forward, onto the bridge, keeping to the darkest shadows. We know that there are Demons here, but most have not yet moved onto the bridge. They seem to be waiting for something.

We are near midspan, but still closer to the city than to the cathedral when the attack comes. A Demon Bitch charges us. She strikes Tiffany first, knocking her sprawling and dazing her. The Bitch tenses, almost imperceptibly, and then she launches herself upon me. I fall, backward, against rough stone, scraping my flesh where my robe tears.

The memories flicker into wisps, gone now, moments never to be regained. It is the present.

Victoria tears at my robes with her razor sharp talons, exposing me. I am more naked now than clothed.

The arachnid skitters to one side of my face and flexes its limbs, moving its body up and down, almost as if in anticipation of what will come.

Victoria draws herself upright fully, displaying a body made for sin. Lithe yet impossibly voluptuous, her every attribute is subtly more than any human female could possess. Above all else, she is a creature made for sexual debauchery. She whips her tail back, behind her, and then coils it forward between her thighs, bringing the tip to the entrance of her glistening dark lipped cunt. She thrusts it sharply inside herself and grips it with one taloned hand, slowly stroking it as she would do if it were the thick bull-cock of a Demon Lord who fucked her.

She pulls the tail from within herself and drops down upon me once more. Her power is far beyond my own, and there is nothing that I can do as the tip of her tail glides upward along my inner thigh, seeking its prize and my corruption. I feel the brush of her molten copper flesh against me as her tits rub against my breasts. I gasp, anticipating entry to my sex.

I see a blur just to the left of me. It is Tiffany. She is running toward us. In the smallest part of a moment, I know what she intends. I scream. It is primal, from the heart and soul of me. I cannot stop her. An agonizing cry of grief immeasureable chokes my scream as I watch the pair, Tiffany and Victoria, tumble over the side of the bridge and downward into darkness toward the surface of the lake far below.

I am on my stomach, my hands pressed to the stone, peering down into the darkness. There is nothing. I sob, but I know that I must continue. I try to gather my tattered robe about me but it is a hopeless effort. At least I still possess the box, the thing that I must protect and carry forward. I still do not know its power.

I raise myself to my knees and behold the most unlikely thing. Divine Mother is running toward me. She does not run like an old woman. She wields a gleaming silver sword. It is a crusader's blade with a cross for its hilt. Victoria's widow spider is impaled upon its tip. She flings the arachnid away into the night and races onward.

The cowl of her pearl white robe falls back as she reaches me. My eyes widen with unbridled surprise. She appears young, not much older than me. Her auburn hair falls in long radiant waves midway down her back. There is a glow to her. I see a great wisdom and a deep sadness in her hazel eyes. I stand and she embraces me. She asks me if I still possess the box. I show it to her and she nods.

We wait. He comes. The Prince of Demons begins his ascent upon the bridge. The horde follows in his wake.

Divine Mother tells me that I must remain where I am. I must not come to her aid and I must not flee toward the cathedral, not yet at least. The most important thing is about to happen. She kisses my cheek softly. Her scent is of flowers. She turns and walks a short way back along the bridge toward the approaching scourge. She jams the point of the sword downward into a seam between stones at the center of the bridge and then pads a few more steps beyond it. She kneels, awaiting him.

As the Prince approaches Divine Mother he barks commands in deep guttural bass chords to those who follow him. They stop. They seethe. Their lust is insatiable but they will not disobey him.

Heavy cloven hooves clatter against the stone as he strides toward Mother on legs as thick as the trunks of small trees. His partially erect cock is darkly magnificent, thick, and vein lined, much larger than that of any mortal male. Heavy round leathery ball sacks hang firmly suspended at its throbbing base. I imagine the vile seed roiling within them. Black horns are his crown. His eyes blaze like amber jewels set in his harsh cruel visage.

Mother looks to him, her gaze unflinching. Slowly she rises before him. She seems so small and delicate now. With a deft graceful sweep of her hands she draws open her robe and lets it fall around her feet. She steps toward him, naked. His nostrils flare. He scents her cunt. His gaze shifts to the looming cathedral and then snaps back to her. Mother turns. He looms behind her. She is the divine feminine. To the male beholder she is lush, ripe, intoxicating, vulnerable, desirable in every possible way. The Prince cannot resist the taking of her.

I watch, both horrified and enthralled, as Mother lowers herself slowly onto her hands and knees like a beast. Her radiant auburn tresses fall gently against the stone. I wonder if she closes her eyes as the Prince comes forward to mount her.

He moves against Mother. Coal black talon tipped digits bruise her flawless flesh as he grasps her hips and readies himself to enter her. His bullish cock is swollen, hard, throbbing with lust. He forces the head of his cock between her nether lips, opening her, seeking the way into the hot wet rapture of her clenching cunt. He growls as he claims her, thrusting powerfully into her depths as far as she can possibly receive him.

Divine Mother cries out. It is a poignant cry of wounded pain, bitter loss, and ultimate sacrifice. It is a sound I will never forget.

The Prince uses her, fucks her, ruins her. I watch with revulsion as he comes, slamming her prone against the rough stone beneath her. He holds her hips up and I can see his wracking final thrusts as he ejaculates his vile seed inside her. Finally, he slows. He lowers his head to her alabaster shoulder and sinks his wicked fangs into her divinity.

Mother has gone quiet. Her body trembles. She lifts her head and looks to me. Now is the time.

I press my fingers around the box as I was shown. It opens with a click. A scrap of parchment falls to the stone where I kneel, but otherwise, the box is empty. An intense sickening fear rises within me. I begin to retch.

My gaze is drawn back to Mother as an Angelic light gathers around her fallen form. I see her tears and I begin to understand. The light is not gathering around her. It is leaving her. The light coalesces into an argent sphere too bright to look upon. The Demons avert their sight. I pray. In a time less than the blink of an eye, the argent flame of heaven streaks to me and suffuses me with its grace. The glow fades. I do not know it now but from this day forward I will only age a year in a decade.

Mother begins to convulse upon the stone. The change begins. Her flesh darkens from alabaster pink to molten red. Her lower legs contort, reshaping themselves. Hooves form. Her fingers lengthen and nails become blackened talons. Her perfectly formed breasts swell and ripen into jutting tits made to drive males mad with lust, to be pinched and pulled and sucked upon. Her waist thins. Hips swell. Her spine curves and her bottom rises. Last, her features shift and eyes begin to blaze like flaming amber jewels. She looks at me and hisses, but then she begins to fade, to become gossamer. In a moment, the entire Demon horde is gone. The veil is closed. Mother's sacrifice delayed and distracted just long enough. We are saved, but she is damned.

I find the scrap of parchment where it fell, and lift it from the stone. In simple flowing script is written just a name, Elizabeth. She was Elizabeth.

* * *

A few days later I sit at a rough wooden desk in Elizabeth's old room. It is my room now. My hand is poised, holding a writing quill above a small blank scrap of parchment. I hesitate but then I lower the quill and carefully write my name, Violet. I add a little flourish to the V so that it appears much like a heart. I set the quill aside and lean forward. I blow gently upon the parchment to dry the ink.

My gaze shifts to the waiting wooden puzzle box. After a moment, with delicate fingers, I lift the scrap which bears my name and set it within the box. I press it closed and hear a soft click as it latches. I have twenty years.