When she came, it was while riding a scream of pain.
He sprayed white globs of stinging grossness so far inside her, it would linger like a stain she could never push out.
What had she done?
On fire, pinned under the weight of a monster lazy with slaked lust, her tears fell hot and free.
At last that organ was shrinking, slowly worming its way out of her ass. But the mark he’d made on her, the blasphemy he’d drawn from foolish lips would never seep out, no matter how many holes she tore in her flesh.
“I am lost…”
Filth crusted nails raked her chin, forcing her to twist her neck at an impossible angle so that one large blue eye might find his devious smile. “I so ador—”
The floor dropped out from under them, and with an earsplitting crash, dust and debris snowed down upon her room. It was as if the earth itself shook, as if it worked its jaws, intent on devouring the vampire whore and the beast panting on her back.
“HE WOULDN’T DARE!” Darius pulled away, careless of the damage he caused, or the detritus that followed the path of his dick from her anus. Once on his feet, the ground wrenched again, almost upsetting the devil’s balance. “You.” Turning his fury on the bleeding woman soiling the coverlet. “Stay there! This insurrection will be crushed at once.”
Through tears, Pearl saw the air bend, distort, and Darius, the devil she’d named as her God, vanished.
It would be easy to say that the rocking of the earth which sent her candelabras toppling over was a sign of her salvation. It would be easy to claim divinity smiled upon her.
It didn’t.
In fact, no one came to smile, threaten, bleed her, or denounce.
Hours she lay under a ceiling that dusted her room in a fog of ancient dirt. In that time her body mended.
Darius did not return.
One by one the candles began to flicker and wane. All the soft golden light of her cell faded, snuffed out to scent the air with a wisp of smoke. It was not until the last three had almost met their end before Pearl found the will to rise from the bed. New tapers were lit, and had she been wiser, she would have rationed her meager supply.
Rocking herself in the shadowy room, surrounding by fine paintings, by jewels, by sumptuous furnishing and a tub grown cold, she saw the cell for what it was.
A tomb.
Her tomb.
Day’s passed, Pearl sleeping anywhere but the soiled bed.
Starving, down to her last candle, she read through the book she’d found on the desk, and knew the gnawing in her gut was more than hunger.
This was a bad place.
A bad place where she had been tempted, and spoken terrible words.
When she opened the filigreed box on the desk, when she found the notes, she didn’t weep. After all, didn’t the church teach that there was no such thing as victims of the devil? She had come to him of her own accord.
She had killed Chadwick Parker. She had served as the demon’s slut.
She had renounced her God under the ecstasies only the prince of darkness might offer.
And every word on those torn notes was true.
She was in Hell.
Damned, Pearl snuffed out the last candle before it might burn away. Pitch black filled her vision. Shuffling through the furniture, she found the stinking bed, and pulled the covers crusted in all things unholy over her body. There she lay, forgotten, abandoned, and without hope.
Just as she deserved.
Starvation drained her flesh over weeks. Shriveled, desiccated, she lay like an age worn corpse unable to blink. Yet, where the body failed the mind persevered.
She couldn’t scream into that endless night. Eventually, even her chest no longer rose to draw breath. But awareness and desolation never faded.
Hell was a dedicated custodian. It refused to release her stolen soul.
Years, decades, passed trapped on that bed staring up into unyielding dark.
Alone.
Forgotten.
Forsaken.
Another corpse in the catacombs.