My Dear One,

I am sorry, sorrier than anyone could ever be. I know you instructed me to wait in that last letter of yours. But I simply cannot bear it. Every day without you feels like I am living underground. You are the sun. I cannot live without your warmth. Please, dearest, allow me to see you again. We do not have to have any fun. Only a glimpse of your countenance would be enough to last me another month. It is agony. What is this feeling? I had thought I had been warned of it, that feeling that could stop seas, start wars, strike a man cold dead. I had no idea.

I quite adore

I lo

Yours, Pearl Spice

The churchyard flooded. It was a ghastly business: coffins were transformed into buoys, bobbing on the brown water and smashing into the buildings. Bodies— or parts of bodies— were found, bloated and adrift, blocks away.

Father, ever the hero, wished to personally survey the damage for signs of supernatural reproach. He took Aubrey with him and Aubrey, fancying a romantic day, brought Pearl along so that they might picnic afterwards.

Father had his case, long-since repaired of the damage it took on the expedition, and Pearl carried the picnic basket on her arm. Though she had neither cooked nor packed the meal, she dreaded the praises the men would lavish on her. 

Her feet rushed ahead upon leaving the carriage. As she looked over the little churchyard fence, the fresh trimmings on her bonnet stirred in the wind. The sun was high.

The Spices were not the only ones roused by morbid curiosity; the oft-abandoned yard was lined with curious gawkers in and outside the fence, speaking behind their hands.

Pearl and the men went on inside. Several days after the flood, the goriest scenes had been removed. Still, mud reigned. The once overgrown, deep green grasses had been peeled away, revealing the sloppy flesh of the earth. The brown yard, with all its washed out hollows, resembled a piece of wood attacked by termites. Even the little stone path was layered thinly in brown grit. Pearl tread very carefully.

On Aubrey’s arm, she was quiet. She followed along with the men in greeting the locals. Some she knew well— the preacher, Mrs. Putnam, who headed her prayer group— and others were yet strangers. They all received the same greeting: a smile, a nod of the head, maybe a curtsy if the subject was respectable.

Mrs. Putnam, on seeing Pearl’s accouterments, spoke with grim wit, “Why, were you invited to a danse macabre?”

Perhaps Pearl was overdressed— she would never admit to it, of course, but when going out, she wanted to look her best. Outside, there was always a chance that she might meet someone it was worth looking good for.

And Pearl was right to trust her intuition, because then, oh then! She noticed someone standing on the hill. On the uneven slope, the church to its back, a gloomy figure in a dark cloak stood in stillness as the wind buffeted its hem. Walking stick pressed into the soft earth, hat at a jaunty angle, shoulders drooping in the sunshine– it, and the mirrored shape beside it, looked more like the freshly unearthed spirits of the dead than any local interlopers.

“Oh darling, look!” Pearl pointed. “It’s Miss Zannouli!”

Despite their distance, Ianthe’s head rose at her name. She snapped her fingers, which roused the servant (who appeared to have fallen asleep on her feet), and crossed the mire to reach their merry group.

“Ho!” She waved her hat in the air. “Pearl, my friend, what are you doing in all this shit?”

As Ianthe stumbled down the hill, Pearl grew nervous. She looked at her father who, moments previous, had engrossed himself in the study of a strange device from his case. Now, he stared at Ianthe nonplussed.

“I’m sharing the sunshine with my family,” she said simply. She turned. “Father, this is my friend, Miss Ianthe Zannouli.”

Ianthe stepped up onto the path.

“Ah.” Father’s voice was flat. “Yes. The Greek.”

When Pearl turned back to Ianthe, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Ianthe was looking upon Pearl’s father with a gaze of naked contempt. She had never imagined such a look on her friend’s face– it was vile and pinched, her eyes narrow, her hands tightly gripping her walking stick.

Pearl turned to Aubrey, who was also dumbfounded. There were no clues to be found with Ianthe’s servant, either. She had gone back to hiding her face behind a scarf and hat.

Whatever it was that had roused such anger, Ianthe did not speak of it. She held out her hand like a lady’s. “An honor to meet you at last, sir.”

Her expression did not waver, only deepened, as Ephraim took her hand and leaned down (as if over a yawning chasm) to kiss her ring. Neither of them broke eye contact, even once.

It was inconvenient. The sight of Ianthe, after so long, set her heart aflame. Had Ianthe received that shameful letter? Did she know how many Pearl had not sent? She longed to speak, to prove her love so eloquently without arousing the suspicions of her family. But her mouth was sewn shut, and she became so flushed she worried that she might faint. She adjusted the basket on her arm.

The coldness was not yet gone when Ianthe turned to exchange a word or two with Aubrey.

“Here to check that none of the tenants ran off?” said Ianthe.

“Huh–? Oh, y-yes. Of course.” Aubrey blinked.

“Yes, it’s all too important.” Ianthe gave a cruel grin. “We must not have the dead telling any tales.”

“We must get moving, Miss Zannouli,” Father said.

