Bondage, Discipline, and Past Lives..

The following is a short story based on a waking dream I had once. Maybe a past life?.

The woman lowered her head into her crossed arms. The blackness of the cell she was in crowded into her soul. The coldness of the stone floor seeped into the marrow of her bones. She could feel the rats chittering and squeaking, fighting with each other over the remains of the gruel that was slid in for dinner earlier. It felt as if it had been a lifetime that she had been there. It was impossible to know how long she had actually been locked in that dingy dirty place. It felt as if it were years ago when she knew her freedom and life back in the village as the people's midwife and herbologist. Then the priests came in their red and black capes. Their accusations of witchcraft and devil worship. She fingered the dirty tangled long locks of her hair.

Suddenly voices drifted through the cell door as the key worked it's way into the lock. The door creaked open sillouhetting the filthy chuckling jailer. He murmured to someone standing to his left just beyond the door who handed him a torch. The woman squinted in the intruding light. Her stomach turned in waves of nausea. How she despised this man! The grotesque figure approached her..

"So my dear. How do you find the accomodations here, eh?", his slimey laughter washed over her as she crawled further into the corner of the cell trying to distance herself from him.

His pudgey grimey fingers reached for her grabbing her by the chin forcing her to face him. She jerked back.

"Oh ho gel, you'll not avoid me."

His breath washed over her smelling of garlic, onions, and ale. Her stomach turned again.

"I knows you think you're too good for the likes of me wench. But your life now is mine. Your body is mine," he ran his tongue over the blackened stubs of what was left of his teeth. "I own you gel. Even though they's say you be a witch, I'm the one with the power."

He suddenly stood up grinning after letting her face go. She glared at him.

"Hehe gel. You can look daggers at me all you wish. I brought a friend with me tonite. He is most anxious to meet you dear. Father Lytol has given him his full sanction.", the jailer began to chuckle. "Come come Victor...our girl is quite anxious to meet you.."

A huge form filled the open cell doorway. The woman shivered slightly. He had to bend to enter through. He stalked his way slowly over to where the jailer stood. A huge, a black hooded giant with enormous arms crossed over his barreled chest, his eyes glittered through the slits cut in the leather executioner's mask. She stared at the visage, feeling her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Up until this moment she had felt little if no fear, only anger. Even when the priests came to the village and had her arrested she wasn't fearful, only resigned and indignant. Now, icy fingers trailed up her spine. His eyes penetrated her wall of self protection. A bloom of panic began to well up in her brain. So familiar and yet so frightening these golden, brown, stoney, staring eyes.

The jailer laughed, "So wench, I smell your fear. You are very wise to fear him. Victor is our finest confessor," he leaned over to her his vile breath washing over her, "Yes, he is looking forward to hearing your confessions gel. Your pain will be his pleasure." He stood back up and turned back towards the door.

"Bring her to the chamber and prepare her for the confessor!", he shouted to the guards who stood outside.

Her hands and legs trembled uncontrollably as the guards hauled her to her feet. She began to claw and scream at them all the while staring at the Confessor. The jailer cuffed her soundly on the side of the head and she lost consciousness.

She woke up slowly, the blood pounding in her temples. The frozen cold of a metal surface enveloped her back. Her hands were bound tightly and her arms were stretched far above her head. Her feet and legs were stretched and bound the same way. A leather strap wrapped around her chest binding her to the table. She looked around the chamber. Chains hung from the high ceilings, whips hung from pegs on the stone walls, evil looking devices with metal studs on them. An iron maiden, racks, cages. She trembled. Her naked body goosfleshed in the drafts. A black shadow coalesced from out of the wall near to her head.

The Confessor knelt beside her, his eyes looked into hers.

"You are beautiful beyond words, " his deep voice resonated into the bottom of her soul. He reached out and carressed her cheek. His touch was velvet and electric. She flinched. His eyes squinted and she could tell that he was smiling under his executioner's mask. "Let's begin.."

He stood, never breaking eye contact.

Her body shivered of it's own accord. Victor leaned over, and felt beneath the table she was strapped to. She heard a cranking sound as his massive arm began to grind the wheel gears that were hidden underneath. She felt her back begin to arch and bend backwards. Her feet descending lower and her ams being pulled tighter. Her breath came quickly, her fear blossomed into an all consuming fire burning along her nerve pathways. The feeling of helplessness, the feeling of all hope lost, buried itself deep into the pit of her stomach.

She whispered, "Thy will be done, Mother.."

He chuckled, "Your prayers won't be answered beautiful one. I own you now. Not the disgusting jailer, not your Goddess...me..and only me."

The cranking of the table stalled as her body was inverted at an almost impossible angle. Her skin became inflamed as nerve endings screamed in agony. She waited as she panted in pain.

"Please, I don't know what you want..", she said between heavy breaths..

"You know what I want. I will have you my beauty. You are mine. And you will beg me for more even though your body screams for release," his deep voice reverberated through her.

