Raggedy Man, Part II
She lay huddled within the finest of the fine. Each layer of pressed silk and swishing satin, flickering at the corners of
each sheet. Night had fallen swiftly upon the carriage halt. Flits and waves of heavily accessorized fingers, sending
servants and guards scurrying to the opulent gates, leading into the manor beyond. The pristine gates had spread wide
to allow her entourage entrance, servants bent low to either side of the ostentatious duchess, petals of jasmine, lily and
violet strewn before and behind her entrance. Each trampled into the depths of ugliness from their once graceful beauty.
The manor lay within the center of the countryside, according to the lady Demonte. White pillars of untarnished
magnificence led to the archways of marbled heavens, figurines as lovely as newborn life, etched and strewn among
row upon row of flowers. Each garden surrounded by the vines of soft velvet, twisting and twining around the Marble
pillars. The arches led outwards, spreading to straight edged rooftops and finely chiseled engravings. To both point and
corner, stood the menace and promise of retribution: Gargoyles as solid in piece as they were horrifying to behold,
decorating the expanse of the rooftops lengths.
The lawns strewn with primer tiles, slithering around babbling fountains and on into the main courtyard. It was here, that
the Lady Demonte discarded her lavish transportation for the comforts of home. Trained and chained men bathed and
oiled to perfection hoisting her from the pedestal, and ghosting her gentle and sublime up the stairways, and on through
the ornate doorways, the fading rays of dusk picking at the edges of twilight, losing a hopeless battle.
Within the chambers of the Demonte manor, she stood. Clothing was shorn and replaced swiftly with the efforts of
bathing, anointing and ritual massage. Perfumes and soap flickered into and through the minutes, washing the finely
smoothed flesh and skin of the Beauteous Harpy, as so many of the slaves called her behind cupped hands and
beneath whispered voices.
A rush of movement into the bedchambers, followed by a swift play on pleasure from the many bronzed skinned slaves
awaiting such an honor and privilege. A last lingering smile, like the kitten at its finished bowl of milk, was given to the
exiting pleasure hound, before sleep had swiftly encompassed her into its transient embrace.
She lay huddled within the finest of the fine, layer upon layer of satiny silk flickering within the open night breeze. Her
languid smile suddenly replaced by a troubled frown as if in the throes of a nightmares prologue.
"Twist the Truth, and praise a Lie."
A soft moan flitted from between contorted lips, a slim sheen of sweat creeping over alabaster features and a smooth
plated brow, furrowed only by reflex.
"Know the truth or hope to die"
The moan intensifies in pitch and resonance. The soft creaks of a window swinging upon its hinges disturbing the
whispering silence.
"Twist the Truth and Praise a Lie."
The shiver of the night breeze seemed to drop in temperature, covering the panes of glass with delicate frost patterns.
"Know the Truth, or Hope to Die."
The creak and shriek of the windows hinges grew brisk and shrill. Hinges sent screaming against one another, oil
sucked clean of its place within the hinge niches and grooves.
Audibility seemed to root itself beside her inner ear, whispers and sounds of shattering unease drifting aimlessly through
her docile mind. Images of horrors unknown, spawning terror in litters, crashing after every though, as limb and breath
go sporadic, twitching sharply with each new nightmarish vision.
"Wakey Wakey Luv."
The words were a snap among the images, bringing her shrieking into the Oblivion of life.
"Guards!"
A rush of metal, flesh and Weaponry.
"Search the room! Now!"
She pulled the covers up sharply, modestly covering her naked frame, eyes roaming through the straight decor of her
opulence. The guardsmen gave many a glance to the exposure of a supple calf, or a slim shoulder, the search going
half-assed if at all.
"Well?!" She nearly shrieked. Faces turned in embarrassment or scolded pride, many a head shaking gently at the
unsaid question.
Disgusted she dismissed them, a hand flickering outwards in disdain.
"You'll all be replaced. As soon as I can reach word to the Gendell Kingdom for some worthy soldiers!" A pillow was
sent spiraling into the already closing doorway, as the guardsmen left lewd jokes and chuckling barely concealed within
their wake.
A huff and shiver of flesh was spent momentarily afterwards. She slipped beneath the chill covers once more, eyes
flickering open and closed every now and then, just to be sure that the Dead were truly dead.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Ahhhh Lady Demonte 'tis such a pleasure to finally meet you!" The words were spoken within a hushed and husky
tone, the man's lips pressing ever so gently over the soft flesh of The Lady's hand. She smiled down at him politely,
regal and distinguished within her finery. Long flowing lavender silk adorning every modest inch of her frame. Long
tendrils of raven hair cascading in waves and locks along her shoulders and back. A smile to split the heavens, radiating
over the philanderer kissing her out stretched hand.
"Might I say dear sir you are too kind. I only wish that the eve were a little more hospitable, that we might dine on the
moors." The rain swept currents of air, and gentle puddles gathering at the base of the out cropped forest haven, were
much a disappointing turn of events to the Duchess of Garol. Servants stayed shivering within the thunderstorm,
awaiting the end to their mistresses Night with the Earl of Beren, one of the more prominent and Note worthy of the
nobles surrounding the countryside.
The manor, to which she was led, was near as opulent, and somewhat similar to her own. White pillars of marble with
gardens strewn left and right, though most had canopies of glass and stone over them to keep the busy rain season at
bay. An outcrop of palisades lined the outer walls, depicting a fortress from the outside, a manor from within.
