She had very little memory of how she ended up here. She did, however, recall a beating so brutal that she passed out from pain. The client who was responsible was deeply dreaded by all the girls on site, and he visited every week.
The door to her room, no, her prison slammed open; he always had to make a violent entrance- a precursor to the agony that was sure to follow, and a golden halo spilled around the silhouette of his huge form which damn near blocked the doorway; but this was no angel. He was her own personal devil.
Why did it always have to be him?
She had learned a long time ago to stop begging. To stop crying. To forget pleading with him to stop. He was unfeeling. One cannot reason with stone, with that which has no emotion or feeling whatsoever.
She could only wait for it to be over.
She took a shuddering breath and wondered how long she could stay conscious this time as he took what he wanted, and broke her again.
He was an abuser, and absolutely merciless. He had struck her before, but on this night he seemed particularly enraged, and as soon as he had her behind closed doors he viciously unleashed all of his fury. A hard, open palmed slap sent her reeling back against the wall, and before she could recover from it, he punched her as violently as possible in the nose, tearing a broken scream from her throat. Her eyes watered and her ears rang, making the world around her go silent; she could hear the blood rushing in her head, and his muffled laugh of cruelty as she sputtered blood.
It was hard to see much, but she could think, despite the pounding pain. She used her other senses; touch and hearing, to take note of her surroundings in the brief precious moments before he determined where he wanted to hit her next. Maybe she could crawl into the closet and-
He kicked her in the ribs with enough force to crush the air from her lungs, and she heard an audible crack.
In addition to a broken rib and a badly swollen and bruised face, there was an aching pain throbbing angrily between her legs from the last client who tore her. Her left eye burned and rapidly swelled, and she barely managed to see through a narrow slit. A sharper sting where her lip had split open added insult to injury. But she reminded herself she will feel numb soon enough; as long as she could hang on to her life, as long as she kept breathing. Once he was done they would shoot her up with her angel of mercy, a powerful dose or morphine so she could handle the next monster they unleashed on her.
If she survived this one.
Her vision grew dim and blurry with tears, but she could still make out his face twisting into a psychotic grin. She learned to fear and hate that fat, smug face more than anyone or anything. She would give anything to dig her nails into his greasy, disgusting flesh and rip with all the hatred she possessed, that hot red sun of rage inside her body that swelled every time she saw him. How she wanted to hear him scream. Hatred was the only thing that kept her alive; her one shred of hope that she could live to one day see him suffer as he made her suffer.
Another hard blow to the head. Vertigo twisted her balance in several different directions at once. She hit something cold and solid; the floor. Coppery blood flooded her mouth and soaked her tongue. She felt a dizzying wave of nausea, but fought it tooth and nail. If she threw up what was in her stomach, she would lose what little nutrition she was given, and it may be another 24 hours (if she was lucky) before she ate again. They did not have scheduled meals; she ate when they remembered to feed her and the other slaves. She pushed her hands shakily against the ground as she tried to drag herself as far away from him as possible. Then another brutal strike, and she drifted in and out darkness.
'I hope to die this time. Please just let me fucking die.'
It was like this every single time. He would beat the Hell out of her until he was satisfied she had screamed and bled enough, and then he would use her raw. And for some reason, she had suddenly become his favorite. His last favorite was thrown into the street just a few weeks ago, presumably now dead.
She both heard and felt a loud thud that shook the floor; something huge and heavy crashed in front of her. It thrashed and bellowed, and she realized it was the client. Had he landed on her he would have broken several of her bones, if not crushed her to death.
'Did he trip? Or have a heart attack?'
Now was her chance. She snarled with all the fury of a feral animal fighting its way out of a corner, and flung out her right hand, curling her fingers into claws and raking downward over what she hoped to be his eyes with every ounce of strength she had left. She felt warm moisture under her fingertips, and a tiny spark of victory trickled into her veins when an agonized scream reached her ears.
'I made that fucker bleed!'
Through her watery vision, she could vaguely make out that there was a dark shape towering over her, but it was much thinner than her assailant. The grossly overweight client responsible was tossed aside effortlessly, as though he were no more than a sack of cotton; her defender was inhumanly strong and had the monster not been stopped, he surely would have clubbed her to death with his fists.
Whoever this was, he saved her. She would not fight whatever followed next. She couldn't even if she wanted to. She was too tired, her body shutting down and rapidly descending into shock.
She heard a distorted warble of raised voices as she sank and resurfaced in the inky black sea of unconsciousness, and she felt as though she were floating, being lifted into the air, held securely in strong, warm arms. Her head rolled limply and arms hung loosely at her sides as she was carried into the night.
Before that, she remembered nothing. She awoke to feel something soft and plush beneath her. It smelled fresh and of clean linen; it wasn't musty like her old bed. As she stirred, she realized she was in an unfamiliar bed with new sheets, something she had not seen or felt in ages.
'Where am I?'
She shifted, and felt a fluffy pillow under her face. A pillow! She had not had such a thing since...she didn't remember. She nuzzled into it and dozed off and on, drifting in and out of dreamless grogginess. She became dimly aware of the low tones of voices in the room and muted clattering from a nearby presence. Other than that, it was eerily quiet. This place was absent of the usual screams of pain and groans of the brothel she was enslaved in.
Someone was here. But where 'here' was, she didn't know.
She was afraid to awaken fully and see who she belonged to now.
She doesn't know if twenty minutes or twenty four hours have passed when the weight of someone settled next to her on the bed, and she could no longer ignore what was happening around her.
She hesitantly opened her eyes, slowly and cautiously peeking at who invaded her space. She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding as her bleary eyes made out it was a female, around her age. Relief immediately washed over her.
The girl was kind faced, golden haired and finely dressed as a maid.
She was holding a steaming bowl of food on a tray and timidly watching her from the corner of her eye.
"Is it alright if I look at you?" The maid whispered.
She slowly nodded. To anyone else this would be a strange question, but she knew all too well what it meant. She and the other brothel workers had been trained not to make eye contact with the clients unless it was demanded of them. To do so without permission could result in a slap or worse. This maid had been in the same position she was just freed from at some point in time.
She looked back at her, meeting her cerulean blue eyes and an inkling in the back of her mind told her she knew her somehow.
"I'm glad you pulled through. Are you hungry?" The maid asked. She held out a bite of stew on a spoon to her and she nodded again, and opened her mouth in robotic obedience. If she didn't eat when told, it may be days before she tasted anything but blood or bodily fluids on her tongue.