Her eyes closed. Whatever happened will happen. She understood without a doubt that she was no longer in control of her physical body. Her thoughts were lined with blackness as her mind struggled to grapple with his words. She waited for the inevitable lashing pain that must surely come.

A soft feather brushing began to trail itself from her breasts to her navel. A tickling soft carress that left her breathless. She felt her nipples harden of their own accord. A fire burned deep in her belly, she felt it slowly feel it's way down towards her labia. The tickling continued yet worked it's way towards her throat, up towards the back of her ears. She felt fingers feel their way through the tangled locks of her hair. The tingling tickling sensation worked it's way back towards her right nipple, circling her breast then stroking her hardened teat. She gasped, then felt a warm wetness descend on her nipple which began to suckle. Warm shafts of pleasure shot through her. She opened her eyes, and saw him bent over her, his mouth fastened to her breast. She moaned in pleasure, in pain, as his teeth grazed her hardened nipple. His masked face turned towards her, and she could tell he was smiling beneath the leather executioner's mask. His tongue swirled around her aureoule then his mouth latched on again, suckling hard, bringing her nipple through his teeth. His breath was hot against her breast. His very large hand began to stroke her thigh downward his nails scraping slightly as he brought his heated palm up the back of her calve. She felt his hand spread as he brought his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. His index finger tentatively touched her her pubic hair, slightly pulling on the hair as it seemed to search for something of it's own accord. She felt the slick wetness come from deep within her womb, coating her and washing her, from the desire he was awakening. His finger probed through her, beginning to stroke her clitoris in circular patterns. She felt a gasp escape from her throat, as his finger dove deep inside of her. Jabbing, withdrawing, his palm grinding into her clit as her hips rose to meet this onslaught. She panted for breath moaning, and groaning in pleasure. She felt his hands begin to part her inner thighs even more than the restraints did. His head moving from her breasts slowly towards her pubis, his tongue protruding from the leather mask, wetly trailing downwards in slow excruciatingly torture. He made slow wet circles with his tongue around her navel, allowing his tongue to delve into her belly button. He suckled hard, the force of his suckling spread electric jolts deep into her abdomen. She gave a sharp intake of breath. She heard him chuckle, deep and melodious. Abruptly his head shot up.

"I am going to tell you each time before I penetrate your skin my beauty. I want you to anticipate the pain, the pleasure," his deep voice crooned.

She shut her eyes tighter. Would that the Grand High Maid, Mother and Crone, spare her. But she knew it was futile. This was her path. Her destiny. A sharp piercing pain shot through her navel. She gasped in surprise. It was a pain so deep into her abdomen yet familiarly pleasant. She felt an object pierce through her flesh and bind one side of her belly button to the other. She hazzarded a glance from her backwards position to see a glint of gold.

"You have been marked, my lovely. I will wipe the little blood from your ancient umbilical place," he crooned.

A small bar of gold now showed between the valley of her navel. A piercing so erotic, so intense, she gasped and moaned again. His deft fingers brought the piercing together and wiped clean the blood. She felt his tongue wipe away the blood from the small wounds.

He growled deep in his throat, "Your blood, your essence is elixir my darling..."

At that moment in time she would have given him every last drop of blood in her body. She felt her hips buck and grind of their own accord. Heard her own whispered pleas, and felt ashamed of her weaknesses. She felt the place between her thighs soaked with wetness. Her breath became labored.

"Please, please....I want...give...", she heard her voice stutter.

He laughed softly, "Yes my dear, you will beg me. You will beg me to never stop and to take you again and again.."

He bent beneath the table cranking the gears again. She felt her body shift slightly. Her legs parted as the table began to separate them. A trill of fear and anticpation ran through her body.

His masked face appeared before her. His tongue slid out of the leather slit and slowly made it's way around his mouth.

"I want to taste you. I will remember your taste for all time my love..", he whispered almost below a decibal she could hear. She saw his head bend as his tongue made it's way from her newly pierced navel towards her pubis. She saw the glint in his eyes from the slits in his mask. His hands gripping the sides of her ribcage under her breasts. She groaned again.

His tongue found it's way under her pubic hair. Teasing, cajoling, swirling before finding the mark. She gasped has his mouth fastened on her clit. His tongue suckling from her fountain head. Her head thrashed from side to side. This was the ultimate of tortures. His tongue swirled and licked as her thighs trembled. She longed to reach down and grab his hair to push him deeper but her hands only shook in their restraints. Her hips rose to meet him, grinding deeper into his leathered masked face. His fingers spread her slowly as his tongue still assaulted her. Suddenly she felt a hardness nudging her at the opening of her vagina. Still sucking hard at her labia she felt the hardness slide into her deeply, filling her. Only the slightest pain stabbed at her then it was gone. Slowly the hardness pulled back and forth while his teeth grazed her clitoris. Shoving deeper inside of her womb, she felt her body contract around the hardened shaft. Heated waves of desire coalesced in concentric circles before exploding into an orgasmic relief.

"Yes beauty, that's it. Cum for me," he whispered at her as a small scream escaped from her lips.

