Sunday, April 7, 2013

Cinders of the Soul - A Short Story

This month's story challenge piece ended up a bit different. Different from my initial intent and different from what I started writing it as, even. Initially, I wrote it beginning from in the midst of a serving girl's 'service' in Theater Royal, but due to the intricacies of the time, a lot of what I was writing didn't really match up. For reference, I wanted to place the story around the Great Fire of London, 1666. I wanted to use the fire as a central focus for the shift in life and the tragedy that sets things in motion, but the more I researched to do it justice, the more it pointed out things that disjointed my writing. 

In the end I could likely have worked around it easier than the way I did, but as with it being a story challenge of 6k maximum, and ending on 5,999, available pacing and timeline is something to be considered. Also why I post these as more a sampler of style and content than a fuller publication. As with Down the Bunny Hole I have a wealth of things in mind for this story, but more so than that piece, even.

I have around 3k words worth of pre-story written to go in on what is essentially Alice's life as an aristocratic whore. A serving girl in the theater, if you like, as historians agree they delivered more than drinks and messages to the nobility. I have ideas for expanding on her life on returning to London, of her relationship with the two men, one her own age and one his Father. Perhaps he'll have her call him Daddy while  twirling the waxed edge of his moustache and giving her bottom a good thrashing. I say.

Be that as it may, what I have to offer today is something a little more odd, and of course cut short. It's incest, but is it really incest is what I wonder. No, not "pseudo-incest" to get it past publishers, I mean... well, you'll see.

Tags: F/F-kind of, Telekinesis, Marionette, Paranormal, Historic, Incest, Phallic Toy, Vaginal, Lipstick, Elbow-length gloves

Cinders of the Soul

Throughout time, stories have come and gone unspoken. Some in shadow of greater events, some simply because none have known to give them voice. In the peaceful countryside of Aylesford, a weather-worn letter, marked December 11 1670 interrupts the slow tune playing across the keys. The letter is not the beginning of a story, nor an end to another, but it is a beginning.

“December? Mother has this taken a bloody month to arrive? And who in the hells from?” Alice – the woman sat before the keys in her early twenties with a pretty, rounded face, delicate blue eyes framed by hair of blonde threatening unto white – asks, waving it as though it should have known better than to. The look on her Mother’s face was expectantly sombre and silencing, making the young woman stop and glance to it again. London.

“Read it.” Edith intoned simply, a hint of patience and warmth about her. Alice was already against the thought of reading, but so she was told. The girl took a deep breath, hefting her bosom in its corset-bridged top, and her stomach sank immediately.

By care of his Lordship Sir Thomas Bradford. Oh yes, she remembered him perfectly well. He’d taken a liking to her oral supplication before the Great Plague saw to shutting the Theatre Royale down along with every other blasted service in the city. 

“Mother how in blazes did this man obtain our address?” Alice’s tone almost demanded in an uneasy quiver. She’d left that world behind, and the simplest thought of the place was no easier on her soul now than in its final days.

“Must I read it for you, Alice?” Her Mother’s tone held the steel Alice always lacked, and set her lips to a twisted, pouting sneer, but read it she did. 

My Lady Rendall, forgive me this trespass of privacy but I cannot rightly explain how I came of it and have thee rightly hold faith of my constitution, but by honour my intentions are just. I shan’t lie nor attempt discuss them here.

“He’s certainly trying to cover for himself, bloody nobility never changes I suppose.” Alice grumbled, shaking her head as she read through his preamble.

For all every year is hard upon us all, I more than others know of just what London has taken from thee, and thy have deepest condolences. Buildings may be rebuilt, yet nay lives lost to the travesty of those dark days can never truly be rebuilt, and nary day goes whence that does not weigh upon me.

The corner of the letter was starting to crumple in Alice’s balling fist as she read, her Mother’s hand stroking across her back smoothed her from the roiling emotion look up at her. Time had been kind enough to Edith’s features, though fate had not been at all kind to the world around her. Grey showed in her hair and lines emphasised her face, but she held tones of her youth and a plump, comforting kindness. She all but nodded gently to her daughter.