“Oh, no trouble!” She turned that smile onto Ephraim; it only became sincere when she locked eyes with Pearl. “It has been too long for us, friend. Won’t you come and pay me a visit tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, of course!” Pearl nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Ianthe tipped the brim of her hat. She and her servant slipped past them and went along their way. Pearl struggled not to turn and watch her leave, like a forlorn pet through its house’s window.

Shortly thereafter, Father leaned over to inspect one of the washed-out graves. It was a deep hole, perhaps two coffins in width, and now filled with nothing but mud and jagged wooden edges. He crouched over that yawning hole, rubbed his fingers in the mud, then rubbed those fingers together. The dry dirt tumbled down his fingertips like a miniature avalanche.

Before Pearl or Aubrey could stop him, he leapt clear into the hole itself.

“Ah!”

“Sir!”

“Pay me no mind,” said Ephraim, with a small salute. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Father set his case on the ground, and from it he pulled a glass jar and a small shovel. Aubrey took a step forward and opened his mouth.

“Aubrey, my boy,” Father said, “would you mind finding someone familiar with this yard? I have some questions.”

He did so. 

Pearl remained; she approached the hole and crouched over it, hugging her knees. “What are you doing, Father?”

“Collecting grave dirt!” He poured a shovelful into his jar. “You never know when you might need some in the nick of time.”

“Like when?”

“When one needs some grave dirt– why are you so curious all of a sudden, daughter?”

Pearl blushed. “It is only— it is distressing to see you in the ground, Father!”

“Ah, but there’s no need to worry! It will take more than the grave to keep me down.”

Pearl watched him a while, unconcerned with her dirty hem. When his jar was almost full, she asked, “Should I bring some of this miraculous dirt to Miss Zannouli’s tomorrow?”

The shovel scraped against the sides of the pit. “You did not tell me how peculiar this friend of yours was.”

“P-peculiar? How so?”

“Her manner of dress, for one—”

“ — is perfectly in keeping with her class.”

“Do not interrupt me,” said Father.

Pearl was quiet.

Father went on, musing, almost, in his work. “You did not tell me, in these mentions of your ‘refugee’ friend, that she was quite so old, and yet unmarried. Her English is remarkable for someone with so little time spent in the country…”

“She has traveled quite—”

“Why does she wear black? Who is she in mourning for?”

Pearl’s throat seemed to close up. “Her country.”

Father laughed.

Pearl joined in, desperate to retain a semblance of joviality. “If you insist, I may ask during my visit, tomorrow.”

“You won’t be going.”

“What?”

Pearl stood. Her slippers nudged a pebble, sending it tumbling down into the dark.

“I’ve trusted your judgment till now— you poor dear— but it was only because I had not seen that so-called woman with my own two eyes.”

No, no, no. This— this could not be. Pearl could not be hearing such things! Ephraim packed the jar and shovel away. He held out his hand, so that Pearl might help pull him up. But Pearl did nothing.

Said he, “What have you been thinking? This Zannouli is not trustworthy. It is bad form to be associating with those sorts of people.”

“But–but–” Pearl swayed on her feet. “Aubrey is friends with her, as well!”

“Does Aubrey visit her regularly? Does Aubrey receive lavish gifts hand delivered? Pearl, my daughter, I know you cannot comprehend such deception. She is taking advantage of you. Being friendly and being friends are two very different things.” Ephraim tossed up his case, and hauled himself out of the hole.

He did not approve. He was going to take Ianthe away from her. He was going to prevent Pearl from associating with her— no more social calls, no more intimacy, only the walls of her home and the tight, suffocating embrace of her patriarch.

Pearl backed away. “Father… you cannot do this to me.”

What was she to do? She could not change his mind, no, his mind had been made in an instant. He did understand what was going on— he knew that Ianthe wanted her, and what if he knew that she wanted Ianthe?

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Ephraim rolled out of the hole. He straightened up on his knees, brushing the dirt from his waistcoat.

She would never see Ianthe but in passing. She would never feel those arms around her, never lay in Ianthe’s bed, never be pleasured, never be happy again!

“At least let me go tomorrow, so t-that I may break if off with dignity.”

“No.” He picked his case.

“You don’t understand!” The horrid sun felt as if it were burning a hole through her head. “Let me— oh, let me—”

Ephraim rose to his feet. “I understand you better than you understand yourself, child.”

“Oh Father, let me decide this one thing for myself.” Pearl clasped her hands together. “Let me be your obedient daughter and Ianthe’s friend!”

“You may weep over it when we are home.” He patted her on the shoulder. “The feeling will pass in due time.”

And then, he brushed past her, back onto the path. Pearl whirled around. Now approaching them from the other end of the churchyard was Aubrey and a sooty gravedigger.

Anger threatened to drown her.

“It will not!” She raised her voice. If Father was to force her into this, she would not weep over it and let it pass. It would bring nothing but ruin and misery for the rest of her days! It would be an indescribable sin! “If I shall not go and see Ianthe, I… why, I’d rather die!”