The seasoned meat and buttery potatoes and robust juices tasted so good she wanted to cry. They did not have the privilege of eating cooked food at the brothel. They were fed bread and dried meat to keep them all as thin and weak as possible. She swallowed it with effort, as her throat was still bruised.
"Th-thank you." Was all that left her mouth before she broke down and sobbed uncontrollably for the next half hour. The maid held her, and to her surprise, cried with her.
Over the next two weeks, the maid attentively tended to her wounds and she couldn't shake the feeling that she seemed distantly familiar. Severe head trauma prevented her from remembering how she knew her at the time, and after another agonizing week of recovery she recalled she had actually been working in the same brothel, where they were both slaves, and she too was nearly beaten to death by the same abusive client. The last she had seen of her, she was being drug out and tossed into the street like trash, believed to be dead. She was reminded of her name, Tuare, and asked the maid how she managed to escape with her life. She was told Sebas, the Butler of Nazarick, had been kind enough to rescue them both. She had a very vague recollection of someone stopping her assailant and unfortunately did not even remember his face, and oddly enough not even her own name, her family, or much of her past, thanks to brain damage-induced amnesia.
Tuare explained she had been brought to the Great Tomb of Nazarick. The Great Underground Tomb was a ten Floor dungeon, and each Floor had its own unique theme. The First to Third Floors were modeled after a catacomb-like tomb. The Fourth Floor was an underground lake. The Fifth Floor was a frozen glacier. The Sixth Floor was a rain forest. The Seventh Floor was a mainly volcanic landscape complete with a sea of magma, save for the occupant's personal quarters where he did paperwork and Defense management. The Eighth Floor was a wasteland. And the Ninth and Tenth Floors were the realm of the gods; in other words, the home base of Ainz Ooal Gown.
Tuare relayed to her that her fate would be decided by the ruler of Nazarick, Lord Ainz. She was reassured that the Lord granted Tuare protection under his name, and allowed her to work as a maid and cook in the Tomb. But Tuare also cautioned that if she were to stay here, she had better make herself useful, or they may dispose of her, either by death or sending her away. Tuare managed to gain favor with Sebas, which ensured her safety in a Tomb full of inhuman entities that hated mankind. She put that piece of information in her back pocket for later, and hoped she could do the same.
When she recovered enough to be able to stand and walk, and the worst of her wounds were healed, she asked Tuare if it was possible for her to have a shower.
She was guided to the bathroom and realized she had no idea how to work the knobs of the faucets. The bath at the brothel was always already drawn for them. She stared dumbly at the silver knobs until Tuare realized what was wrong.
"It's okay, I didn't know how to either until Sebas showed me." Tuare said, before she turned them both and like magic warm water rained down into the tiled enclosure.
Tuare assured her she could take her time and she would wait for her outside.
She hastily undressed and stepped in. And when she felt the hot water cascading down her skin, she was half convinced she had somehow died along the way to the bathroom and gone to heaven. At the brothel they were allowed supervised baths, but it felt so...dirty, to have to soak in a tub of your own and a stranger's filth to try to get clean. But a shower allowed her to feel like the grime was completely washed away, like she was truly cleansed.
She honestly didn't know how long she had been roughly scrubbing at her skin, but once she was almost raw she decided it was enough. She stood under the falling water until her feet ached in protest before she was satisfied she had scraped and washed away the outer layer of skin that had been violated by a dozens of strangers. When she stepped out, she took a brief look at herself in the mirror.
She had seen herself in the mirror, once, about six months ago. And it shook her to her very core, how little she recognized herself. Her eyes were hollowed pits, with dark circles of purple shadowing them and her face was badly bruised. Her lips were pale, her cheeks sunken, and her flesh ashen. What had looked back at her...was a zombie. A broken, hollow-eyed doll.
She knew then it would not be long before she was thrown away, like Tuare had been. She stopped looking at her reflection after that. She no longer wanted to be reminded of just how few grains of sand were left in her hourglass.
But her reflection was different now. Changed, and for the better. While the ghosts of bruises on her face, arms, ribs and legs still remained, they had faded considerably. She began to gain a little weight now that she was eating regularly, making her cheeks looked fuller and she finally had the strength to stand on her own. Her eyes were no longer hopeless and hollow. The bags beneath them had for the most part disappeared. And they were blue-she had forgotten they were cobalt blue, like Tuare's. Her lips had regained their rosy color, and had also plumped. While her skin was still pale, she no longer appeared to be on the verge of death; it had a dim glow of recovering health. Her hair was no longer lackluster and limp either. It had body to it, once again forming loose waves and reclaiming its golden sheen.
'Maybe...maybe I'll be okay.'
Feeling like a new woman, she took Tuare up on her offer to show her where she works in the Tomb. She was eager make a good impression and to prove her worth in order to convince Lord Ainz she was worthy enough to not return her to the brothel.
Tuare was kind enough to lend her a spare maid's dress so she could at least look the part.
"I'm sorry it's a little small, but as soon as I can I'll get one for you in your size." She promised. "But it still looks great on you! You're going to fit right in with the rest of us."
Tuare finished lacing up the corset back for her, and she gave her uniform a final once-over in the mirror, making sure the micro-skirt wasn't tucked into her underwear and that the seam running up the back of each thigh-high stocking was symmetrical. She adjusted the low-cut cleavage of her uniform, ensuring she wouldn't fall out if she bent over for one thing or another. She was a little leggier than Tuare, so the black dress fell just barely mid-thigh and was accentuated with ivory trim, with a full puffy skirt beneath. It also had a white half-apron, with pockets included for a notepad to take orders for the kitchen and restocking supplies. She was also handed a feather duster.
With real clothes, she felt a little more human, and less like an animal kept in a cage. She had not worn something nice like this since...she still couldn't remember, before she belonged to the brothel, her personal prison. She loved it, the way the fabric covered her, the illusion of protection, of safety it gave her. Her sinuses began to sting as she withheld tears.
"I felt the same way when Sebas gave me my first uniform too." Tuare said quietly, noticing how it affected her. "I never thought I would wear anything so soft before he took me in."
"It's...so elegant." She said. "If it wasn't for a meant for a maid, I would feel like royalty."
"I thought the same thing. I had never touched silk in my life. " Tuare replied.
She sniffled and pushed her emotions down into that dark place inside her. She could cry later. Now she needed to earn her keep.
"What do I...where do I start?" She asked.