I do fear the sympathy you deserve shan’t ever be delivered so. Truly, to lose family is one tragedy, sister another, but to think of a twin lost can only pale to tear upon my heart next to the torment of living such a thing. As thee may know, my son was also very fond of Annabel, and nor did he rest to find her when the fire began.

The image of it whirled into Alice’s mind unbidden. The years had not softened the horrifying grandeur of the inferno at all. The city so ablaze that the flames created their own weather, so it was said. So strong that they had melted steel and burned gates to the ground. 

‘The Great Fire of London’ they had called it. Alice had searched tirelessly through the refugee camps, and known Annabel would be nowhere to be found after it was finally ceased. Somewhere inside, she hoped only to believe that her sister’s soul had conducted the flames into the spectacle they became so that it may be remembered through all history. A light show so much grander than any of her fireworks, at a cost unmatchable for what it had taken from the world in life unbeknown. Only then could she call it ‘great.’

While naught in this world will return Annabel to us, my son and I agreed upon a commission of sorts to see her service remembered. We have since rebuilt what was her home above the docks, furbished and marked it in honour of the life and love her talents within the theatre gave us all, but the truest of gifts to her memory is that of the statuette in her likeness.

Alice dropped the letter like it too had caught fire, stormed to her feet and whirled to stare indignantly to her Mother. “They have done WHAT?! Why did you not say, why are you so calm? Do you expect me to go running back to be some… some nobleman’s pithy second whore, now that the first is lost?! I will NOT stand for th-”

“Then sit, child. I told you to read because I already have.” Alice’s Mother was also the stern comfort she’d needed these years, the thing that had held her together, and so she sat, sighed, and read the rest in silence. She sat and stared at the paper – through it, when she had finished – and could not find the words for long minutes of drawn silence before she spoke.

“And you abide this, Mother?” Was all she could ask, and her Mother nodded.

“Alice, I have sheltered and cared for you these years because you are my own, but that city is where you belong and we both know this. It would seem you have friends there you did not imagine, and I will not see you turn down the care and expense they have devoted to your sister’s name, nor what you will make of your own.” Her tone was as soft as the hands on her daughter’s back, but Alice could feel the weight of the world in both. For the first time in a very long time, Alice wanted to weep, but only focused upon folding the letter and tucking it back into its envelope.

“Well, I had best pack. Lord Bradford has much to answer for, and if for nothing else, I will not see Annabel’s memory left in someone else’s care.” Alice declared, throwing the letter to the piano and scowling as she stood to look at her Mother. 

“That’s my girl.” Edith chuckled derisively and patted her daughter’s cheek but to see her scowl and pout one last time. The years had been hard on them both, but this would prove a break for the better. Within the week, Alice was once more on that great road that led into the city from the countryside in the back of a grain wagon. Back into the bustle and out of her sheltered solace. 

Lying back on the packed bags, she sighed and stared up at the stars that coated the night sky in brilliance, and thought back to a simpler time. Alice had been a serving girl within The Theatre, and exactly what ‘serving’ meant was never up for much ambiguation. Her sister was a sight more respectable, having secured a position on the docks in trading and using gunpowder for light-shows of all things. 

Alice was no alchemist, and neither had her sister been, but the flashes, fireworks and clouds of smoke employed in stage performances by her guidance had been a marvel sorely missed till others could be employed to do the same without danger. It was one such night that Alice recalled, now. 

Moving down into the underground of the theatre through one of the many servant doors, the easy way to have them stay unseen and quick about their business, Alice was wasn’t going to find her visit to the wine cellar peaceful. She could already hear the smacking of flesh from down the hall. With how like a mine-shaft the thing was, sound travelled very easily, especially when you were pitching your wailing voice like you had an audience to reach. 

Pursing her lips and shaking her head, Alice made to ignore the sound and go about getting a new set of drinks. The dull thrum of the string orchestra through the floor couldn’t match the ever increasing thuds and slaps of thigh meeting thigh though, nor of wood creaking and shifting under each shove. 

Setting her tray down loudly didn’t seem to alert the couple either, which only set to annoy her further. They could at least bear caution and awareness! Taking a glass from the overhang, Alice walked to the nearest wine rack of uncorked bottles set out for tonight, and tried not to peek through the shelf. As much as the sound was arousing her in all the wrong ways, she refused to stare at her sister’s indecency, no matter how delightful it sounded. 