Ephraim froze mid-step. So did Aubrey. For a moment, even the birds quieted. Even the sun dimmed.

Her father turned to face her. “Who do you think are, speaking to me in that manner?”

She needed her like water, she needed her like air. To be without her was death, death, endless darkness. Pearl raised her hackles, and stood her ground. Father stepped towards.

“You are acting just like a spoiled child,” Ephraim said, “who has been bitten by her puppy, and now cries for it to come back.”

“Ianthe is not a fancy,” said Pearl. “And I do not intend to let her go.”

“Pearl, return to the carriage.”

She did not move; and, for once in her life, people noticed.

Said Father, “I will not repeat myself. Pearl, you are hysterical. Go and rest in the church.”

“No.”

“Is this truly what you are doing? You are causing a scene, daughter. And for what? For a noxious friendship? What will you do? Will you defy me further?” A hush had fallen over the churchyard, and the only sound was the trees full of twittering. Ephraim looked around. “Look, now you’ve embarrassed the both of us!”

Through the slats of the churchyard fence, a shadow moved. In the shade of a modest apple tree, Ianthe stood next to her carriage. Her face turned, so that Pearl could see the light of the sun upon her fine cheek.

No one else mattered.

“I think…” Pearl spoke slowly, “you will be quite surprised by what I will do.”

Father grabbed her wrist.

Pearl screamed, and struck him with her basket. The contents scattered; plates went clattering, and cold meat fell into the mud with hearty slaps. When that did not loosen his grip, Pearl twisted about, so that she was dragging him down the path, towards Ianthe. She kicked his old legs until they gave way.

Pearl ran through the muck, hefting her skirts, ignoring Aubrey’s frightened cries. She lost her bonnet to the wind, and her ringlets slapped her in the eyes. All her focus, all her heart, was turned to the fence that separated her and Ianthe.

What a foolish thing to do! What a bull-headed, shockingly public act of love! She and Ianthe might as well have been fucking in the street! But for a moment, it was just as Ianthe had said: perfectly natural.

Pearl clambered up the fence. Her damp skirts caught on the barb, and tore a run through them with a harrowing screech. She lost her grip, and fell over the other side.

“Ahh—! Oh.”

Ianthe caught her. Pearl’s teeth mashed together from the impact of the descent. Her breath was taken away by Ianthe’s rum-scented grin.

“Ianthe, I…” Pearl flushed the color of a rose. She did not finish the thought– Ianthe suddenly lifted Pearl’s legs clear of the ground, and held her in a princess carry. In the churchyard, Aubrey, Ephraim, and several of the assorted citizens were running towards them.

“Save the words, darling,” Ianthe said, and tossed Pearl into her calesh.

Before Pearl had even caught her breath, Ianthe was squeezing in beside her, wrapping an arm around Pearl’s shoulder. The servant was already in place, one hand on the reins and the other holding her whip at the ready.

“Fly, slave.”

The woman sent them into motion with a shuddering crack! 

Ianthe’s carriage had its roof pulled down, so Pearl was witness to the ensuing commotion: Aubrey moving as if a fresh wind had caught in his sails, snatching the reins of a stranger’s horse and mounting. The gravedigger he had fetched followed suit– as they chased the carriage, they galloped abreast of one another.

Ianthe held Pearl and watched the scene unfold with a manic grin. “Oh, so the boy thinks he’s still got a chance! Suppose if he’s gallant enough you’ll run back into his arms?”

The calesh raced down the cobblestone streets, biting corners, narrowly avoiding pedestrians. At one point, another carriage emerged, stopped in their path.

“Don’t stop, you fool!” Ianthe swatted her servant’s back with the walking stick.

The servant took hold of the reins and tugged them sharply to the side. Pearl fell into Ianthe, and Ianthe fell onto the upholstered seat as the carriage swerved, sparks at the edges of its rickety wheels, around the barrier.

The horses pursuing them whinnied. Pearl did not turn around to look. Ianthe drew up in her seat as the driver righted their path; curls in her face, dark ringlets that sliced across her cheeks.

“Yes… good girl!” She pointed to the left. “That way, now.”

The carriage nicked a building as it careened towards the narrow alley. Briefly, it tottered on its wheels and threatened to spill over. Ianthe gripped Pearl very tightly; their faces nestled together.

“Oh!” Pearl gasped. Aubrey and the other still pursued them. He had managed to yank the reins in the nick of time. As the carriage hurtled into the shadows, laundry fluttering overhead, he continued hot on their heels. 

Ianthe paid a sharp glance to the driver. “Slave.”

The woman reached into her waistcoat– a movement so fast, Pearl nearly missed it. Something flew into the air, bright as a shooting star, and landed in Ianthe’s outstretched hand.

It was a gun.

“Now—” From her cloak, Ianthe withdrew the ammo. Without moving her eyes from Pearl, she loaded the weapon.

“Ianthe, I came to you because…”

“Not now, girl. See, we’re in a spot of trouble, if your fine fiancé catches up with us. There is no turning back.”