"I would start in the hallway, and once you get a feel for it, we can move you up to cooking in the kitchen with me. I need to go prepare dinner for the evening, but I'll be back in a little while. Will you be alright by yourself?"
She hesitated momentarily, but then nodded.
"You may see other maids or maybe even Guardians while you work. Sebas has made everyone aware you are here, so you will be safe. But don't forget to bow to anyone you see. Guardians demand utmost respect." Tuare cautioned her before left she her to proceed with her duties.
"Okay. I certainly will. Th-thank you, Tuare. For everything." She said.
Tuare smiled, and bowed at the waist, lowering her head. She returned the gesture.
As she dusted the hallway and many elegantly framed paintings hanging throughout the the tomb, she gradually became more comfortable by herself and practiced in her movements.
'This isn't so bad. In fact, it's easy. I can do this.'
Just as she began to gain confidence, she heard light footfalls behind her. At first she thought this to be Tuare returning to check on her, but as she looked over her shoulder and the silhouette drew closer, she could discern it was someone much taller.
'Shit...' Anxiety began to bloom in her chest.
A man. A dauntingly tall man.
He was broad-shouldered and sharply dressed in a vermilion pinstripe suit, his hair black and slicked back into jagged points. His features were sharp and regal as were his ears; they were long and pointed with silver rings and cuffs adorning his right one.
'Not a man. Something inhuman.' Her anxiety increased tenfold.
Something flashed through her mind. A fracture of a memory.
Someone...maybe her mother or perhaps an older sister, used to read to her from a book which featured the native species of Yggdrasil, and she remembered seeing charcoal drawings of dark elves, ogres, goblins, lizard men and demons of all classes.
He did not resemble an ogre or goblin though. He was much more human-looking, and devilishly handsome, undeniably more attractive than any of the clientele that she was forced to serve at the brothel.
'Is he a dark elf?' She asked herself.
A pair of silver ornate spectacles shielded his eyes. He had an air of authority and high intelligence rolling off him, and she deducted that he must be a Guardian. The way he carried himself with his hands casually tucked behind his back told her he was deadlier than he looked; her suspicions were confirmed when she noticed a steely armored-plated tail armed with six long spikes on its final segments swaying behind him.
He was not just a demon. He was an Arch Devil.
Her heart flipped into her throat and her blood ran cold with dread. Time slowed to nearly a standstill.
He continued his path towards her.
She did not simply bow; no, he was far more intimidating than what a bow of respect would require. She dropped to her knees and lowered her head, trying to make herself as small and insignificant as possible.
Demiurge glanced her way and momentarily raised an eyebrow, somewhat taken aback by her respectfully submissive gesture. As far as humans knew and were concerned, he possessed the power of a God (or in his case, a Devil) and they should respect and fear him as no less, which this lowly insect clearly understood. Of the few encounters he had with the much weaker race, never did they bow; if they didn't try to foolishly fight him, they typically only stood clear of his path or fled in terror. Thanks to Sebas, he never got more than a lowered head out of Tuare. He loved that this one knelt to the ground at the mere sight of him, and he had not even uttered a word to her.
Demiurge passed her by. His inhumanly acute hearing could detect her racing pulse, and he could smell fear screaming from her every pore. A vicious grin spread across his face, sharpening his features.
"You may now stand." He said without turning to her as he reached the end of the hallway. His voice was firm but flowed like silk, but was also empowered by a passive skill. This skill was called Command Mantra, and it could instantly turn the weak-minded into puppets dancing on his strings. However, he knew he did not have to waste this power on the girl, as she seemed completely submissive to him. She would no doubt obey.
She was a little surprised by this; she didn't think he would have deemed her worthy to waste words on. But she did as she was told, and cautiously stood, straightening her maid's dress.
"Th-thank you, Master." She said quietly. She had been advised to always address her clients as Master when she was in the brothel. Giving them the impression of submissiveness and complete control often prevented things from escalating further, should they be prone to violence. While the Devil was not a client, she did not doubt him to be a potentially violent individual.
Demiurge absolutely loved the sound of that.
After turning the corner where she could not see him, he chuckled to himself. The Arch Devil relished how terrified humans were of him, and he completely got off on their fear and submissiveness to his power. And this little female seemed to be an especially submissive one. Oh, how Demiurge liked this. Always the one to bow before Lord Ainz, he had someone bowing before him for a change. He would very much be looking forward to their next encounter.
Over the next few days this became routine. He would take the same path in the hallway as always, and when crossing hers she would kneel to him, and lower her head until he gave her permission to rise. He took great pleasure in how her heart rate sky-rocketed in his presence, how she would freeze and then fall to her knees as though he were Lord Ainz himself. And how she stank of fear around him greatly appealed to the predator in him. He felt her wary gaze on his back as he would pass by, and knew her eyes were transfixed on his weapon of a tail as he would turn the next corner.
While she was undoubtedly afraid of and tremendously intimidated by the red clad demon, he was...interesting to look at, to say the least. No man around Yggdrasil looked quite like him, as most of the men were dressed in protective armor, or at least brandished some sort of weapon. The fact that he dressed elegantly like a gentleman and wore no physical protection (his tail was deadly looking enough) told her he could not only very well take care of himself, but was a force to be reckoned with.
As a Archfiend he was dangerous, and she knew she should be nothing but terrified of him...but she found that forbidden factor appealing. She was oddly attracted to him, not only his refined yet edgy appearance, but his confidence and power was truly enticing.
She assisted Tuare in the kitchen one afternoon, and then joined her for lunch in the maid's quarters to bring her up to speed on how well she was faring.
"I can't thank you enough for helping me. I'm actually starting to feel more...human again. And I think I actually like it here." She said before taking a bite of her salad.
"Of course! I'm always happy to help. I'm glad to see you are adjusting well. This place can certainly take some getting used to, especially with us being the only humans." Tuare replied. "Have you seen Sebas or any of the other Guardians since you have been here?"
"I...actually can't remember what Sebas looks like." She shook her head lightly as she tried to remember. "I try every day, and sometimes I remember bits of my life before the brothel, but I still don't remember how I ended up there."
Tuare put her hand over hers from across the table and squeezed reassuringly. "It's okay if you don't remember yet. I can reintroduce you to him tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."
She nodded, and then continued. "But I think I did see one. He was kind of scary, but...attractive?" She tried to find the right words. "I bowed like you said, and he permitted me to rise after he passed by. I've seen him a few times, and he always allows me to stand afterwards."
