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The Black Society
After a night filled with terrible dreams of my past, ones of family condemnation for my actions and my depravities I woke depressed and demoralized. I had not felt this low in weeks. It was like I was waking at last from a dream state, he had made me see glimpses of a reality and a future, and It was not as bleak as my previous keeper had painted.
There could be more, things like comfort, and security. I felt them from him. I turned over to touch him in the wide bed. The sheets were cold, he was not there. My dread dreams had held me so tightly this dawn he had risen and departed without my knowing. Frej would never have done this, an unkind kick or a slap would have woken me with surety.
I guess his long speech of the previous night had woken many things in myself. I had thought of Frej, and of his father a man I would never see but nonetheless a large part of his mythology. I still dreamt of Frej on an almost nightly basis with frightening reality, I had even woken screaming this one past.
Last night I had seen him in a particularly disturbing vision. He was in a wheelchair bound in a straitjacket and chained to it, he was ranting and raving, snarling at his keepers like a rabid beast. He saw me, I froze riveted by his hateful fury, viridian eyes on me like a tortured animal. Eyes that said if I ever get free you will die.
They took him past me to a metal cage the bars were so heavy I could not clearly see into it. They released him there, all I could see were the tips of his fingers through the small holes and his shadowy presence. He was shouting obscene profanities directed entirely at me. Captivity, it would kill him I knew.
I was still tired but I did not want to invite sleep and a sure resurgence of more ugly vivid dreaming, so I rose from the bed. Waking and continuing throughout the day was becoming a challenge, sleep called me to her fold. In the afternoons I now found I needed to sometimes lay down a while. I even overslept disgracefully on occasion. Master Svend did not punish me for this, I had expected to be. Though I punished myself with the thought I had not done all as I should.
I paused before leaving the bedroom this day registering the closet door was a jar. Her closet door. I had never seen it open before and I had not dared breach its sanctity. He had hung my small but growing collection of clothes in his own closet amongst his business suits, ironed shirts, and crisp formal attire.
Through that part open door an alluring glimpse of beautiful fabrics, sublime colors, every texture represented. I was drawn to his closet of sad memories. Furs, mink, fox, and ermine, carefully stored, the scent of her perfume and her body lingered there. I guess he still sought this comfort often, when my eyes were not on him in his unguarded moments alone. It was so very sad. Death, the final undeniable separation of love and souls.
My hands on the luxuriant fabrics, they slipped through my fingers, a beauteous rainbow of colors dazzling to my eyes. I could not imagine dressing like this, so sophisticated, being led on his arm. Attending parties and business functions, an adult in an adult world. Something I had never tasted. I felt I was intruding, touching the sacred, but I was irretrievably drawn like a treasure hunter to the prospect of finding the holy grail.
Ona had been tall, nothing she wore would have fit me well, however I could not help but try to imagine myself in all these fine clothes. A young girl's awakening day dream, a left over from the pangs of childhood. Nothing in this cupboard was of the ordinary, the boutique of a princess' fantasy and perhaps childishly I went there now. I put my foot in one of her elegant shoes, again disappointed for it was way too large.
"You would like to be in her shoes wouldn't you Lidia?"
I had not heard him, I had assumed wrongly he was gone for the day. To my horror he had just been in his office working from home.
Oh how careless of me.
I jumped swift to react, stupidly trying to conceal my fragrant investigation into a life and memories that were not mine to behold. I had slammed the door on myself and the hems of fine dresses in my haste. Caught red handed, embarrassed beyond telling.
He closed the distance between us, I shrunk from him. It was wrong to tamper with and possibly sully a grieving man's memories. I had no idea how he would react. He opened the cupboard wide, I saw him pause as though confronting a fierce demon. His hand then went to the hangers and with great care he selected a garment from amongst them. Passionate red satin, strapless, backless, figure hugging. He held it against me, he was silent and intense. I felt the undercurrents of fear overtaking my reason.
A sad rueful smile crossed his rugged features as he held it pressed against me. "Do you like this Lidia?"
I nodded in assent, most careful. His intensity was making me ever fearful.
"Put it on." He said.
I took the proffered edges of the fabric in nerveless fingers and slowly under his savage scrutiny stepped into the body of the dress. The crimson fabric slid over my skin like an angels caress, this was no two hundred dollar prom dress or something a woman just bought on a passing fancy. This was a man's gift, an expensive presentation to a woman of his heart.
He did the zipper up, lingering on my back, the lush warmth of his lips on my shoulders.
Was I still Lidia the simple slave girl in his deceased wife's dress, or was I now transformed, had I in effect become Ona to him?
Hands in my hair pulling it up away from my face and shoulders, twisting it into the semblance of a knot tight behind my head. His other hand on my throat, caressing seductive. This gorgeous creation was of course by far too lengthy, pulled taught in an ungainly fashion at my expanding belly, and too loose in the bodice. He did not appear to notice or care, he was lost in far distant memories. I felt dissociated and unsure, like a doll or a sculpture being admired in a gallery or museum.
The phone was repeatedly ringing in his office, he was in a trance immune to the cares of his work. I was sure now it was not me he saw swathed in her finery, but the past. He left me to stand, the heavy rich fabric cascading at my feet. He was again in the closet in her jewelry box, his powerful back presented to me.
I had sighted it there but was too intimidated to even attempt to open it. It was much like Birgitte's treasure trove, myriads of exotic stones and rare metals. He withdrew from its plush red velvet confines a twisted strand of black freshwater pearls and fastened them about my throat. It was not done any justice by the presence of my collar, it was made to be worn on its own uncluttered, a statement of taste.
Another reverent kiss bestowed languorously on my neck. I shivered purely at the sensation, pleasure and trepidation combined. "For you my slave." His voice deep, lustful, and dark.