The buildings were growing smaller and sparser, as they burst from the alley and into the sun. The air was thick with salt. Still Aubrey and the gravedigger kept on, shouting for help. “Kidnapper! My wife has been stolen!”

The metal barrel pressed into Pearl’s hand.

“Now,” Ianthe said, very low, “point the gun over the back of this carriage, and shoot.”

Pearl gasped. “No, I couldn’t!”

“I didn’t say shoot to kill,” Ianthe groused. “Shoot to make a statement! Shoot to say, ‘I am here because I want to be’! Say that you mean it with all your heart!”

Pearl did mean it. She meant it more than anything in the world. But despite how much she had grown to loathe Aubrey, she did not wish to cause him harm.

“What if I miss and kill him by accident?”

Ianthe laid a hand on Pearl’s back. At the simple gesture, a wave of calm washed over her. Of course. She had leapt the fence for a reason; she loved Ianthe. She trusted her. The cacophony of horse hooves, the jangling wheels, the ever growing rush of the sea became cotton in her ears. Ianthe tilted her head; where the light hit, her eyes shone like amber.

For me, they said.

Pearl wrapped a finger around the trigger. She twisted in her seat and set the gun against the now-folded frame of the carriage’s ceiling. Her jaw thudded against the bouncing upholstery.

Over the noise, she met Aubrey’s eye. He looked just as fear-stricken as he had when Ephraim first came back from the expedition. He did not believe what he saw.

I love her, thought Pearl. Now, I love her on purpose.

Bang! 

The noise startled Aubrey’s stolen horse; it reared. Aubrey held on, just barely, his boot caught in the stirrup.

“Pearl! This isn’t–” He yanked the horse perpendicular to the road, calling with his voice raw.

Ianthe mocked him. “Haven’t I heard that before? Nooo, this isn’t you!”

Of course it was her. How could it be anything but Pearl?

The gravedigger, with no time to stop, collided with Aubrey.

Pearl swallowed. “Ianthe… I love you.”

She laughed. “Well, I certainly hope so!”

“I mean it.”

The gravedigger remounted his horse first, and gave chase. Though he was so far behind them, now, he was gaining fast. With the flood of desire cushioning her nerves, Pearl followed Ianthe’s suit, and reloaded the gun. When she faltered, Ianthe was there, reaching out, guiding her hands. Her heart raced at the touch; and with it, she aimed the gun and fired again. The shot caught the man in the shoulder. Behind the cloud of smoke, he crumpled like a house of cards.

Ianthe grabbed Pearl’s chin and kissed her on the mouth.

Pearl closed her eyes. They were crashing back into the seat. All the braying and the screams and the call of seagulls faded away. It was only Ianthe pushing her tongue into Pearl’s mouth. It was only the spicy taste coating the inside of Pearl’s skull. It was only Ianthe pressing the cold head of her walking stick against Pearl’s crotch, vibrating with the motion of the carriage. It was only Pearl coming to pieces.

A voice cut through the haze. “Master!”

“What?” Ianthe pulled away sullenly. Her aggravation faded, though, as they were all struck by the same realization.

The road was ending. Ahead of them was a wooden fence and, beyond that, a stone wall that sloped to the sea.  They were barrelling forward; their wheels smoked and skittered. The horses were foaming at the mouth, their eyes raving and bloodshot. No matter how hard the driver pulled at the reins, they could not slow down.

“Shit.” Ianthe pushed Pearl away, and began to rise to her feet. The carriage shuddered. It moved so fast, Pearl’s mind had no time to work. There was no thought in the act. It was only her heart that grabbed Ianthe and pulled her underneath.

Pearl’s spine arched over Ianthe, head cradled in her arms as some sort of shield of flesh. And then they hit.

Oh, the pain! In the aftermath, Pearl lay on the beach in a daze. So acute was the agony that it seemed a miracle Pearl was even able to lift her head; a rock from the beach had cut into her brow, and blood dribbled down her nose and mouth. Her legs were scuffed and red. There was sand in her mouth and eyes.

The carriage had sailed clear over the wall and tumbled down towards the beach. The tide was far off, and the sand itself felt near-smoldering. The vessel lay on its side, one wheel still rattling.

Beneath Pearl, Ianthe moved. She shook the sand from her hair. There was a cut on her lip, and a tear in her waistcoat, but Pearl had taken the bulk of the harm. She cradled Pearl in her arms to lay her flat on her back. Pearl whimpered from where Ianthe squeezed a tender cut.

“Quiet now,” Ianthe murmured, and kissed Pearl on the crown.

A cold sea breeze rolled over Pearl as she struggled to remain conscious. Ianthe was marching away from her, further up the beach, to where Aubrey waited.

He was standing on the wall, gun in hand. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his pale arms, and his hair resembled a barely-restrained forest fire.

Ianthe’s black cloak flapped in the wind. Her face was angled up to meet him.

Said Aubrey, “Clever of you, to turn my own comrade’s weapon against me!”