"He actually spoke to you?" Tuare seemed genuinely surprised. "The Guardians rarely speak to me. Even after Lord Ainz granted me protection, I'm still treated as an outsider. Only Sebas really sees us as worthy of respect. It must have been him! What did he look like?"
She closed her eyes and unconsciously bit her lip to hide a shy smile as she remembered.
"He was tall...and handsome. He wore a vermilion suit and red tie and had long, sharp ears. A tail too. He was intimidating, but I have never seen such a handsome face before. You know how unattractive all of our clients wer-" She stopped when she saw Tuare's face pale and her eyes widen in shock.
"You saw Lord Demiurge?!" Tuare whispered, as though she were afraid he would hear her. "The Arch Devil?"
"Um...if that is his name, then yes." She confirmed. "Is-is that bad?"
"He is the Guardian of the 7th Floor. The Commander of Defenses. When I first arrived here, and Sebas and Lord Ainz were deciding what to do with me, Sebas said Demiurge had suggested killing me outright as a means of preventing information of Nazarick from leaking to the outside world." Tuare admitted, still keeping her voice low. "He isn't...well, it's probably an understatement to say he is not fond of humans. He sees them as no more than toys or tools."
"...Shit." Was all she could say, and she swallowed nervously.
"Sorry, I'm not trying to scare you, but I'm really surprised he spoke to you. I would definitely be very careful around him. He's dangerous." Tuare cautioned her.
She nodded, showing that she understood. Tuare was quiet for a while, and then changed the subject, but she had trouble focusing on what Tuare was talking about and quelling her anxiousness for the remainder of their lunch. She was on edge for the rest of the shift when she had to finish dusting their designated area. To her relief, she did not see the demon that day.
The following day Demiurge was passing through the hallway as his presence was requested in the throne room, and again he found himself crossing paths with the human as she hummed to herself, performing her dusting duties. He stepped silently this time, so she did not see nor hear his approach. The demon paused when he was less than 6 inches away from her. He took this opportunity to take in her appearance. For a human female, she was rather pretty. Not as physically stunning as the succubus Albedo of course, but aesthetically pleasing nonetheless. The long golden hair that hung loosely in waves around around her shoulders and falling in tresses down her back smelled sweet, like honey, undoubtedly from helping Tuare cook pastries in the kitchen . He noticed her skin was unusually pale from spending the majority of her life indoors, and frame was slender, and he knew this to be because they were given little nutrition to keep them skinny while imprisoned at the brothel. Bruises still dappled her exposed arms and neck but were gradually fading with the passing of time.
She turned with her feather duster in hand, and upon seeing his towering form standing before her, she promptly dropped it with a start and her voice left her throat. Beyond startled, she fell to her knees and started to lower her head.
He bent at the waist and caught her chin in his black gloved hand before she could drop her head completely, and raised her face to meet his gaze.
She had to fight the urge to not jump at the unexpected physical contact, and kept her eyes averted from his face.
"Look at me, human." He hissed. The Arch Devil's voice carried a venomous chill that made cold fear trickle over her scalp.
She did as ordered, trembling. His gloves were leather and soft, but his fingers within ended in claws that were sharp on her face, and threatened to puncture her flesh. Her gaze met his and she gasped. Behind the glass of his spectacles in place of eyes, there were what looked to be finely polished diamonds, which lacked pupils or sclera, and were intricately cut with countless sparkling facets. Her frightened reflection looked back at her on the dozens of mirrors of the gems. How he could see was a mystery.
The demon studied her eyes; they glistened with fear, as to be expected. She was questioning his intentions, but dared not speak. Yet she obeyed, and her gaze did not yield, despite her obvious terror. She quivered lightly against his touch, but held her ground.
She was ideal for what he sought.
His lips peeled back into a predatory grin, and her eyes widened even further as it exposed his sharp fangs to her.
"I believe I will make you my personal servant." His crystalline orbs glimmered mischievously.
It was within the next hour that she was brought before Ainz Ooal Gown.
And the ruler of Nazarick was the most intimidating entity she had ever seen; a colossal undead emperor reclining confidently on his throne, he made the fact that she thought the demon was frightening almost laughable. He was nothing short of terrifying; an Elder Lich, a sorcerer whose form was that of a 7 foot tall skeleton clothed in a magnificent black academic robe, edged in violet and gold. The collar seemed excessively gaudy, but somehow it fit the overall design. However, his face was a bare ivory skull. Points of dark red light burned like flame in its large eye sockets, and behind that skull glowed a halo of black radiance. He was an Overlord; the highest-ranked of magic casters who had become undead in order to learn the most potent spells.
The nameless maid, the demon and Sebas had been gathered before him.
Upon seeing the gray haired and bearded Butler, she instantly recognized him, a small fragment of her shattered memory falling into place. His hair was pure white, as was the beard and mustache framing his mouth. However, the old man's back was ramrod-straight, like a sword forged of steel. His face was wrinkled around his eyes with laugh lines and gave onlookers the impression that he was a kind and gentle person, but his intense and steel-grey gaze was like that of an hawk sizing up its prey. This was her rescuer.
He was stone faced, and donned in a black tuxedo suit. But there was an underlying softness and warmth to his eyes; a kindness and mercy beneath the surface.
Sebas was extremely quiet and still, his lips pressed into a thin line. Something was wrong.
"I cannot imagine what would possess you to bring yet another human into the walls of Nazarick, Sebas. The ruler rumbled. "After the fiasco it created before, I do hope you had a very good reason."
It was clear he was not particularly pleased by her presence.
"Yes, lord. Had I not saved her, she would have been beaten to death. The aggressor was the same ma-monster who had nearly killed Tuare. And her fate would have..." He closed his eyes, as though he were struggling to find the right words as he relived what he had witnessed. "I could not in good conscience stand idly by and watch her die." He concluded, tipping his chin upwards, resolute in he had done the right thing.
Lord Ainz looked somewhat thoughtful for a moment. He could see how affected Sebas was by this. While this was an inconvenience, he was also admittedly impressed; the NPCs were not only moving of their own volition, but seemed to be developing emotions that influenced their decisions as well.
Sebas had proved his loyalty once before by showing he would obey an order to kill the very human he rescued, so he did not doubt his allegiance in the least. No, this was a matter of the NPCs evolving beyond their programming.
"So it was because her fate would have been Tuare's? Had you not prevented Tuare's death when she was left in the street to die?" Ainz connected the dots.
