The Queen: Desire is Eternal
He knew no keener seduction than her languorous beauty, wholly exquisite and infinitely exciting, she was-- he was certain-- the cause of many a restless boy's forbidden dreams
Her mature figure was fraught with a maddening luxuriousness of resplendent curves with the most beguiling being a set of significantly sized, highly curvaceous breasts. The lips of this ancient beauty were full, both half pouting, half smiling, adding a decadent touch to her otherwise rich Circean face.
Her perfectly glowing complexion, deficient of any visible defects, could be described as being light brown, the color of wheat maybe, while being darker than fair, but slightly lighter than dusk.
The figure possessed a mane of midnight black hair, flowing down and just past her perfectly sculpted shoulders adding only to the unhallowed regal beauty radiating from her flesh while weaving a spell about the heart of the poor boy . . . and his mother.
Who was she? That, indeed, was the burning question. The boy had no idea other than she must have been a big deal sometime in ancient history, otherwise she would not now be residing in the library of their large country estate just outside of London.
His mom, Dr. Matilda Breckenridge, was a professor of Ancient Archology and thus well versed in the study of ancient peoples, but yet when he asked his mom who this enchanting, perfectly mummified beauty might be his mom had no answer . . . as of yet anyways.
The perfectly preserved body of this apparently ageless wonder was found in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains near Kathmandu. Dr. Breckenridge, in charge of the expedition, supervised the careful excavation of the perfectly preserved body while marveling at it being in such a highly perfected state of preservation.
She guessed, based on the burial shroud covering the body and some of the other various artifacts uncovered next to it, the body must be many, many centuries old. How old, with any accuracy, she could not rightly say, but she meant to find out.
Matilda accompanied the body back to her country estate, just outside of London, where the body would be interned for a period of roughly seven days before being turned over to The British Museum for further study.
After securing the body in the library of her large estate, Matilda told her eighteen year old son, Malcolm, not to disturb the shrouded figure, but it was too late.
Malcolm, having already caught a fleeting glimpse of the shrouded figure while her mom's helpers were placing the body in the library, badgered his mother, non- stop, all through the afternoon to let him see her discovery up close. After she finally relented, and he was able to get his first real good look at her, he became instantly smitten.
Day One--Late Evening
Malcolm waited to the house was deathly quiet, it was just before midnight, before stealing downstairs to the library and sneaking inside. After carefully shutting the door, he turned on his small flashlight in the wholly dark library.
Panning the beam about the cozy library, he searched for the shrouded figure before discovering it stretched out on a blanket in the middle of the library floor in front of the old brick fireplace.
He crouched down on his knees next to the prone figure. She was covered up to her neck with a white burial shroud looking blanket of sorts. Concentrating the small beam of light on the shrouded woman's face, he sat there for a good ten minutes, memorized by her captivating beauty. To Malcolm's wide staring eyes, the beautiful blanketed figure did not at appear deceased, but instead simply appeared to be in a coma like state of slumber.
After stealing back out of the library and back upstairs to his room, young Malcolm's mind was full of questions, dreams, and desires.
Day Two Morning
When he came down for the breakfast in the morning his mom was pacing back and forth across the kitchen talking animatedly into her phone in a foreign language he did not at all understand.
While munching quietly on a muffin over at the table, he waited quietly for his mom's conversation to wind down. He just knew it was about her, about the shrouded figure in the library.
Finally, his mom clicked off her phone and turned to him.
"Good morning, Son. Did you sleep well? You want some breakfast?"
Holding up his muffin he said, "This is good for now. Was that about her?"
"Yes," Matilda answered. "Just boring stuff about your mom's work."
"There isn't anything boring about what is in the library, Mom. You know that. I mean she is so well preserved. How can someone dead that long, what hundreds of years, look so good?"
Matilda paused halfway across the kitchen before turning to her curious son. "If you want to hear what I was just told, let me make a cup of coffee first. It like really interesting, well, to me anyways but also really out there."
"I do. . . . More than ever now."
Matilda make her cup of coffee before plopping down across from her son in the small breakfast nook just off of the kitchen.