Passing the tour of the bedrooms aplenty and Rooms led her into the dining hall swiftly, with names of servants and
passing courtiers, she couldn't remember or wish to bother with. Dinner was served on silver plates, and the banter and
flirtation grew with each passing moment. The time seemed but a momentary blink within the eternity, and it was soon
dawning on the ages of Sleep. She managed to take her leave of the half drunken hands, fixing to undo her corset, his
voice as silken as the sheets in which she lay not hours ago. As she led the Earl to his finely wrote bedroom, and laid
him within his bed, servants of the house helped out with the carrying and moving portion, her supervision superb.
As the last servant filed out behind the Lady Demonte, she gave each a momentary glance over, before, murmuring
orders for morning preparations and the like, as well as a heart felt, yet decidedly cold apology and thank you for the
"Lovely" evening. Many hands went to many mouths, to stifle the many more laughs that were to come that night.
The hallway lay empty of servant and noble alike, all but the Duchess herself, as she slipped down the corridors and
through the halls. The servants had been dismissed, their snickers growing quite bothersome. Long strides patient and
elegant, even with the lack of life surrounding her, all but the spitting torches lining the upper walls. Long moments
trailed past, the shadows licking at her steps gently, the slight clicks of hard padded shoe as dainty as the lily floating in
a fountain.
"Twist the Truth and Praise a Lie"
The words were something of a whisper within her ears, head jerking up sharply to follow the rapid swirl of her
emerald gaze about the corridor. Silence reigned, but the temperature had dropped noticeably. Long moments of
chilled quiet ghosted their way through the stoneworks, her ears straining to hear even the smallest noise.
Nothing.
She turned on her heel, snorting sharply at the indignity in such a preposterous notion. Voices heard made for crazy
people, and she was certainly not crazy. Indeed the Duchess of Garol could never be-
"Know the Truth or Hope to Die"
A sharp intake of breath and a halt of swishing lavender silk. Emerald eyes swivelled within their sockets, left, right and
centre. Desperately she searched the lengths of the hallway, hiss of words sharp and solid.
"Whoever you are step into the light where I might see you."
Silence Reigned.
The nautical and fluid slip of the crisp air currents was all that greeted her hallway inspection, eyes wide with anger, and
something akin to...Fear. The darkness seemed fuller and a little less ethereal. Long tendrils of shadowy digits stretched
out to caress her silken garments. Time stretched long and quiet through the moments, her eyes slowly adjusting to the
spit and splutter of the torches and the flickering shadows dancing about.
She continued forward, hurried and swift, steps clicking sharply over the cobbles and carpeting beneath, the junctures
between both granite and fine fabric, barely noticed in her hurry to reach the small gateway and door, that led into the
main courtyard, and her transportation home. Dark shades and flickering shadows chilled to the core, sliding morosely
over the mortar and pastel walls.
"Run run run"
The words came a hoarse and shadowed wail, tripping through the air like a clumsy pup. Her strides became incessant,
clicking and clapping over the stoneworks beneath. She ran swift and true down the corridors, competent within the
dainty shoes and lavender dress, careful to avoid cracks in the floor or lines bent on sending her sprawling.
What seemed like illusion, within the eye of the servants she by passed within the hall, was all encompassing, and
completely horrific within her own vision. With each step she took, it seemed like the space behind her; the whole of
the hallway darkened completely. The slack jawed servants, and tapestries lining the walls, all disappeared under a
wave of pure shadow, licking and drowning the lengths of the ceiling floor and walls, within its embrace. A relentless
tide of darkness, swimming in from the shores of the Nether realm.
The gate.
It came into view swiftly, rushing to meet her like a long lost lover. Her cry of joy was near ecstatic, as her hands came
in contact with the smooth metal grating, slipping over the rust ridden bars swiftly, and pushing outwards.
Clang!
Her brow smacked gently against the grate, joy turning smoothly to horror, as the realisation hit her. She pulled back
on the grate sharply, desperately.
Didn't budge.
Her eyes swivelled over her shoulder swiftly, peering at the solid darkness inching towards her, her scream near
shattering, as she tried desperately to pull the grating from its locked position. A futile effort.
"Aww com'on Luv, jus' want a lil hug 'n kiss" the voice was strong now, rasped yet more pronounced. Shudder worthy
if anything, many a wracking shiver sent splitting down her spine, even as she huddled within the tightest ball, and
smallest corner between the gate and the cobbled hallway.
The Darkness Advanced.
The tide closed.
She screamed, eyes slitting, and closing swiftly, the last moment before contact, given over to complete darkness, the
swell of the hallways shadows, prepared to engulf her completely. Arms trailed over her head, and she bowed within
her fettle position, prepared little for the Darkness come a haunting.
“Your Grace?..”
The words cut a swathe through her bleary eyed, terror. She peered up into the face of a fear stricken servant, his hand
mere inches from her arm. She stared at him a long time, moments ticking past each new and fresh from the last, the
agitation on the young man’s face, so demanding an answer, growing more pronounced. Her study came to a halt, with
the flicker of recognition within the back round, her gaze tilting off to the side momentarily, noting the plain and rather
finely elaborated hallway.
The scowl set forth melted the man’s resolve and he backed away fearfully. She came to her feet with as much respect
and dignity as she could muster, the gate pushing open behind her, as the rain soaked carriage driver, slipped up
behind, offering an over hanging parasol for her walk to the transport home.
Her scowl remained, even as she slipped into the rainy depths, thoughts a jumble, though her features remained smooth
and soft with the haughty attitude born her.
“Have that man whipped and beaten.”
The remark trailed past her, to one of the guards standing at the gates, the servant’s eyes splitting wide with fright, as
he was dragged kicking and screaming into the depths of the manor. She slipped into the carriage quietly, sniffing at the
chill of the rain swept air, allowing the cries to comfort her somewhat, even as the whip cracked, and the carriage
jolted forward.
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