"Yes Lord. It is as you say." Sebas agreed. "I apologize for letting my emotions to dictate my actions once again. But that...monster could not be allowed to continue. It was more than a disgrace. It was criminal, what he had done. She is a victim, like Tuare, and not a threat to us in the least. I understand if you cannot allow her to remain here. But my Lord, I implore you to spare her life. Tuare remembers her and has taken to her well, and if I may humbly give my opinion I think she would fare here even better with another human, a friend to confide in. "
Sebas knelt in a low bow as he pleaded for her life.
Ainz decided he would entertain the idea as this woman was harmless enough and allow her to remain, but he could not further encourage him to continuously bring home every battered human he ran across. As a reprimand, he would not grant her full protection in his name as he had with Tuare.
"So now that she is safe and healed, what do you intend to do with her? We already have one human working in the kitchen." Ainz asked, curious if he had thought any of this out.
"I understand this was not protocol, and the security risk that comes with bringing in outsiders, so if you wish it, I will have her memory wiped and will release her in a nearby town, as far away from the brothel as possible. And I will deal with the consequences of my actions, as they were punishable." He said with a submissive bow of his head.
She did not like the sound of that. She had never been on her own, ever, and was just now regaining some of her memories. Now she might lose it again?
What if someone in one of the towns recognized her and she were tracked down?
Demiurge stepped forward and knelt before the skeletal king, and raised his head. "Most honorable ruler, might I make a somewhat selfish request?"
"You may." Lord Ainz permitted as this piqued his interest.
"I would like this human as my personal servant. I have watched her clean and deem her competent enough to keep my personal quarters tidy, and having her around would certainly lighten the amount of work placed on Pestonya."
"An excellent idea, Demiurge. And I'm sure as far as Pestonya would be concerned, it was not selfish at all. I grant your request." With that, Lord Ainz sealed her fate.
She was partially relieved but also terrified by this decision. She would now be in the hands of the demon that Tuare was terrified of.
"My Lord, if I may suggest, I think she would fare better working in the kitchen alongside Tuare." Sebas could no longer stay silent and intervened. "They already know each other, and I feel she would be more comfortable working with her."
Sebas was well aware of Demiurge's true intentions. Needless to say, as a demon, they were anything but pure. Demiurge cast an icy glare at the butler. His eyes gleamed like polished steel.
"Oh? And what skills does she possess in cooking that you are aware of?" Demiurge inquired, a light air of sarcasm just beneath the surface. "She has only proven adequate in cleaning thus far, so-"
"I'm sure with Tuare to guide her, she will learn quickly." Sebas cut him off, but held his composure.
"Enough, you two. I will enact a compromise." Ainz put an end to their bickering. "She will work in the kitchen when she is finished with her duties on the 7th Floor, and therefore will be most useful to Nazarick. Demiurge, she is now assigned to you."
Sebas visibly bristled, but held his tongue. He didn't dare challenge his master's final decision.
"My most humble thanks for indulging, my Lord." The Arch Devil rose to his feet, to bow once more at the waist and he flickered his gaze briefly at the Butler, a sharp and victorious grin creeping over his face.
"And fear not, Sebas. I promise to take excellent care of her." The Arch Devil promised silkily.
She swallowed nervously, and saw Sebas almost trembling with rage, and his hands tightened into fists at his sides, but before the ruler he tried to maintain his resolve.
What the lowly human wanted was meaningless; how she felt about being handed over to the demon was not even discussed. The decision as to what would become of her was over in less than three minutes.
While he allowed this second human to stay within the Tomb to keep on good terms with the Butler, he extended his kindness to the nameless maid no further than that, as a means of ensuring Sebas would not make a habit of bringing home strays.
"Come, human, I will guide you to your quarters." The demon sauntered out of the throne room, his hands clasped behind his back and tail swaying, and she followed closely behind her new master obediently.
'Tread lightly. Remember what Tuare said.' She reminded herself. 'He is dangerous.'
Seeing as she had no choice in the matter, she tried to dilute her anxiety by looking on the bright side; perhaps this was a good thing. She had gained favor with a Guardian as Tuare did, and was hoped this would help ensure her safety her in her new surroundings.
She cast one last glance back to Sebas, who looked ultimately defeated. He eyes fell from hers and to the ground.
But it was that grim look on the Butler's face that prevented her from fully deceiving herself.
Something was very wrong.
It was a long, agonizing walk from the throne room to the 7th Floor. Her feet were killing her by the time they finally reached their destination, and she was thoroughly winded. Demiurge however maintained steady breath and had not even broken a sweat. He showed her into a small but cozy room with a bed, closet, and even her own bathroom complete with her very own shower, which she was absolutely thrilled for.
"I'll allow you to get settled." He said. "And dinner will be delivered at 7pm, as I'm sure you will need this evening to adjust and recover." He concluded, and then he turned to leave her to own devices.
"Thank you, Master." She said and bowed, but he did not respond.
As soon as he was out of sight, she shucked off her shoes and flopped unceremoniously onto the bed. Fuck, she was exhausted. Her body was still not at 100%, and she tired quickly. She took a long and much-needed nap.
The routine of her kneeling as the Arch Devil passed her in the main hall to the entrance of the 7th floor continued over the next month, and they grew somewhat accustomed to one another's presence.
He was civil and polite, and mostly kept to himself. The only words exchanged between Demiurge and the maid over the next few weeks were a curt 'thank you' when she brought him food or drink, him giving her permission to rise, and her thanking him. She did however do her job well, keeping everything from the floors to the furniture spotless and free of dust and dirt. The only area she was not to clean was beyond the colossal twin doors which separated the expanse of volcanic grounds and magma from his office and personal quarters where he worked and slept. She took pride in her work, but never received any praise from her assigned Lord.
She was still extremely intimidated by him, and every once in a while, she would notice him staring at her with the sharp, cold-blooded gaze of a wolf. Like he was waiting for her to run, so he would have a reason chase her. An excuse to sink his fangs into her flesh.
But despite those fleeting moments of unease and fear, she still found herself looking forward to their brief interactions on a daily basis, as the 7th floor was quite lonely; and only Pestonya, the dog-headed maid would appear once every two weeks to do a brief sweep of the area. Her work load was stretched across three other floors. Due to how busy she was (or perhaps because she was an unwanted and out-of-place human) she wasn't very chatty and she still found that only Demiurge and Tuare would really speak to her, making her feel extremely isolated.