Love made a fool of you, and would get her sister’s hide strung up and flogged if not worse for being down here with him. Bemused thoughts of being the one to string her up and paddle her were quickly interrupted by a quaking rise in Annabel’s pitch that almost made Alice break the glass she was now drinking from. The pitch required to break glass through frustration was much lower than it was for vibration alone.

With that note, it was done. Alice pulled the glass away and realised she'd been holding her breath while she listened. Her cheeks were hot with what she wished was anger, but she knew better, if never to admit it. 

The bloody fool pair were muttering to one another in hushed tones now, which only made Alice grimace and turn her back to them to attend her other glasses. Her ears strained despite herself, though all she heard was the general tone of the conversation. She wanted to know what made her sister into such a doting little giddy mess, and what the bloody hell she was saying while sounding as if she was drunk - unless she was drunk.

Minutes passed while Alice paid all too much attention to filling the glasses before the sound of footsteps worked their way around the roof-high wine rack. Heavy feet, and only one set, so her dearest sister must have still been off her legs from it all. Glancing over her shoulder, Alice gave the slightest smile to the inevitable awkwardness of the smile the boy flashed her.

“Markus.” Her tone, of course, was anything but sweet now. “Tipped well, I trust.” Alice shot dismissively over her shoulder as she turned back to the glasses. Markus simply excused himself, silently.

“You’ll want to be careful with that one, Annabel. He’s at risk of needing to start shaving any day now.” Alice called over the rack, knowing fine well her sister would hear, and not much caring if the boy barely into his adulthood would hear on the way out. Annabel's laugh was a soothing thing that made her smile a little despite herself, downing the rest of her glass as she turned to face the woman staggering out on slightly bowed legs with a flush in her cheeks. Alice's double, her twin all but for the beauty mark on Annabel’s left cheek that separated one from the other.

“What, pray oppose to men old enough to truly be thy father?” Annabel teased, quirking a lurid grin as she reached over to stroke her sister’s cheek and clean off a smear of makeup that had smudged off her lip at some point during her ‘service’. Alice snorted and placed her glass to one side.

“Now that’s different, I do not have my head in clouds over them, and you know very well there’ll be a few up there that much more easily qualify as his bloody Mother that want more of his time.” Alice pointed out with a dismissive wave. All part of the job, and little more worth worrying about. Some things just were. Annabel just laughed.

“Oh yes, but what am I to say? He wanted to try something quite exciting, but to have me strewn over the caske-" Annabel began, that wicked glint in her eye that her sister sorely lacked as she interrupted.

“I don't want to know! Bloody hell Anna you may a secure position with your effects here but if unbecoming hears of any of this you can be punished! Furthermore, you aren’t actually drunk, are you?” Alice spluttered with arced brows and a stabbing finger. Annabel breathed another soft laugh and hugged her sister dearly, kissing her cheek to the edge of her lip. Alice flushed with warmth and dropped the tension in her back immediately.

“Oh, never change, Alice. I know I have you to watch over me, and it is perfectly fine. I am not drunk, and none shall hear of it. You have my word." She added in with a chastising tone that left the both to snickering laughter and fond hugging.

“Bloody men, God’s truth.” Alice grumbled while setting her sister’s blouse straight and dress back up around her waist properly while Annabel did the same for her sister; straightening her long-sleeved gloves back up to her shoulders, tightening her corset.

Under the night sky of now, tears welled in her eyes to point of stinging and blurring the stars into streams till Alice blinked and turned away from the memory to sleep. “Bloody fool-born, craven lout men.” She growled, blinking her eyes clear to sleep.

It made me weep to see it. -Samuel Pepys, September 2nd, 1666.

London, of course, was nothing as Alice remembered it. The years of mourning had seen little abate, the wound suffered by the city would not be so quickly healed. Many streets housed naught but ruin and the impoverished content to live in the simplest shelter. If the husks of houses were to fall, they would have done so long ago. The streets remained the same, however, and before long, Alice found herself knocking upon the addressed door with suitcase in hand. 

Unsurprisingly, the maid to greet her almost fainted on the spot in thinking her a ghost, and quickly called for the lord of the house. Less surprisingly still, Lord Bradford was ecstatic to see her, and drew her into a fond embrace. 

