A Woman Named Morgana

If I were to start this story with a word, a word to sum it all up, I would pick "beauty". It's one of the simplest and overused words in the English language. It brings to mind things like sunshine, and women with delicate features. That's not the type of beauty I'm talking about. More like the kind of beauty that festers, lives and breaths under the sin. Don't get confused, I'm not talking about the act of good deeds. Good deeds do not exist, but perception does. What you see, becomes the truth, but there is always something lying underneath.

The beauty I'm talking about has teeth and claws. It comes to you in your sleep and makes you see to the very bottom of your soul, to the true things that you believe, to the secrets you keep from respected society. These things you carry with you, they are beautiful, but they are forbidden. This kind of beauty can kill. Reaches inside you and squeezes out your life. It is unprotected, it is banished and it takes its revenge in the form of anger and spite. We are more than we appear. We are animals trapped in tight clothing. Roaming to dark places in our heads, we search for the answers to questions that seem too dark to ask. We find them in the darkened corners of the night where lines are invisible. We commit sins, and shed blood, writhing in pleasure, our hands hot on skin, feeling, moving, as our demons are released and set free. We become more truly ourselves in these moments of decadent freedom. We know God cannot protect us from what we already are. It is beauty that closes our eyes and takes us to his mercy. When we wake up; Harsh light.

In the morning we try to wrap ourselves, once again, in white cloth. We pull it tight over the bleeding flesh. The tighter we pull the more the blood starts to soak through the sheet. Spreading and showing us for what we really are. Masks, smiling into the gloom waiting the unveiling.

*

The first time I saw her, it must have been the first of August. I'm not sure, really. The use of cocaine over the years has made it impossible to remember dates. I do remember that I had one of the strongest feelings I have ever felt. It breached even the cocaine. She was a beauty unlike any other. Aloof, she entered the room, her delicate pink dress swaying behind her ankles. She reminded me of the vampire movies I had seen over the years. A mistress from a darker reality, coming to feed on humanity. That all changed when she smiled. All traces of the underworld vanished leaving a sweetness that called to me. Her dress was of a pale pink that molded and almost disappeared against her skin. I felt that if I ran my hand down her back I would never know where her dress ended and her flesh began. Her body was soft and curved under the sweet silk. It made you want to touch her just to feel her body give way to the pressure you created. I imagined, that if I bit into her sweet flesh she would taste like strawberries with a hint of chocolate.

Her eyes were the color of cold lakes. Piercing and blue, looking striking against her blushing skin and radiant strawberry colored hair. It was the look in her eyes that made me shiver. She was so defiantly separate from the rest of us humans. She knew secrets that she might whisper to a waiting ear in the middle of the night.

Ah! I cant even tell you how fast I would have her undressed and laying face down. I like things a little harsher than is usually appropriate. Although she looked like an angel, I imagined this sweet-faced girl could take what I would give to her. She may even be able to teach me a few tricks. Beneath the layers of pink lace and silk, I saw a piece of evil. There was guilt under her blushes. I didn't know what character trait I possessed that made it possible for me to see it, but it was there and it glowed like hidden warmth under her skin. I wanted a piece of it. I wanted it all.

Like a cold wind I was reminded exactly where I was and why. Through a colleague I had been invited to a fundraiser for some saddening disease. I remember looking at that brochure and seeing the name of some disease, that at this point in time, I can't remember. There are always reasons to feel guilty and cough up thousands of dollars just to save another impoverished or sick and dying child. Not that I have anything against sick and dying children, but they seem to increase in number no matter how much time you spend at these functions.

I turned away from the beauty that bewitched the evening. Under normal circumstances I would have snatched the chance to go after such a woman, but this was not that chance. I already new she was married to the host of this ridiculous extravaganza. Her name was Morgana Row, the daughter of Welsh nobility. Her husband, Mr. Derenik Row, was wealthy and rumored to have quite a few side ventures aside from Morgana. Whether or not this bothered the woman I never found out. Morgana herself kept the gossips busy. They said she made a habit of dabbling in all types of voodoo mischief and took lovers that seemed to disappear after their encounters with Morgana. Some thought she used their remains in spells. Other, more practical minded people assumed Derenik had them killed after finding out about their affairs with his wife. These stories always made people squirm in public and whisper in private.

"Ambrose! Dear god, man. You're drinking all the punch. You're gonna pass out where you stand". Dax Girard was the damned colleague who had brought me to this shindig in the first place. Frittering away behind him were two gorgeous and scantily clad women waiting for the next dropping of his affection. It amazed me how one man can create a wave among women that no one else can seem to touch.

"Whatever man, you know this stuff isn't my drug of choice. I see you've received the attention you came for". The flittery women moved closer to his side and seemed to be trying to imprint their bodies into Dax.

"Yea. My French beauties and I are gonna be headin' out. I was wondering if you'd like to come with us". Ah, an invitation for the poor soul who cant score on his own. So easy it was to fall into the pit of the pitied. Wrapping my pride up in my words I told Dax I would meet him at the door in a few minutes, I only needed to get my coat.

