Absinthe: Love Lie Stone

The cool darkness of the crypt was pierced by the harsh glare of a flashlight. With deliberate purpose, the circle of light traveled along the pale beige walls, down to the grey dust-covered floor, revealing long-concealed divots in the stone. The light shook slightly as the black-clad woman carrying the flashlight started at the sight.

With the sharp click of her high-heeled boots on the cold stone the only companion, the woman walked over to the markings on the floor. Dropping a large black carryall bag to the floor beside her, she looked around, shining the long, black flashlight on the harsh surfaces of the tomb. Reflected light from the walls flashed in her grey eyes.

A determined look on her pale face, she knelt down and opened the bag. Setting the flashlight down, the woman began pulling items from the bag and setting them on the floor. Soon, she lit three black candles and placed them in a triangular pattern around herself.

Turning off the flashlight, she put both it and the now-empty bag to one side away from the candles, and began shaking a small vial of powdered incense in a circle, leading from one candle to another. The orange light of the candle set off the paleness of her skin against her black lipstick and eye makeup as she carefully drew the circle completely around her.

Tossing the vial into the carryall, the woman opened a small ornately-fashioned book with her lace-gloved hands. Leafing through the worn pages, she selected one particular passage. Carefully, she placed the open book into the divots her flashlight had earlier revealed on the stone floor.

Hesitating in the stillness, the woman looked up at the patterns of light and shadow the candles cast on the ceiling. She closed her eyes, turned her head down to the book, and opened them again. Softly, she began to read aloud from the book.

A nursery rhyme from her childhood is what she read. A short lyric tale of heroic guardians, of the spirits of the earth; of castles and knights, of maidens and creatures both fey and terrible. Primarily, it was a song of imagination given life, of human hope and desire animating that which did not live on its own but now moves and lives and loves.

With each line she read, the air surrounding her began to shimmer and change. As she read the rhyme, a faint sound began seemingly from the walls of the crypt. It was as though the pale stone began to take on a life of its own, powered by the candles, by the incense, by the story, but most of all powered by the pain and hope in the voice of the woman reading the story.

Her tale finished, the woman closed her eyes. Opening them after a moment, the candlelight flickered over the film of tears just forming.

'Why do you cry, Absinthe,' a low, soft male voice said in front of the woman.

Breathing a short gasp, the woman stared open-mouthed at the figure sitting on the floor. A few feet from the circle of candles and incense, the firelight picked out a statue of a powerfully-built man, made from the same pale beige stone as the walls and floor. The face of the statue had a gentle, angular face, with two large curved horns on either temple, with large, caring eyes. This statue sat where moments before there had been nothing but dust and cobwebs.

'Please, Absinthe,' the statue spoke again. 'Are you sad?'

'I...I,' Absinthe began. 'Are you really real?'

The statue smiled. 'As real as the stone you kneel upon, my lady. As real as your own hopes and dreams. Those same hopes and dreams that brought me here.'

Absinthe was silent for a moment. 'So it did work,' she began. 'Those dreams I have been having were true after all.'

'Tell me of those dreams, Absinthe.'

'How do you know my name?'

With a softness seemingly out of place for such an imposing figure, the statue spoke carefully and gently. 'I know all who love that story with all their heart. I have known you since you first read that story on your own, after finding it in that collection of old books and clothing in your grandmothers attic. It was that love that called me here.'

Hesitating for a moment, the statue continued. 'That love, and something stronger, something you have recently found out about yourself. Please tell me of your dreams; I think they hold part of the secret of how you called me.'

'I...well, I have seen some strange things these past few months,' she began, studying how the statue moved before her. How it seemed that muscles rippled and flowed just beneath the stony surface, and that if she reached out and touched it, the stone would seem warm.

'I have seen things that were dead get up and walk around. I have seen monsters drain the blood from my friends. I have seen normal people grasp chairs and turn them into flaming weapons to use against these monsters without...without any way to have lit them, first.

'Since I began seeing these things, I have been having vicious dreams...nightmares, really...about death and monsters. About angels in human form, and about devils also masquerading as human, all battling in our world and stealing our life, our future, away from humanity.'

She paused again. 'Recently, however, I have been having new dreams, ones about a...well, a small rag doll I had when I was a kid. I loved that doll, dearly, but I don't remember what happened to it. Anyway, in these new dreams, that doll talks to me, telling me about how all I need is imagination and willpower to defeat these monsters, these outside forces. Using imagination to reshape the world to get rid of the...well, the creatures and other things that would use and destroy us.

'So, began remembering these dreams more and more during the day, and sort of...began thinking of ways to use my imagination. To, ah, to reshape things.

Shivering slightly, Absinthe hugged herself. The statue reached out a hand, past the circle of incense and candles, to her. 'And this brought you back to the book of stories you have here,' he said.

Slowly, Absinthe touched the stone hand with her own, and found that the stone was indeed warm. It also did not feel like stone, but more like soft leather, with a slightly gritty texture. 'Yes,' she continued, after a moment.