“What comrade?” Ianthe had to shout for her voice, dripping with derision, to carry over the wind. “You have no comrades here. And it was not I who fired the gun!”

Aubrey flinched. “It makes no difference! It was all your— your magnificent doing. Pearl would never…”

“Is that what you believe?” Ianthe smiled. “Or what you wish to believe?”

Aubrey did the oddest thing, then. He covered his eyes with his hand, and shot blindly with the other. Ianthe dodged the shot handily; it caught only on the edge of her cloak, dashing the fabric into the air.

He lowered the hand from his eyes.

Ianthe began stalking up the beach to meet him, swaying on the uneven sand.

“I’m warning you again, boy,” she spat. “You cannot do anything to me. You are an ineffectual little worm. You know this well. Or have you forgotten? Need I remind you?”

She raised her hand out from under her cloak. Aubrey squawked, and turned away. He scrambled to reload.

“Go ahead!” Ianthe laughed. “Go ahead, and try! Did you not swear it? Did you not call me Master and lay at my feet, and swear you would never do me harm?”

“Noo…” Aubrey moaned. “No, I…”

“Lay the gun down, boy.”

“I do not intend to harm y-you,” said Aubrey. “I am not trying to— I am only…” He spilled his gunpowder. “I am l-loading it, so that I—”

“Don’t be so fucking daft, boy,” said Ianthe. “Come now. Look at me.”

Aubrey’s eyes opened, and he blinked in confusion. He shot a glance in Ianthe’s direction before turning away. He saw, however briefly, the flash of her ruby ring. And still he remained stubborn.

Ianthe folded her arms. “How about this, then? Remember your oath.”

Aubrey’s countenance changed at once: his taut limbs grew slack, and his hateful expression bled away.

“Good boy,” said Ianthe. “Look at me.”

Aubrey did. The gun tottered in his limp hand.

“There you go… now, take that weapon of yours— yes, the gun, yes just like that— take that gun, have you put the powder in? Good. And your ammunition? Oh, it’s silver, that’s why you were so confident. Oh, go ahead. Load it in. Good boy.”

The barrel of the gun flashed in the falling sunlight.

“Cock it.” 

Click. 

“Raise it up high— good boy— you have your finger upon the trigger? Yes, be sure it’s ready to fire. Hold it— hold it just like that. Put it on your temple.”

Aubrey stood silent, his own gun now pointed to his head.

“Now, was that so hard? Was that worth all the trouble? If you keep on being so good to me, I might even give you a treat. Would you like that?”

There came no reply.

“Still resisting! You are a pain.” Ianthe clicked her tongue. “No matter. Pull down your trousers— don’t move that gun hand— ah, I see. No troubles with that part? And if I told you to stroke— you’ll— oh, you are ahead of me on that. Yes, yes, good boy. Take that gun and hold it against your drawers. Count to five. Then shoot yourself in the dick.”

“One…”

Pearl, despite her world of pain, cried out. It was not a deliberate sound— it was torn from an unwilling throat, racked with salt and silt. She sat up on the sand, her hair falling all over her, like she was a nymph dragged from the dredges.

“…three…four…”

Aubrey heard her, though. He reacted with a sudden start, a twitch of the hand. It was enough: when he pulled the trigger, the gun was not turned at himself. It was turned onto the beach. The shot was loud, and smoke erupted into Aubrey’s face.

Ianthe did not see it until it was too late: she went tumbling backwards, down the slope she had been climbing, blowing up a great cloud of glittering sand in the low sun.

“My love!” Pearl leapt to her feet.

Aubrey had wrenched himself from his stupor. He looked up, twitching but triumphant, for he had misunderstood Pearl’s outcry.

On bare, bleeding feet, Pearl ran to her. Ianthe was crumpled in a heap, forming a pool of blood so dark it looked black. It stained Pearl’s hands as she ran them over Ianthe’s body, searching for the wound.

“Pearl! Let her alone to her fate! Come back to me!”

“How could you?” Tears streamed down Pearl’s cheeks.

“I don’t know… I only know that I…" Aubrey shook his head. “No! Do not let yourself be fooled. Ianthe is— she is— Pearl, only trust me, and come here!”

Ianthe let out a shuddering breath, and Pearl was compelled to disregard him. She held Ianthe tighter as eyelashes fluttered. She was stiff as a corpse.

At last, Pearl found the bullet, lodged in Ianthe’s stomach. Pearl pressed her handkerchief to the hole, and it was at once drenched with blood. With no hands free, Pearl’s tears were forced to fall upon Ianthe’s half-conscious face.

“Oh, do not leave me…” Pearl whispered, unaware that she even spoke. “I cannot be without you.”

Aubrey was screaming. “And how about that? You’re not so infallible after all, aren’t you? Did not consider that I would be able to work around your clever little games, you—”

When his voice stopped, Pearl looked up.

Standing behind Aubrey, so haggard she resembled a walking corpse, was Ianthe’s servant.