The years had been good to him, leaving him a dashing and square-jawed man suited to nobility. The corners of his moustache seemed waxed to a curl as was the bloody fool fashion from Europe, but the scarred patch of hair burnt from his left temple provided jarring countenance to his grooming. 

It did suit him to not cover the scarring, somehow. Men were obliquely vain about what they thought of as honoured ‘battle scars’, and pray the people never suffer another travesty as the fire to need carry reminder of as that one. Alice returned the greeting in kind, and restrained her own surprise to see beyond him – now much less of a boy and seeking to follow in his father’s impression of a handsome draw to his smile – Sir Markus Bradford.

“God’s teeth it is good to see you, woman. I had thought my messenger fallen to ill fate. Please, come in.” He offered, his voice as deep and rich as she remembered. She hadn’t entirely minded serving his whim during plays, and perhaps she now appreciated what her sister saw in the man’s son, but she would think nothing on that. Merely the thought of how either of them looked in those days brought a sting to her heart.

“Thank thee, my Lord. In truth holding the address at all perplexed Mother and I greatly.” Alice was not about to beat around the bush after such an admission for trust, and gave the man the best stare she could without letting the feeling that she should be smiling demurely and curtsying down for someone old enough she could consider him her damnable father take over.

“Oh, by rights, yes! Please, allow my maidservant to take your things. A room will be prepared. This way, if you please. You see, Madame Rendall, it is such a thing that I do not believe it myself, nary could I commit to paper and suspect faith! 

“You must see it for yourself, trust that none have been within this room, nor vandalised with intent. It is most securely locked, and of no small importance to us.” Lord Bradford explained as they climbed the staircase and moved into a broad hallway. The man sounded proud, sincere, but also wary of his own words and uncertain. What lay behind the locked door, Alice would never be prepared for, though she had known it was to come.

“Annabel.” She whispered, tears unbidden welling in her eyes as her heart wrenched. The room was beautiful; broad and as rich as any other in the house, but distinctly unlived in, besides for the figure by the window.

“Is she not beautiful? My son and I made it our life’s work to capture her image, and we realised that a portrait would not suffice. It became quite the point of news, and we were not entirely sure to do with what we’d created. Only just thing to do was contact yourself but we had no way and none knew of where you had gone unto. None, that is, but Annabel.” Lord Bradford explained, slowly and solemnly, having lived through all of this the same as she did.

“What do you mean?” Alice asked, though refused to take her eyes from the perfect sculpt of her twin, frozen in time with an eerie beauty that stared longingly out the window. Lord Bradford chuckled uneasily.

“By the window. Marked into the wood by no hand of ours, and do believe I had not only the House but those adjacent interrogated over the matter.” He explained with a brisk, almost defensive tone. Alice just walked towards the window, to the likeness of her sister. There, truly grazed into the windowsill by some manner of bladed pen, were words not inches from where her sister’s hand lay.

By twenty and six yon Aylesford does mine weep to be returned but for the herald. “My Lord.” Alice’s voice could not manage to hold the dry, choked quiver of emotion. “If this is a joke, I will see to it your son’s right to grant heir is cut from him and fed to the hounds.” Much steadier. Lord Bradford’s raucous laughter was brief, and quickly tempered.

“Ah, I knew I’d taken fond of thy tongue, woman. Nay, I swear it on my honour. Were it in jest, why the court would have us hung for it. Nay, by God’s truth I am a man of faith and reason but I can make none of it beyond that it… well, that she herself wrote it.” Lord Bradford explained, and Alice could not hear lies in the remiss of his voice. 

“Blind me I do not believe in poltergeists but the life we found in her likeness that morning, the fact her hand had moved, I know not what else to think of it. We tracked down the address and she was right. Inviting you was all I could see right to do. I am sorry.” Sincere and morose didn’t cover how he sounded, humble enough to soothe and withhold the fire in Alice’s eyes that London had not seen for seven years.

“I see. You have my thanks, Lord Bradford.” Alice returned to a much softer tone that curled his moustache further with the relief of his smile. He placed the key down to Alice’s care, and bowed graciously.