Time passed quickly now, evaporating like morning dew in the blinding light of the sun.
For a time it seemed like Demiurge simply had her moved to a different section of the Tomb. She didn't understand why Sebas had made such a big deal about being assigned to the Guardian of the 7th Floor, but she knew he must have had his reasons. The Arch Devil appeared to be a quiet master and wasn't cruel or abusive as far as she could tell.
She had been instructed by Pestonya to respectfully address him as Lord, Lord Demiurge, or Master. A reasonable enough request for their situation. He however addressed her as "you" or "human". He never called her anything else.
One day she was dusting the hallway to the 7th Floor and Demiurge approached her silently from behind.
"When you finish up here, I would like you to clean my personal chamber." He requested.
She jumped out of her skin and her stomach flipped into her throat, damn near dropping the feather duster as she didn't hear him coming.
Fuck, it was so unnerving how quiet he could be when he wanted to. Like a stalking panther.
"...Yes, master." She said before she swallowed thickly, turning towards him. She briefly looked up at him, and then promptly dropped her gaze. She was gradually learning to look him in his startling gemstone eyes, as her new master preferred.
The Arch Devil stifled a laugh, his lips curling in amusement.
"You seem to be rather nervous. Do I frighten you?" He teasingly asked as he stepped closer to her, narrowing the distance between them to a mere 3 inches. She felt like she was shrinking beneath his shadow. He was dauntingly tall at six foot two, and radiated a dark shroud of evil and untold power.
Would he be angry if she said he absolutely scared the shit out of her, but she did secretly enjoy admiring him from afar?
"...N-no." She lied, meekly looking up at his towering form. He was at least two heads taller than her, maybe three. She had to crane her neck just to meet his crystalline gaze, which was downright predatory.
His eyes narrowed and mouth quirked into leer as he regarded her shaky response. Under the menace of that relentless diamond gaze, she was paralyzed.
Frozen like a rabbit being hungrily eyed by a wolf.
Demiurge unexpectedly grabbed her by her shoulder and fisted her golden locks tightly with his other hand. She yelped in shock as he roughly yanked her head back, exposing her throat and he lunged forward.
'He's going to tear my throat out!'
He brought his face down into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. She stilled.
"You aren't a very good liar." He hissed in her ear, his voice was silk but threaded with steel. "And you reek of fear."
The demon's tongue flicked out in a brief lick against her flesh, sending her senses reeling in a downward spiral.
"I can even taste it, it is so strong."
His servant trembled in his iron grasp, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end; his breath on her throat was hot as it fanned over the sensitive skin and her face went numb with fear and something else she couldn't identify. She breathed hard and fast through her nose.
"I strongly advise against lying to me. Because chances are, I will know the truth." And with that, he suddenly released her and sauntered away.
For at least three minutes she was numb; frozen in place like a deer in the headlights. Her heart was hammering hard against her rib cage and chilly, nervous sweat trickled down her neck. Her breath coarsely stuttered from her lungs as she realized she was alive, and he had not hurt her.
But she was so sure he was going to strangle her.
The predatory intent in his voice and gestures shook her to her very core. He was more animal than man; he held a powerful and violent demeanor wrapped in a thin veil of composure.
Now she was absolutely terrified to enter his quarters alone, but she had no choice.
'Just do it. Go in, clean, get out.'
When she shakily finished dusting the hallway, she cautiously and quietly knocked on the large twin doors to his quarters and hoped like Hell he wouldn't answer. But he did, and she was granted permission to enter. She stepped inside to find him sitting in a chair with a parchment scroll unfurled in his hand, quietly reading. His armor plated tail twitched restlessly behind him. The servant knelt to him, and he permitted her to rise, and as she did, she took in her surroundings. She was surprised to see that while it looked like a fairly normal room, their were skulls and bones, inhuman and human, everywhere. On the dressers and desk, hanging on the wall, and just about anywhere there was free space. She gulped and then noticed upon closer inspection that the very chair he was reclined in as he looked over a scroll, seemingly preoccupied, was entirely constructed of artistically arranged spines, ribs and femurs.
Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run from this place, but she knew that was the worst thing to possibly do in the presence of predator.
'You can do this. You had better do this and do well. Your life may depend on it.'
The maid took a brief moment to compose herself and once steeling her nerves, went to work dusting every surface of the furniture and the decorations of creature remains, and struggled not to tremble as she looked into the hollow eye sockets of the human skulls that seemed to emptily stare back at her.
She couldn't help but wonder if they were the remnants of servants who had met their fate after failing or offending him in one way or another.
As she walked past a dresser, she stepped in something somewhat sticky. She looked down to see a large, dark stain on the wooden floor, possibly a spilled black coffee.
"I would like you to scrub that before you leave." Her master requested politely, and again she jumped hard.
Her back was to him, so she could only imagine the grin that crossed his face when he no doubt saw her jerk with a start.
"Yes, master." She slipped off her shoes so as not to track the mystery stain, and was thoroughly relieved to have the opportunity to step out of his graveyard of a room in order to retrieve a bucket of water and a scrub brush, even if it was for just a few minutes.
Once outside his quarters she breathed raggedly and rapidly, her heart racing uncontrollably as her composure temporarily crumbled. She went to the maid's closet to collect the necessary cleaning supplies. She was tempted to hide out in there, but if he could really smell her fear, she knew he'd find her in no time and worse, she'd be cornered.
The maid reluctantly but quickly returned and knelt in preparation to scrape at the stain.
She was too afraid to look at him as she cleaned, should she catch his intimidating gaze on her, so she kept her gaze averted.
To her horror, now that she was closer to it, the soured coppery smell and deep burgundy color made it frighteningly obvious that it was not a spilled coffee as she initially thought, but actually a blood stain, maybe a week old. And by the size of it, someone had died. It had not even been wiped, and she wonders if he had left it there purposefully, as a reminder that it could just as easily be hers should she fuck up somehow.
'Don't think about it, just clean it and leave.'
She dipped the stiff-bristled scrub brush into the bucket of soapy water and crouched down on her hands and knees. It smelled like death, and she fought the urge to gag. She scrubbed what she could as she faced him, but to complete the job, she would have to have her back to him. There was only so much she could get from one direction as it was oddly placed and collided with a baseboard.
'Fuck.' She hesitantly turned the opposite way.