You could say that past that point it was a total blur and you'd would be accurate in the fact that my inebriated state limited my ability to communicate or remember the following events. I was walking towards the coatroom when I felt a slight hand placed on my shoulder. A voice as sweet as summer nectar whispered a greeting and all became hazy. I had been approached by my fallen angel, my vampire in pink silk. I could smell the strawberries before I even turned around. Unlike some women I have met, she was just as stunning up close as she was far away. My first instinct was to touch her hair. It seemed like my hand might pass right through it. Placing my hands in my pocket we talked lightly, passing back and forth simple conversational masterpieces until she asked me to come to her room. The exact words at this point have been lost to me. She cast her spell, and I fell under without a single protest.

Coffee brown drapes framed a full moon and shinning stars. Her bed was crimson with white Egyptian cotton sheets. The hotel where the party had been held was of the highest quality and the subsequent suite where Morgana was staying was radiant with its richness. Nothing in the room, however, surpassed her beauty.

The world seemed to glow with pleasure and light. Radiating from the core, the lamps cast an ethereal gold hue on all that their delicate beams touched. Her voice played off the soft music in the background, and the words muddled together like the sounds of a sweet summer brook. I felt warmth that I had only ever felt on one of my best highs. I wondered at the effect this woman was having on me, but found no danger in it. Drawing nearer to me I fell deeper within the haze. She cast trails of pleasure as she ran her fingers across my skin.

I was absolutely euphoric. Nothing could have harmed me, and my body beamed with pleasure and energy. She was everywhere around me, I could hear her voice in my head, soothing me, singing to me in her honeyed voice. Her body covered me, as I lay amazed at how quickly we had gotten undressed. I could feel the warmth of her breasts against my chest and the heat of her thighs against my legs. She was so close to me, and for all my apparent happiness, I could not bring my body to move. Kissing her way down the length of my torso, she burned through my skin with the heat she generated. I wanted to reach up and force her around me, but I could not bring my arms to lift off the soft white sheets.

She rose her face and placed her hands between my legs. The sensation was more than I could take and I cried out. The room reeled with pleasure and surged up into a near climax. She whispered something about seeing me watch her as she entered the room. She spoke so hushed like low notes from a flute. I wanted more of everything, of her, of her hands, her voice. I was addicted and couldn't get enough.

A knock at the door threw me off a little but did nothing to lessen my desire. Morgana rose to her feet and threw a white terry cloth robe over her shoulders. As she walked to the door, my mind started to clear.

Looking around at my surroundings, I saw them through clear eyes. It was like a cloud being lifted from my eyes. The drapes I had imagined being a warm coffee color were actually a drab dirty brown, torn apart by what looked like quite a vicious opponent. What I could see of the carpet was a mushy tan mess with wet spots near the walls. The crimson comforter was worn and had wholes dotting it's surface. Some angry aggressor had smashed in the room's TV screen and the walls had been dragged across by some clawed demon.

Blood was everywhere. I could not look in one direction without seeing some sign of the red liquid. I started to panic and struggled to sit up. What I found was my body would not respond to any command I sent it. I couldn't move. I wasn't restrained by anything. There were no ropes or leather thongs, just me lying helpless on a dirty bloodied bed. I wanted to scream, but as soon as I opened my mouth to cry for help I felt a sharp pain across my face that forced me to close my mouth.

Tears ran down my cheeks. I didn't know what I had gotten myself into and don't remember being presented a choice. I was a prisoner of some unearthly force that refused to present itself. I was helpless and alone and I had no other choice than to bear what the devil may have in store for me.

Then she returned; the unearthly force and my captive. With one look from those lakes of ice, I was in a head once again. I frothed over with near climax and my body surged for her touch. There was no darkness and no blood. She was the one who had to set me free and I was willing to do anything to feel a bit of release. In the back of my mind I was screaming.

She lowered her head right near my ear. She said that for the rest of my life, this is how it would be. She would be all that would give me pleasure, and all I would live for. She promised me that at night I would burn and bellow her name. I would want her with such intensity that I would claw the walls to get to her. Moving her lips to the skin at my neck, I prayed for an orgasm, one form of release. She had me strung, and I wanted nothing more than to feel the pleasure.

I felt only a prick as her teeth slid under my skin. I could feel the moving of my blood from my veins to her mouth. With every draw she took, I grew closer to my release. With every drink, she worked me up. I was so tense, so ready, so close. The pleasure just kept mounting on top of itself. Finally, she slid her body down around me, and I let go. I was given the power to cry out like I never have. My arms were freed to push her down around me as I filled her. As I sank back down as she finished her feeding. Then there was darkness.

I can't tell you, Reader, how long I have been here. Really, I can't tell you where "here" is. I can tell you that it is dark and possibly underground. There are stone walls and iron doors. No windows decorate my cell. I've heard voices around me, yet I have never seen another like me. She is the only one I see now. She is the devil of my daylight hours and the Angel of my night. I cry for her when she is not here and can not get enough of her when she is. I have scratched the walls until my fingers bled in need of her touch. She is my drug and I have never needed cocaine again. I starve here, Reader, and yet I am fed. Fed the blood of strangers. I do not know what I am, if I am like her, or merely hungry and desperate. My needs, my wants are lost to the oblivion and my days are filled with worship to my Goddess. There is no more for me, Reader. I am a prisoner. I am a prisoner of a beauty that kills. Do not feel sad for me, Reader. We are all prisoners in our own way. I yearn for what I must have and one day, what I must have will kill me.