“I shall leave you to her company, to whatever that may mean. Should…” He began, pulling the door shut as he paused, considering. “Should dearest Annabel truly grace us with her spirit, pray ensure she is not displeased with us, might you?” He finished, an imploring look to his face that made Alice burst into laughter, barely managing to nod as he briskly excused himself in a flourish of embarrassment. 

Such an astute, noble man, scraping and pleading with what’d been a sully whore of a theatre servant to not have her deceased twin haunt his manor. Alice never thought she’d be able to laugh over something like this but truth was, being here in London, seeing and somehow feeling the company of her sister again, she truly felt alive once more.

“God’s truth, look at you, letting men dress you!” Alice murmured as she fixed her gaze on her sister’s impression, its eyes fixed boldly on hers in such a way to make her halt. Hadn’t she been looking to the window? Alice swallowed hard and righted herself as she took to straightening and tightening the clothing on the… doll, was perhaps the only word for it. Lifelike, life-sized, but a marionette all the same.

“Well, they’ve served you well enough, if a touch generous with your figure, hm? Not that you’d mind. Now they’d like me to stay. I suppose you would too, would you not?” She murmured, losing the edge on her voice again as she gripped the overlaying tunic that framed her sister’s chest fiercely to hold herself together. For a wonder, she could smell gunpowder and singe in the doll. They hadn’t tried to idolize or truly doll her memory. They had stayed true to her, and for it, Alice felt her heart swell as she raised and raked fingers through the softness of her sister’s pristine hair, almost white in the early afternoon daylight.

She could no longer resist. Within her head, Alice heard the first, deep key of the piano she had played for the years since leaving London strike. Her lips pressed to her sisters, and while they were not as yieldingly soft as skin, the embrace was an admittance for her. A step forward in an emotion she had never allowed herself to pursue in her sister’s living life. One that had torn at her heart the most on losing her.

Alice loved her sister; more than any other, and in ways entirely improper. She had kept the feelings shrouded and secured for the dark indecency they were, especially for such a young woman. A number of things from the blackened sky full of char and ash to the years alone had broken her heart and soul as surely as the city. 

She no longer cared how improper it might be. Her lips danced and pressed hard against the marionette. She would indulge her love however she damn well pleased, and that meant marking her sister with her lipstick, breathing in her distinctly sulphurous scent and holding her arms around the one thing dearest to her.

The breaking kiss left Alice unusually breathless, her shimmering eyes dancing across those of her sister. Lord Bradford was right, there was something that bit more ‘full of life’ about them, and not just in the eerie way of miniature dolls or paintings. 

It made Alice shiver with a lost warmth, a heat the fires had taken from many of the city’s people. Reluctantly, she pulled away, though her clothing snagged and that in turn, made her footing give. Rather; it made the embodiment of her sister shift, causing the weight to lean into her and topple. A brisk fall and the wind knocked from her later, and Alice lay under her sister, having instinctively held to the figure for how precious it was.

It would almost look compromising, Alice’s legs splayed up around her sister’s sides and laid under her on the floor of the room, if not ridiculous. Still, Alice stayed down for a moment longer than strictly necessary, simply staring up into the eyes that met hers. She most certainly could not leave her sister to another’s care, and so she would accept the charge.

First off, that meant getting up, leaving Alice to struggle and squirm with her sister’s inanimate figure. Pushing and pulling both of them up to stand her by the window again, Alice took preciously delicate care about it.

“You really are something, aren’t you? I am sorry for running back to Mother, my dearest sister. I am sorry more for never accepting what I felt till now!” Alice barked a weak laugh, rubbing her palm across her sister’s cheek as Annabel stared back with an infinite patience to listen to her sister’s confession. Sure of the stability, Alice moved away more slowly and took her leave with a quiet smile. She felt more comforted than she remembered for some time, even with her Mother, and she could get used to that.

The Bradfords proved pleasant, and Alice’s role was made clear enough for her. While she certainly suspected more lecherous intents, she was but to have a big role in the stories of Annabel Rendall’s restoration and memory. The twinned likeness, their life together and ultimately Annabel’s death became something of a fable among many surrounding the great fire. Alice was kept as esteemed guest because of it.

Her privacy and devotion was well respected, and while the Bradfords were never truly ‘haunted’ maliciously for it, one night Alice would find herself greeted by one she had never expected.