Demiurge had been observing her from the corner of his eye, as she hurried around with a feather duster, flicking it over the various surfaces delicately like a little bird, occasionally glancing his way but terrified to make eye contact. She was obviously eager to flee, but still managed to do a thorough job and knew better than to shirk her tasks.
Good. Efficient, if nothing else.
But that maid's uniform which was two sizes too small was torture.
He watched and wondered what it might feel like to pull her into his lap to feel her curves beneath the thin lace and ruffles...but then she got down on all fours to scrub at the stain. He had expected her to face him the entire time out of fear of taking her eyes off of him, but no. She did the complete opposite, much to his surprise and pleasure.
Demiurge saw her maid's dress hike up as she was facing away from him, carelessly scrubbing away; he then held his breath when he noticed her underwear was practically nonexistent- a mere scrap of lace. The demon watched intently with heated interest, his carnivorous stare unblinking like a shark's. She leaned further downward and scraped the spot harder, and unbeknownst to her, she was treating him to a fabulous view of her ass, framed in white silk ruffles and bare except for where her black garter straps bisected each cheek from the tops of her stockings to the connect with the hidden belt. The thought of pinning her down and mercilessly fucking her on all fours in that position flitted through his naturally sinful mind, but he exercised self control. Instead he licked his lips, and grinned a wolfish grin.
All in good time.
Later that evening she took a brief moment to lean against a table in the kitchen and catch her breath while a tray for her Master was prepared. Her feet were killing her and she ached all over from her seemingly endless day of bending, stooping and carrying various things.
Her nerves were fraying as she waited to bring her Demonic Lord his dinner. Once it was done cooking, a chef passed it to her; a thick filet of prime beef steak, barely flame seared, it was almost raw and soaking in a pool of bloody juices. It had been seasoned with roasted garlic and herb, garnished with parsley, and tastefully paired with a goblet of red wine.
It was no surprise to her that the demon was a true carnivore.
She carried the plate gingerly to his quarters on a tray, being especially cautious not to spill the wine. She again found him reclined in his ivory chair, seemingly quite absorbed in another scroll he was reading, as though he had never moved from that position. She timidly approached him.
"Your dinner, my Lord." She bowed at the waist before her master.
"Excellent." He said, and permitted her to rise with a brief motion of his hand.
Demiurge set aside the scroll and stood, and stalked to the table. She watched his steely plated tail smoothly sway behind him like a steel serpent gliding through water as he elegantly seated himself.
She delicately set the plate before him at the table as he placed his napkin in his lap, and she started to lay out his silverware in the order Tuare had showed her; then she felt something ice cold and smooth like the flat of a blade suddenly caress the back of her thigh. She jumped with a start and promptly dropped the knife on the floor with a clatter, her breath hitching in her throat in horror that she had just made a mistake. Her pulse kicked wildly out of fear of what he might do to her for dropping his silverware. Now he would have to delay his meal while she retrieved a clean one.
"Please, f-forgive me!" She stammered in startled shock.
Without thinking, she bent over to pick it up, and again he was granted an even closer and more glorious view of her ass, just as he had planned. His jaw clenched and his hands flexed at his sides as he resisted the intense urge to grab and squeeze those perfect, creamy globes of flesh.
All he could imagine was walking up behind her, holding her down, bent over just like that, and slapping that beautiful ass with an open palm while he whispered in her ear what filthy things he would do to her. Then he would smooth his hand over her ivory flesh, and soothe away the faint red imprint with the flat of his tongue.
She then realized what had touched her was his armor-plated tail. Whether it was on purpose or not, she couldn't be absolutely sure...although she was heavily leaning towards intentional.
Fumbling clumsily at first, she finally managed to grab it and she turned back to him, thoroughly anxious and discombobulated.
"It's quite alright." He said in an emotionless tone, but the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, betraying that he, on the other hand, was rather amused by her klutziness.
She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, relieved that he didn't appear to be irritated whatsoever. Quite the opposite, actually.
"Please, allow me to get another one for you!" She pleaded, and turned to leave to retrieve it.
The Arch Devil caught her wrist, and she felt a sharp sting of his talons through his gloves, making her gasp.
"Something this minor is no issue." He assured her with the ghost of a smile. "Stay."
He held out his clawed hand for her to pass him the knife, and she relented with uneasy compliance.
The demon took it and cut the steak open with surgical precision, and she watched as more of the bloody juices seeped out. She watched him inhale deeply, and his gaze darkened at the scent and sight of blood like a shark. He then closed his eyes and drug the flat of the dripping blade across his tongue, not letting a drop of it go waste.
"Perfection." He purred, his crystalline eyes sliding back open to lock onto hers, his tongue curling over his fang in predatory promise.
Despite not having pupils, she could feel his gaze boring straight through her like white-hot fire. The way those diamond-like eyes burrowed into hers as he savored the blood on his tongue gave her the impression that it was her own flesh he wanted a taste of, and the muscles beneath her waist clenched. For some reason, that made her cheeks flush.
Even through the thick aroma of bloody meat, Demiurge's acute senses could detect just the faintest hint of arousal emanating from her, heating his blood.
"So...are you sleeping well in your new quarters?" He asked, his gaze never faltering from hers.
"Y-yes, master." She said quietly, and was relieved he said something to snap her out of the bizarre trance she had fallen under. "And thank you. I've never had a room of my own before."
"Is that so? And why is that, if you don't mind me asking?" He probed, and took another bite of steak.
"Um...we used to be locked in a designated room until the day was over, and after so many hours those of us who could not work anymore would sleep in a closet until the next shift, or the next client would arrive." She timidly explained.
Demiurge raised an eyebrow, but was otherwise expressionless as he weighed her words.
"That is unfortunate." He said emotionlessly, seemingly unaffected by the the news that she once lived in overworked conditions and squalor. Such history was typical for slaves. "However, as long as you serve under me, you will have your own quarters, clothes, and whatever else may be necessary for your functions."
"I am very grateful for that." She bowed her head respectfully. "And I noticed...none of the other cleaning staff have their own room. Tuare said she has to sleep in a main bedroom with the rest of the maids." She noted aloud.
"Of course. You're a personal servant, not mere maid staff." Demiurge practically scoffed, as if she would know the difference.
She thought for a moment, still not quite sure what exactly it meant. She was obligated to the same duties as the maids. The only difference so far was her bringing him his daily meals and drinks and keeping his domain clean.
The demon could see the wheels in her head turning.