"So it's all a myth, or a legend maybe, what I was told . . . I mean you gotta take it with a grain of salt . . . or maybe a whole bag full of salt actually."
Leaning forward, his curiosity piqued, Malcolm said, using his much practiced German accent of authority on her, "Tell me everything . . . omit nothing."
"OK, officer . . . I tell," Matilda giggled. "But remember . . . it's all a myth."
"Of course," Malcolm replied.
Matilda spent the next few minutes giving a brief explanation of what she was told by the positively ancient shaman of the small village within walking distance of where her amazing discovery was unearthed.
The shaman, Amit Ammur, he was exactly ninety-nine years old, and a virtual walking history book, told Matilda in half English, half Hindi everything he knew about Matilda's discovery. In other words, he told her the myth/legend of the Moon Goddess Zora, passed down to him from his father, and his father's father before that and so on.
The year was 1763, a bare six years after the British established their hold over the country when, in some small unnamed village, a local woman, her name was Zora the Wicked, was accused of being a powerful witch by the local British magistrate.
The pious magistrate sentenced the thirty something year old Zora to be hung until dead in the center of the village, but just as the sentence was about to be carried out, a good dozen or so women on horseback swept down on the village.
Armed to the teeth, this women, loyal disciples of Zora, freed the moon goddess from the clutches of the local hangman.
After Zora's followers whisked her away to safety, a vigorous "manhunt" was undertaken to catch the wayward witch. Although Zora managed to elude capture for a good three weeks or so, eventually the British authorities surrounded the witch in the small village of Jakhane. With British soldiers closing in, and vowing not be taken alive, Zora performed one last great feat of magic, ingesting a powerful potion of her own making.
The potion, among other more important things, rendered her unconscious, and for all practical purposes as near to death as one can be without actually dying.
After having ingested the potion Zora immediately keeled over into a coma like state of apparent death.
Her well-armed followers now sought to parlay with the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers. After the parlay was granted Zora followers all agreed to lay down the arms and to surrender without a fight if only they could bury their leader in an unmarked grave of their choosing, after, of course, she was confirmed dead by the local doctor.
The British officer in charge of her capture, wanting to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed to his men, agreed to the terms, allowing Zora to be buried in secret, after being confirmed deceased by a local doctor of dubious ability.
The plan was for some of Zora followers, they had been promised leniency by the lieutenant, to go back within a short period of time to dig up the "body" and free Zora from the clutches of her death like state.
Unfortunately, all of her most loyal followers were quickly rounded up and tossed in jail or executed when the British went back on their word about showing mercy to Zora's wicked followers.
Thus according to the myth, Zora lay, undisturbed in her unmarked and well-hidden grave until Matilda's expedition unearthed her body some hundreds of years later.
Matilda then went on to tell her son of the real meat of the legend of Zora the Moon Goddess or Zora the Wicked. Of how there were numerous reports, over the years, over the decades, over the centuries even, of a beautiful glowing witch named Zora, who wandered the country side near her unknown gravesite causing periodic mischief from time to time.
All the reports had two things in common: the first being all of said sightings occurred during new moons and the second being said mischief was of a naughty, i.e. sexual kind.
More the old shaman could not, or would not say when a curious Matilda pressed him for more details . . . especially about what kind of sexual hijinks the wicked Zora was accused of performing.
"So . . . wait . . . even if that was true, about her taking the potion to fake death it doesn't explain how she is so perfectly preserved now after she must have really died so long ago?"
"Well I brought those exact points up to the shaman and he patiently explained how, and he was dead serious about this, how Zora is, in fact, not dead, but only resting still in her coma like state . . . waiting to be brought back to full life."
"That's impossible," Malcolm blurted out.
"That is what I told Amit but he kindly deferred while explaining how 'an outsider such as myself could not know of Zora's potions and how mighty powerful they really were'. Yeah, according him the potion she took, especially if she lay undisturbed, would be able to sustain life, while perfectly preserving her, for much longer than a few mere centuries . . . I think indefinitely was what he was trying to get at, Malcolm."
