Zulema stared blankly at the snow between her legs, ignoring his seemingly veiled threat. A terrifying confliction roared inside of her and any form of justification only served to further fuel the wavering convictions she had pledged her life in service to. Her self-confidence for the past few weeks had hit rock bottom and she had found it increasingly difficult to argue with Derleth about his plans for her. She was afraid to fall victim to his brainwashing, and it was becoming more and more likely that no one was going to come rescue her. She was being forced to throw away her past—her complete sense of self—to become a pawn in a dangerous game between forces beyond her understanding. The priestess squeezed her eyes shut and tried to bring her mind back to reality. She fell backwards into the snow and looked up at the bleak sky filled with amorphous clouds swirling in that same odd circular pattern around the cyclopean tree that was Derleth’s base, piercing the firmament above. The fire beside her crackled as it continued thawing the meat she had left on it. The hunger she had been feeling before had slowly dissipated and replaced by a different gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. She was no longer enticed by the burning smell and instead, her eyes grew heavy as she quietly listened to the flames trying their best to burn through what was probably some kind of eldritch ice encasing the poor scrap of meat. She no longer cared about eating and despite being in some sort of coma for an entire week, she drifted off into actual sleep.
In her dreams, the young priestess imagined herself as a lowly peasant girl scrubbing the floors of a fat, wicked man who offered nothing but barked orders and lecherous perversions. She would spend all day the rooms he barely used spotless and cooking the food that could barely satiate his bottomless stomach. And even then, she could only cook for herself after all her chores were done. Rarely did he ever offer an ear to listen to her woes when the overwhelming work was too much to bear or a broad shoulder to cry on over the deep regret she felt from running away from her family that led to her eventual indentured servitude. She couldn’t help but wonder why God had brought down upon her so cruel a fate instead of on one far more deserving of his wrath. Still, despite her unfortunate lot in life, she continued to do her housework diligently, hoping that someday she would be rewarded for her perseverance by living her happily ever after with a strong and caring husband who swept her off her feet and gave her clever and courteous children who would all love her unconditionally.
Then one day, as luck would have it, the young peasant girl earned a lucky break when there came a sudden knocking on the front door while her master was away. Checking to see who had come to pay them a visit, she opened the creaky wooden slab of her blasted hearth to reveal a friendly, nebulous woman smiling back at her. The woman, hidden within a cloud—or possibly even made up of clouds—bowed and greeted the peasant girl who could only cover her blushing face with a trembling hand. She immediately recognized the mysterious foggy woman as one of the Queen’s holy knights. But what business could she have here, at the home of the human latrine that was her master?
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Greetings,” said the cloudy knight, still bowing. “The Queen and her court have heard many tales of the beautiful and lovely young woman being held captive against her will, who does the work of 10 men, yet has not received the due respect and acclaim she deserves. The Queen was quite moved by your plight and wishes to spirit you away from this injustice to become one of her most prestigious of handmaidens.”
“Oh my!” exclaimed the peasant girl. “That sounds like a dream come true! It would almost seem like my prayers have been answered, except there is no way my brute of a master would ever allow me to escape the cruel tether of his bondage…”
The hazy-looking woman huffed and finally raised her head, smiling at the peasant. “Worry not, my fairest lady, for that scoundrel is already in our custody and is waiting a most brutal of executions.”
The incredibly beautiful and gorgeous peasant girl fell to her knees, her pretty and alluring face suddenly marred by shining tears, which only served to enhance her maidenly features. “Could it be true?! Is this horrible nightmare of my forced enslavement finally at a glorious and justified end? Oh, what an exquisite bittersweetness and intolerable injustice it is not to be there to bring the blade down upon his neck myself.”
“What are you saying, my lady? That will be your first course of action once we’ve arrived!”
The peasant girl’s glimmering emerald eyes sparkled at the notion of bloody vengeance. She could already feel the warm crimson liquid splattering across her face as her scythe cuts true through the spineless flesh of her wicked captor. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s waste this worthless dick.”
Zulema’s eyes fluttered open as the smell of acrid smoke filled her nostrils. She rushed to her feet and quickly pulled the burning meat from the makeshift glacial stove. How long had she been asleep? It wasn’t quite nightfall but it had definitely been a couple of hours. She sighed as she observed the crispy flesh of the burnt meat, wondering if it was somehow still edible—as if she had much choice in the matter. But just as her teeth had scarcely grazed the meal, a strange sudden sound quickly caught her attention. It was the steady beat of jingling of something quite familiar. Something she had grown quite used to hearing before all of this had befallen her. A bell? No, that wasn’t quite right. The clinking of gems? She looked out toward the forest where the chiming had been coming from.
“…Marie?”