Held in the throes of fantasy, Alice dreamt of what would have been had she done the impossible. In her mind, the fingers that danced and swooned beneath the white lace of her undergarments were those of her sister. The quieted moans from her own lips were but whispers from her sibling into her ear. 

She could almost feel her twin – no older than herself, and neither far beyond the cusp of adulthood in her lurid dream – nibbling and tugging on her earlobe as she whispered such improper words as to set Alice’s soul alight. 

Being returned to the image of Annabel’s likeness had roused and kindled the sense of love unrequited into a full flame that she would let spread through her body the way London’s Mayor had left the fire to burn out most of the city for inaction. She would enjoy what she pleased, and she surely enjoyed this, but needed a stronger bodily sensation to drive her over.

Her toy would have to do, as odd as it would be. Perhaps one day she would consider entertaining a ménage, if only within her dreams, but the phallic bar of a thing would just be to get her over that peak, tonight. So she’d thought.

Alice never heard the door open, nor the footsteps following her back across the room to her bed. She certainly did feel the weight of a hand on her shoulder pushing and turning to put her back-down on the bed before she could protest. She was about to, assuming it an assault by one of the men, but shock and confusion struck her hard.

The face to meet Alice was her own, spare the mark of beauty. Spare its preservation in time and scent of gunpowder. Alice was stunned, and though the face before her remained unchanging, her sister’s ruby lips seemed to smile with more of a warmth than by daylight. The doll leant in, moved of its own accord!

“A-Annabel?” Alice whispered incredulously. Lips met her quivering cheek, just shy of her lip the way Annabel had always done with soothing warmth that left a mark like fresh paint. Apparently lipstick didn’t set so well on the wax finish of the mannequin. 

Alice looked around the room frantically for a saner answer, but none existed. The door was shut, and they were alone. Annabel had seemingly stripped down in kind, straddling her sister in naught but lingerie and the distinct, elbow-length black gloves she’d worn all the years ago. 

It made sense, for as much sense as a flaming possessed likeness of her deceased sister could make, that it should cover her less human joints. It made what laid over Alice less frightening as it stroked through Alice’s hair the way she had every day. Brilliant eyes bored into Alice’s soul as though no body lay between either of them. 

Only then did she realise, as the albeit stiff doll of her twin crept up over her on the bed, that she’d lost the toy. Stuck to Annabel’s ungrasping hand, it was moving assuredly down and out of sight between them. Alice’s eyes widened as she watched it vanish, shaking her head slowly and looking back to the unchanging face of her sister.

“A-Anna no, I…” She whispered, fearful of waking the entire manor with how she could have screamed and flailed in panic, but only the gentle creak of wooden underlay met her protest as Annabel’s lips were lowered back down to her sister’s face, silencing her under a compulsion to kiss her sister again. 

Alice’s inhibition and fear melted all the same, her arms looping around the soft padding of Annabel’s shoulders. Her legs splayed out in a quiet show of giving in to her sister as she nodded silently and pressed in for another kiss from the sweet red lipstick across her mouth. 

It made no sense, but she’d stopped caring for sense long ago. Within her head, that first deep keystroke played again, followed by the next. Her twin creaked and shifted above her at the hip, and a flourish of high notes sped across her mind. The dark of her room felt brilliantly light, and her world burned with heat to scorch and melt the earth as the phallic toy slid inside her readied mounds tenderly.

“Oh… God’s teeth, Anna…” She whispered, and closed to another kiss before she was left to simply feel as the toy pierced and slipped deeper into her on the volition of the body and soul that lay in her arms. Alice clenched her arms around Annabel’s back and almost winced from the feel of it – she never started with such a full shove – and melted into gentle panting.

It didn’t need to make sense; the toy was as much a part of Annabel as the rest of her, and all of it an irreplaceable gesture of the passion between them. Annabel’s head had moved down aside her sister, brushing and rubbing at her ear with the soft wetness of her lips. 

Alice closed her eyes, she didn’t want to see or think of this as anything but what it was, and her sister’s body was not all as rigid or cold as she would have imaged from when it fell on her. The weight was very real, yes, but no more than the real thing, and warm in its own right as its faux chest pressed against her own, flattening their breasts against one another.