“Gah!” Aubrey whirled around. “Ah… Shackley. Do… do you remember me?”

He then recognized that his pants were still down, and hastened to yank them up.

The servant had lost her hat and scarf in the crash. There was an ugly gash across her nose ridge, her countenance still and flat as a sheet of marble.

“It’s Darvell!” Aubrey thumped his chest. “We were like brothers, under Mr. Spice, don’t you remember? You taught me so much. We were soldiers, men of God, under the same banner.”

Ianthe’s eyes slit open to watch the scene. Above them, seagulls whirled.

Said Aubrey, “You are not the same man. You’ve been… you are something else. You have turned against yourself. She has— you have been made into a thrall. A plaything. You’ve— you’re some sort of crime against— against nature! Against God! Please, Shackley, my brother. This is not who you are.”

Caw! Caw!

The servant inclined her head upwards; her bloody face glittered in the sun. “Exactly.”

She gave Aubrey a swift right hook, then grabbed his shirt before he could fall. He was hefted up by his jabot and thrust over the wall.

Ianthe, teeth red with blood, grinned.

Like a corpse bursting from its grave, she snatched Pearl’s wrist. Pearl cried out in surprise— but she did not pull away. She did not want to pull away. Ianthe knew what she was doing. She knew how Pearl was needed. When she dragged Pearl’s hand down to the wound and peeled back the sticky makeshift bandage, she did not shudder or stir, only drove Pearl’s pointer finger into the wound.

There was blood welling from the hole, welling onto the sand, staining Pearl’s clothes. Black bile spilled from Ianthe’s lips. Pearl had never seen so much blood in her entire life— she had never conceived that a person could hold so much of the stuff. Ianthe writhed underneath her hand as Pearl obeyed; she slipped her thumb in as well, pinching at the fleshy innards. It was warm inside of her; Pearl felt about until she had grasped the silver ball, and she fished out the slippery thing with her uncertain hands. She hardly noticed Aubrey, slowly stirring from his crumpled pile on the beach.

Ianthe moved: with a great pull, she was sitting upright, and placing her hands on Pearl’s shoulders. “Good girl.”

“O-of course,” said Pearl.

Ianthe leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.

Oh, how Pearl forgot every moment that had come before, or after! She could taste the blood and salt on Ianthe’s teeth— it was the sweetest taste, the most intense wave of dizzy longing that swept her body. She wanted Ianthe to kiss her forever.

Instead, Ianthe stood, and shook the sand from her waistcoat. Her dark garb soaked up all that blood: she looked no worse for wear, and certainly did not behave as if she’d been shot. She stalked towards Aubrey, who was paralyzed on the sand, with swift deliberate steps, to strike him on the head.

“You damned bastard! Look well upon me!”

Aubrey attempted to bury his face in the sand. Ianthe caught his forehead with her heel. His neck muscles strained against it, but swiftly she forced his face up and had him staring at her outstretched hand.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?”

The sand crunched, announcing the arrival of the calvary. Pearl had forgotten where she was; she had become so content sitting there, as if she were an audience watching actors in a play. That’s where she belonged. In the audience. Unseen. Unheard. Downstairs.

The servant also watched the scene. Pearl stumbled to her feet; she knew she was bruised, and that the salt air was aggravating the cuts on her arms, but she did not feel it. The servant was struggling to retie her cravat; with sudden domestic instinct, Pearl lifted her hands.

“Let me.”

Ianthe was all black and swirling. She held Aubrey’s eye as if tugging on a single string of a marionette; he was twisted into an unnatural form. His face was as white as his collar, his pupils as narrow as a cat’s in bright sunlight.

“You remember now,” Ianthe said, “all that you promised me.”

“N–no, I–!”

Pearl felt the woman’s throat bob as she pulled the fabric taut. “What Aubrey said… do you truly feel nothing for… who you were, before?”

“I hate him.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“You will soon.” She laid a hand on Pearl’s arm.

Pearl’s ringlets batted against her eyelids. “I hope so.”

Aubrey had risen to his knees, mouth agape, swaying blank-eyed, staring at Ianthe’s outstretched hand. 

His voice was flat. “I will not speak of what I’ve seen. I will not speak ill of you. I will not raise a hand against you–”

“You won’t shoot me, either!” Ianthe kicked him.

“I will not shoot you, I will not try to escape, I will not want to escape, I will not think of escape.”

“My will is absolute.”

“Your will is absolute.”

“And you are nothing.”

“I am nothing.”

“This is your oath to me. Remember it.”

“Yes, Master.”

A shiver ran up Pearl’s spine. The servant cupped her shoulder. Pearl huddled against her as the wind howled and howled. A great shadow was growing ever clearer in her mind. Her teeth chattered. She could not look away from Ianthe, standing against the Mars red sky, her black cloak flapping like the wings of a bat.

Could it be that–?

Could Ianthe be–?

Snap! 