'I remembered some seance-type stuff I used to do here in this old crypt with a few other Goth friends. You know, get all dressed up, like this,' she smiled, looking down on her black lace and cloth dress and torn black stockings in tall leather boots. 'The whole angst-thing. Play some Nine Inch Nails and Killing Joke, pull out a Ouija board and black candles and try to talk to the dead.'

She paused, the smile falling from her lips. 'Of course, that was before I found out that the dead can sometimes talk back.'

Shaking herself slightly, taking a tighter grip on the statues' hand, she continued. 'Anyway, I just thought that it would be, you know, cool to experiment with something lighter. And I have always loved "The Stone Knight", so...'

Absinthe looked up. 'That's you, isn't it? From "The Stone Knight". You are Apostolis, right.'

The statue smiled. 'Yes, I suppose I am. And you recited that rhyme hoping that I would appear...' he trailed off.

Absinthe blushed. 'Well, yeah, I guess. I didn't really know why I was doing it. It just seemed right, and, well, and my rag doll said it was a good idea.'

She laughed. 'I guess that seems crazy, doing what a rag doll says is okay to do.'

Apostolis laughed, a charming, low laugh. 'No more so than a statue telling you that he is happy you listened to your rag doll.'

Laughing together, Absinthe was feeling giddy and warm. She began to realize just how much the situation was exciting her, and how Apostolis, here and in the 'flesh' was awakening some sexual desires. She marveled at the stone fabric of the simple tunic he wore moved like real cloth, even more supple than the skin of his warm hand in her hand. She began running her hand up his forearm.

'How,' she began. 'How is it that you are, well, alive and warm and made of stone...'

Apostolis put his other hand over hers on his forearm. 'I believe that is a question for another time.' He drew her near to him.

Absinthe kissed his stone lips, again amazed at the warmth and soft texture. Swept up in the sensation, she ran her hand up the back of his neck, into his hair, which also felt warm and slightly gritty, but soft and supple.

Gently, Apostolis held her waist in his large, strong hands. She shuddered as he slowly moved one of his hands up her back to her hair, running his own fingers through the long strands.

Waves of emotion coursed through Absinthe. Love for the man-statue in her arms; love for the story of his that she recited; the thrill of the power of being able to call this creature with the power of imagination and hope. The overwhelming events took hold of her, erasing the horrors she had seen in the past few months, the horrors of the supernatural encounters. Here was a supernatural encounter that filled her with hope, with happiness, and with love.

Absinthe tugged open the laces on the front of her dress, and Apostolis pulled it down from her shoulders, exposing her small, round breasts. The sensation of his warm, gritty lips and tongue on her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth, caused her to cry out. She began clutching at his tunic, pulling it up to his shoulders, as he lovingly sucked on her nipple, lightly grazing it with his teeth.

While he pulled back to allow her to remove his tunic, he pulled her dress down further, fully exposing her down to her waist. Absinthes hands ran down the front of his stony chest as he caressed her soft belly with his own hands, curving them around her hips and pulling her up as he kissed her stomach.

She pulled her dress down to her knees, taking her black silk panties down with it, exposing her trimmed pubic hair. Removing her dress entirely, she realized just how much her juices were running down from her vagina as he firmly held her bare bottom. The action and sensation of him kissing her bellybutton as he began to move his fingers over her clitoris brought her a small orgasm, and she fell against him for a moment.

For several minutes he continued licking and kissing her soft belly all the while probing first the outer folds of her sex, paying special attention to her clitoris. Soon, however, his large fingers began to enter her, and he began to use her tongue on her clitoris as well. This again brought a series of small orgasms to Absinthe, and she was dizzy from their effects.

Pushing gently away from him for a moment, she reached down past Apostolis' sculpted belly to remove the heavy stone-textured trousers he wore, exposing his thick, erect penis. Taking it in her hand, she was again shocked at the heat it generated, while still having the same feeling of soft leather as the rest of him.

Sitting back on his knees, Apostolis lifted Absinthe upon himself, his stony penis entering her vagina. Yet another small orgasm, one among an uncounted number, shook her at the penetration, and she began riding up and down. Faster and faster she rode on him, and his bucking hips assisted in the insanely pleasurable sensations she felt.

After a few minutes, his head arched back, and she felt his penis grow wider and longer inside of her as his own orgasm built up. This growing, along with her pumping, began to generate an enormous feeling in her body as well. As he came inside her, she had the most incredible orgasm of her life, causing her to pass out in an enormous scream of pleasure.

***

Absinthe woke up in her bed, in her small downtown apartment, the one she had moved into ever since her encounters with the supernatural had begun.

Dazed, and almost ready to cry at the thought that the whole experience had only been an amazingly vivid dream, she pulled the covers off, exposing her body clad only in the thigh-high stockings she had been wearing after removing everything else during her encounter with Apostolis. Startled, she looked around to discover the rest of her clothing lying in a heap beside her carryall bag, itself filled with half-melted candles, her flashlight, and her book of nursery rhymes.

Walking past the bedroom window, the morning sun slanting in, to sort out her clothes, she found one other item in the carryall. She gasped at the sight.

Picking the item up, she walked toward the window, tears of joy falling from her eyes. Still, the tears fell as, standing at the window looking down on the city, she clutched her beloved rag doll from when she was a child.

fin.