While Alice might have thought there was little her sister could do in this form, she was to be proven wrong. Annabel’s motions that pushed the length of the toy into her now elder twin were rigid and slow, but it seemed she wasn’t limited to puppeteering her embodiment alone. While unseen, Alice could feel something squeezing and pulling on one of her nipples, and it made her back bow with a hushed gasp of pleasure.

Dropping back down into the bed with a much sharper gasp, Alice looked down to her body with wide eyes and found herself none the wiser. Her nipple was taught and attentive – peeking out from the soft cushioning of her sister’s smothering chest – but there was nothing she could see around it. Again, a soft tingle of tugging raced down it to bloom into her breast and make her squeak in the back of her throat, but nothing of the marionette was tending to her skin personally.

Left to writhe and squirm with the phantasmal teasing, Alice was soon given to feel it between her legs in kind. Oh, she already felt the toy lodged in and the slow, steady rocking of Annabel’s hips that caused little washes of bliss to swell in her stomach, but more of those ephemeral fingers were caressing the walls around it and teasing her clit with a feeling almost electric.

“A-A-Anna, oh Heaven’a mercy I can-nnh!” Alice’s breath of an oath was cut short by that feel of purest lightning on her skin squeezing around the little nub, forcing her to focus on not wailing, nor even crying for how pure and unabridged the show of love felt to her. 

Dimly, she was also aware of being sure to not break her sister’s likeness with how firmly she held to it, but outside that was the simplest, purest torrent of pleasure Alice had ever known. Her legs buckled and squeezed till her knees touched high above the slow ebb and thrust of Anna’s hips, and she was happy.

The thigh-long silken pantaloons that hid the rigidness of Annabel’s joints did nothing to stop the phallic length in front of them doing its job on her sweet sister, and Alice gave easily to the rhythmic sway of it. Alice stirred and writhed like the tide, flowing with strength to every peak before melting back to the comfort of letting the pleasure wash out of her before the next crashed into her shores.

For all it was slow – almost awkwardly so – and steady, the addition of the attention her sensitive spots received, coupled with the simple knowing of whom delivered it, the core of Alice’s being was swelling uncontrollably with a want to burst in pleasure unrestrained. For a wonder, Annabel’s pace quickened, if only slightly, the thrusts changing in direction and speed. A notch of pace, but enough to make her pliant sister practically twist with delight.

It was clear she knew Alice was close, clearer than any other who had joined with either of them, for the bond that held them together this way. Annabel lifted herself up from lying over her sister enough that her hair splayed down to either side. It framed and joined with her sister’s hair so that they might hold one another’s eyes tenderly in their race to the peak. 

Alice stared up into those vivid blue eyes with an almost glassy shine to her own, her quick and ragged moans drawing sharper and harder to keep muted as she shook with each thrust. The rush of it hit without warning. Crashing down and overwhelming the woman, leaving her to thrash and gasp strangled moans as tears ran from Alice’s eyes. The soft silk of Annabel’s glove touched to one of Alice’s cheeks, tracing at the tearstain, and Alice shook her head.

“Oh, thank thee, sister. By this light, ‘pon this soul of mine and all hope of salvation; I do love you, Annabel.” Alice whispered, and felt wholeness so long lost settle on her heart. The warmth of her body was not hers alone, and more still than the sum of them combined, but in the comfort of it she lay.

Annabel’s smile could not change, but a flicker of that warmth – a memory of the heat that had carried her away – seemed to race across her eyes. Annabel lowered down to rest her lips against her twin and see the night out, joined in ways that no other would ever be privy to know of. 

It would be a secret between sisters inseparable. A tale to be carried to their ends and on to the next. Inscribed in no journal, nay recorded in any history beyond that of the public memory that they had lived among the many. Yet perhaps, should faith and fate allow, one day it would be recounted for a tale of fancy and the stuff of magic among the unknowing. By such a time, the souls of the departed would surely rest in peace.


  1. what a great story it was different but very very good

    1. Thanks! An oh yes, I've had some people say it's odd but good, or like it more for the setting than sex. Was a challenge to put together, but definitely a little something different I wanted to try out with the prompts given.

      Hm, between this and last month, I should do something a little more normal for idea of my style, haha.