Aubrey slumped backwards into the sand. Ianthe turned to the two of them with her grin nearly glowing, shirt and pants stiff with blood, cheeks faintly splattered underneath the mane of hair. She cast an appraising look over her servant, still rubbing Pearl’s shoulder.

“Iphis,” Ianthe said. “Take her, will you?”

Her world was drifting in and out through a sea of darkness. Shadows in her mind slithered through her ears, up her nose, out through her mouth. Strong arms held her, limbs dangling like a doll’s. Pearl whimpered; she buried her face in the crook of the shadows’ neck, so that the dark might return.

She woke, kneeling, on the floor of Ianthe’s bedroom.

The lamps were off, the candles freshly snuffed. The only hint of light was the moon that slinked beneath the curtains, and the velvet edges of incense on the dresser. Pearl recognized the place only through scent (her nose burning with cinnamon) and the sensation of her knees against the hardwood floor.

Through the gloom, Pearl met Ianthe’s eye. The woman smiled, her face gray in the half-light. Her eyes flashed like crimson stars. In one hand she dangled an unlit cigar that bobbed in inconsistent time.

“Did you not,” said Ianthe, “worry about your master’s jealousy?”

Pearl blinked. Dully surprised— but only dully. The darkness was still within, burying all else underneath. She felt as if she were only floating, in a soft embrace, outside her body. She watched a skillful hand hollow her out with its chisel.

Said she, “I did not consider that it would care about my mortal life.”

Ianthe spared a gesture. Behind her, emerging from the shadows, came Iphis. Ianthe pointed, and before her finger had even descended, Iphis had sunk to her knees, and rested her head on the chair’s arm.

“Well, you are not wrong.” Ianthe hummed. “But it was still foolish of you.”

“Ianthe…” Pearl said, “please do not think that my devotion to my master makes me love you any less!”

Ianthe stroked Iphis’s head. “No… quite the contrary, in fact.”

Pearl’s mind was tugged; the clouds parted. Unconsciously, she straightened her spine.

Ianthe grinned down at her. “Yes– you see now, don’t you?”

The fog cleared, and Pearl realized: Ianthe sat upon her chair, naked save for her Hessian boots. The tassels swung as she rocked her feet.

Ianthe was as hairy as a man; curls ran down her chest, her stomach, all perfectly framing her cunt. Her arms were taut with lean muscle, her shoulders broad; there were freckles on her neck and torso, little dark spots that begged to be kissed. She was everything that Pearl had fantasized about and more: dark, virile, ordained from that start to conquer all that she touched. Pearl was so filled with fire that she could not bear to look at her for long.

“That’s right!” Ianthe gestured with the cigar. “I am the Vampyre that has put you in thrall. I have been doing so since the day we met.”

“You…”

“I am the creature that has betrayed your trust– I have brought you into my confidence. I comforted you when you were hurt. I showered you with care and affection. I gave you safety where you had none. You called me friend. And all along, all I wanted was your flesh.”

“Oh, Ianthe…”

“I hope you enjoy that name upon your lips,” said Ianthe. “Today’ll be the last I’ll allow it.”

The words struck right between Pearl’s legs. Gone was her frivolous, dandy friend; Ianthe spoke with authority, with rigor. She spoke as someone accustomed to being obeyed.

Pearl nodded.

On Ianthe went, “It was really quite easy. Who could resist my power? Certainly not you— little thing, you were just begging to be destroyed! From the first night, you were ready to leap into my arms.”

“I thought… myself disgusted. I thought I hated you…” reminisced Pearl. “But… I loved you. I loved you!”

“You love me now.”

“Yes!”

“You’d do anything I say?”

“Yes…” said Pearl. “And this is what you wanted?”

“Why, of course! I’ve come here to ruin you: to turn you against yourself, against society, against your faith.” Ianthe moved her fingers as she spoke; Pearl’s eye was caught on them, a tugging insistence to follow, to listen. “And, worst of all, I’ve led you to believe, foolishly, that we were equals.”

“You did.” It all fell into place. Pearl had known this all along: that she was meant to serve, to submit to her proper master. It was only that Ianthe had not allowed her to know. It seemed so natural, so obvious that it need not even be said.

“Look down.”

Pearl obeyed. On the floor, placed with ceremonial regard, were two objects: a tinderbox, and the flintlock.

“I am only so much of a monster.” Ianthe leaned back in her chair and spread her legs. “I will allow you the choice. You may join me, or you may kill me. The power is in your hands.”

Two paths lay before her. Ianthe and the vampire were one and the same. The vampire— the one that had taught her love, that had given her such pleasure… it had taught her to love Ianthe. It had taught her to love itself. Pearl had given herself to the vampire. She had called it Master; it had bade her betray her home, and she had done so with glee. The vampire was Ianthe. Pearl belonged to Ianthe, body and soul.

She burst into laughter. “Who are you trying to fool?”

“Oh?”

“There’s no choice! There’s never been a choice!”

Ianthe smiled.

Warmth stirred in Pearl’s chest. “When I was cast aside, you found me. You took me apart. You made me perfect for you.”