"You are assigned specifically to the 7th Floor, my floor, and the kitchen; not the entirety of the Tomb as they are. Therefore I shouldn't need to be barging in to the main bedroom designated for mere maids every time I need you for one thing, or another." Her master specified, but vaguely. "Hence, why you have your own room, near your master."
He could tell she still didn't quite grasp the gravity of her situation.
"To be blunt, it means I own you." The Arch Devil said with a insidious grin. "You are bound to me, your master; like a pet, you are mine to play with and stroke when I please."
Her body went rigid and her blood chilled in her veins.
As her eyes widened, his gaze narrowed menacingly as saw the the truth finally sink in, his wicked grin stretching until it showed his fangs.
They left it at that, as she was unsure how to respond, and Demiurge was perfectly content to let her stew on the fact that she was now his slave in every sense of the word as he finished his dinner.
Demiurge's crystalline eyes darkened behind his spectacles, and a sly smile curled one end of his lips as he crawled up her body with predatory intent, like a stalking panther.
Lillith felt the fine silken fabric of his suit graze her bare skin, bringing the frightening reality that she was vulnerably naked to her attention; she tried to cover herself with the sheets beneath her, but he grabbed her forearms, stopping her. He himself was fully dressed, but she felt him, the heat of his freed member, resting, waiting, at her entrance, and she did all she could to throw him off. Knowing she was trying to break free of his hold, he casually brought both gloved hands further forward to hold her wrists down on either side of her face, as though her panicked struggling was no real inconvenience, while simultaneously he was easing himself inside of her, inch by inch. He stared down at her, watching her reactions with intense interest. For a split second, everything froze. There was pure and utter disbelief in his servant's eyes as the full weight of what was happening dropped on her like lead. She gasped and hissed, with both pain and ...something else.
Demiurge closed his eyes, his lips parting as he savored her warmth and wetness, and gave a low moan as he sank deeper and deeper until he was fully buried within her. He pulled out slowly, and just as leisurely thrust back in. He licked lips, and then his eyes snapped back open, and there were fangs in the vicious grin that crept over his face.
He then reared over her, and held her wrists firmly against the bed as he unexpectedly slammed inside her. She cried out as he began to forcefully fuck her, and he plunged again, and again, and again, giving her no time to adjust to the savage change of pace.
There was a shroud in his eyes, like he was testing her. She was terrified and had no idea when this started happening. Adrenaline charged through her bloodstream, and she found the strength to fight him, but even with her body's usually life-saving last resort, it was wasn't nearly enough; he was still far stronger than her, inhumanly so. His grip was equivalent to iron clasps holding her down. Her arms were useless, as were her legs which were pinned under him, and he kept himself above her just out of reach from her teeth.
He groaned as he moved in and out of her, almost as though he were taunting her. Suddenly, he lowered his body to lay flat against her, to allow himself to sink deeper than before. Demiurge nestled his head against her neck and sank his fangs into her flesh, arching his back before the plunge. He pounded forward, and her jaw dropped open in a loud gasp, her eyes flew wide open; he was now striking something hidden inside her, and in combination with his clenching fangs it created an unexpected but remarkably sharp, decadent flare of pleasure. It reverberated from her core, creating shock waves and tingling all the way down to her toes. She had never felt that before...all she knew from sex at the brothel was pain. Fear. Anger. Disgust. But this...this felt different. While she still felt fear, what he was doing to her now felt more... pleasant than anything, and she thought she knew why.
He sucked her neck, and she whimpered as it felt just as pleasurable as his sharp teeth.
Demiurge wasn't merely using her for his own pleasure, as the clients at the brothel had. He seemed to be trying a few different things, trying to learn her body, attempting to determine her sensual weaknesses, what brought her pleasure.
He struck the spot again, and ran his tongue over the pulse of her throat.
She heard herself cry out, and her arms ceased their straining against his grasp, no longer wanting to stop what he was doing. She now felt an odd sense of curiosity blooming. An intrigued hum left his throat, as if he knew he found the right spot. He bit down again and plunged hard, hitting the same bundle of nerves with perfect precision; she mewled and arched into him as it shot another bolt of rapture through her. He began a rhythm of biting and thrusting simultaneously, and within five strokes she was no longer resisting whatsoever. While he kept his hands over her wrists, he was no longer holding her down, but merely holding himself up. She leaned her neck to the side, giving him greater access. Her breath now came in short, quick pants, the heat of his body enclosing her in an overwhelming fiery warmth, every nerve a live wire.
"You like that," He murmured huskily against her throat. "don't you?"
Her face flushed and she let out a low, airy moan in lieu of a response, unable to stop herself.
Through the euphoric haze, questions bubbled up to the surface. What the Hell was happening? How did he get in here? She had locked the door, and was sure this began as rape, but he still felt so good inside of her. Had this been a client at the brothel, she would be screaming, fighting him tooth and nail, but as much as she hated to admit it, she did indeed like how the demon was making her feel...she had never felt anything positive associated with this act, especially anything remotely this intense. While it was extremely confusing to her fear-addled mind, her body pushed her towards encouraging this to continue.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a needy whine, wordlessly pleading for more, and she felt him grin against her skin. Seeing that she was going to let him have his way, he shifted, and her legs were now no longer pinned beneath him. She instinctively locked them around his narrow waist, trying to pull him deeper into her as another wet throb of desire pulsed between her legs.
"Master..." She whimpered.
"Look at me." He said, the order soft but still laced with the sharp steel of a warning.
He plunged again and she obeyed, and gasped as she watched his eyes alight like hellfire, blazing into hers.
Demiurge freed one of her wrists to slide a hand under her rear, raising her hips up to meet his thrust for thrust, and he bared his fangs as an animalistic growl left his lips; she felt the pulsing, pleasurable sensation spreading, intensifying. She moaned his name, and his returning groan was guttural.
She jolted awake in a cold sweat, wildly twisting in the sheets and damn near rolling out of her bed. Her eyes darted around as she frantically scanned the room, panting. Save for herself, her bed was empty. From across the room she could see that her door was still closed, and she was alone.
It was all a dream.
An intense throb urgently pulsed between her thighs, and she felt a strange wetness.
'What the Hell?'
It wasn't that time of the month. She couldn't be bleeding.
She curiously slipped a finger between her legs, and let out a serrated breath. She was so sensitive it burned. But it felt good. Insanely good. She had never genuinely felt this before.
As she withdrew her hand and inspected it, in the moonlight streaming through her window she could see the sticky fluid between her digits was clear, not crimson.
'What the fuck is happening to me?'