 Ianthe set the cigar between her teeth.

“It could have hurt… but oh, you were so good to me! Far too good! I’ve had so much fun. I want— I want—” How long had her hand been between her legs? Pearl could not recall. She was so wet, so desperate with Ianthe waiting before her. She did not care. If Ianthe did not like it, only then would she stop. “How could I ever hurt you? I’ve let you in. You live in me. Why— why, it would be like tearing out my own guts!”

Ianthe laughed.

Pearl folded forward, still caught on Ianthe’s gaze. “Oh, oh— I love you! I really do! You made me feel this way, and it is real! You did this to me! You’re a monster!”

“Hm.”

“Oh, won’t you take me already?” Pearl gasped. “I’m already yours.”

“Then show me.”

Pearl opened the tinderbox. Crouched between Ianthe’s legs, still kneeling, sparks flashed in the dark room. She brought the brimstone match to the tip of Ianthe’s cigar.

The light burned a halo into Pearl’s head. She did not draw away. Ianthe closed her eyes, soaking in that initial moment of ecstasy. When she opened them again, they held Pearl in all their power. With a crooked grin, Ianthe blew smoke into Pearl’s face.

“Let us do away with the falsehoods!” Ianthe cradled Pearl’s cheek. “You are my slave.”

“Yes…” The words welled up within her; they sounded like wedding vows. “I will obey.”

“Your body is mine to do with as I please. I will glut my appetite with your blood. I will fuck you. I will torture and abuse you according to my whims.”

“I will be happy to serve.”

“Your mind is mine. My will is your will. You have no resistance. What I want is what you will be.”

“Thank you…”

“I am your master. I come before all else. You have no identity but that you belong to me. You have no other loyalties. My ownership is complete and irreversible.”

“The world should kneel at your feet, Master.”

Ianthe grinned, smoke leaking from her mouth. “Your purpose is to please me.”

“Of course!” said she. “I will always do as you command. Never will I question you, never will I disobey. I know where I belong: beneath you, Master.”

“My, you’ve been well-trained.” Ianthe leaned forward, their faces almost brushing. “My compliments to your father.”

“Yes, Master.”

“It’s as if you’ve been preparing for me your whole life.”

“Oh, I hope so, Master!” Her heart leapt.

“Good girl…” Ianthe let her cigar fall to the floor. She shoved her hands into her slave’s hair and pulled. The slave’s elaborate hairstyle, that she had spent so long preparing, came undone. Hair burst between Ianthe’s fingers, down the slave’s back.

The slave was grateful; she swelled with pride that she was even worthy of being in the same room as her master. Behind her, Iphis undid the hooks on the slave’s dress. The slave hardly noticed. It was nothing— only the dead skin of a former life. She shed it like a snake.

Ianthe yanked the slave by the hair until the slave’s cheek rested on the inside of her thigh. Her heart was thudding.

Said Ianthe, “You know what to do.”

The slave kissed the spot she had been placed. Her master’s skin was cool to the touch, though the slave was burning. What began as a tender kiss turned desperate, running up Ianthe’s thigh, tongue lashing along its path, until her nose was right up against Ianthe’s cunt.

The slave was halted by Ianthe holding her in place; she almost whimpered. She could smell her; she was going to taste her, if only she was commanded to open her mouth.

“On all fours.”

The slave hastened to move; her backside lifted, and her loosened stays slipped right off. She was pulled up from the roots, and all that could have marked her before had been removed. On her hands and knees she waited, a faithful pet, shaking from the tension.

She sensed someone behind her, skirting her vision, but all that the slave knew and cared for was Master, and the aching, painful wait. She panted.

“Master… you are so… beautiful… I can hardly stand it.”

Ianthe smiled. She loosened her grip.

The slave did not think about it. She had her tongue in Ianthe, she was licking her cunt, she was serving her purpose in such a simple and profound way. How could she have ever fantasized about laying with Ianthe without wanting this? She was wet, so fucking wet, but more than that, she was happy. There were no thoughts in her mind, no quarrels, no conflicting feelings. Only Master, only single-minded devotion, only the hot, dripping certainty of being owned. How glad she was, in that moment, that Master had fixed her!

So focused she was on her master’s cunt that the slave did not notice the hands caressing her ass. Master laughed through her teeth at her triumph, and the slave’s heart leapt. She arched her back. Iphis had a finger in the slave’s cunt, against her clit. Cold leather rubbed against her inner leg. 

Yes, yes! They were three, and they were one. The slave gasped in pleasure. Iphis pushed the toy into her waiting pussy. How good the pain felt! How lucky she was, to feel such pleasure twofold; to be used and used again, and again. Master was grabbing her head and pushing her face in deeper until she struggled to breathe. Iphis, her new sister, was fucking her deeper than she had ever been fucked before. How could the slave feel anything but joy? She was surrounded by lovers, the only people who loved her, the only people in the world. Never would she feel like this again. Never would she return. Pearl had been devoured whole, and all that remained was the shell, a dutiful servant of evil.