Her body shuddered and convulsed as the last of the waves left. She lay still bound and trembling. Opening her eyes she looked in confusion at The Confessor as he slowly stood removing the object from her womanhood. A long wooden shaft with a bulbous head was what had been thrust deep inside of her. He turned and laid it on a table filled with other devices that looked similiar in shape and length. Her thighs shook and trembled as she felt her wetness soak her. She looked up at Victor in shock.

He stood watching her, his eyes unreadable. He reached behind his waist, and produced a blade that glinted in the pale torch-lit gloom. She shuddered. Would that he would slice her throat and put her out of this agony/ecstasy. He leaned over her, his breath clean and smelling faintly of some mint. He carressed her cheek.

"You are mine. Never ever forget that. If you ever need reminding, you need look only at your thigh," his deep voice washed over her.

He bent with the knife firmly in his grasp. Slowly, agonizingly surgical, he pressed the blade to her left thigh penetrating the skin. She watched in mute fascination as he trailed it's point into her flesh. Blood trickled from the incision as he formed a 'V' on the top of her thigh. He reached over with his other hand, fingering, the blood and she stared as he suckled the drops from his finger. A deep satisfied bass growling came from his throat. Panting and sweating profusely her head dropped back between her bound arms.

"Are you a witch, beautiful? Are you in league with the devil," he chuckled as he said the words.

She closed her eyes, her breathing hard and labored. Her mouth set in a firm silent line. She prayed for death. She prayed for release from this whatever this was. She felt the sharp grazing carress of the blade as it slowly traced it's way across her abdomen up towards her collarbone. He traced the knife point around the bony protusions under her throat. She swallowed hard. Good. Slit my throat she silently prayed. Instead the blade seductively slid around her throat, tickling not piercing her skin. The knife lovingly kissed her cheek then abruptly stopped it's cold trail. Her eyes opened. The Confessor was kneeling over her, his eyes narrowed even more behind the leather mask.

"I would never destroy your beauty my sweet. Never. ," he whispered.

He stood upright, his chest heaving with his heavy breathing. "I think that you are a witch. You have me under a spell," he shook his head as if shaking off the spell that he claimed she had him under.

The knife clattered to the dungeon floor. She felt his hand against her womanhood again. His fingers slidly agily into her slickened vagina. He thrust his large fingers in and out. Her hips writhed against him again. Suddenly she felt his other hand around her throat. Slight pressure at first, building in time with the thrusting of his fingers deep inside of her. She felt the hot approaching climax and his hand squeezed harder around her throat, making her gasp for air. As her orgasms began again she could no longer breath as his hand grasped tighter cutting off her oxygen. Tiny spheres of light flittered around the edges of her sight. A consvulsion of ecstasy, so pure, exploded outwards from her womb reaching the top of her head to the bottom of her toes simultaenously. All of creation spread out before her as the universe convulsed in time to her contractions. She was the Goddess now. Then the blackness rushed in around her taking her down into the depths of the underbelly of unconsciousness.

She awoke coughing. To her dismay she was laying on a pallet back inside of her cell. She felt her throat, it was tender and sore. The throbbing between her legs was a dull ache of pain. She knew without looking in a mirror that bruised imprints of large fingerprints wrapped themselves around her neck. She coughed slightly, feeling a ghostly pressure still around her throat. Her eyes rolled towards the back of her skull. How could any of this be possible? How could a torturer and an executioner bring her to such highs and such improbable lows? Who was he? She let her thoughts drift. Surely he had to live in or around the village somewhere. As her mind lingered on him, her treacherous body began to warm and grow wet. Damn it! Damn him! She forced herself to focus on what his alter identity might be. Where had she seen such a giant of a man before? The iron muscles of his biceps and forearms, the barrel chest of finely dark dusting of curling hair. Then it hit her like the force of a lightening strike. The smithy! The forge! She had spied a man like that once long ago. Having gone to the forge to gather discarded horse shoes, she had seen him. Battering a piece of metal on an anvil, muscled arms bulging, his body slicked with sweat. His long black hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a leather strap, the planes of his face were angular and sharp. He sported a black goatee and mustache and was the absolute picture of masculinity. She remembered her body trembling with desire as she watched him. He turned slightly as if he felt the weight of her staring, his eyes suddenly locking onto hers. Without missing a beat of the pounding of the metal, his mouth turned upward in a slight, sneering, mocking smile. She had turned and ran out of the forge.

Dearest Mother of All. She had even asked about him in the market place. His name...Victor. He had a wife and several daughters that lived inside the village proper. She remembered the sinking disapointment at the pit of her stomach after finding out he was married. Dammit! How could she have been so decieved? Dear God and Goddess. Did his wife know how he supplemented their income? If she did then she must surely be ignorant about his methods. She rolled over on the pallet groaning, cradling her abdomen. The piercing in her navel squealed slightly in protest. What was this karmic rollercoaster ride she had gotten on? Her mind drifted traitorously towards the Confessor. Part of her loathed him. How many other women did he use this way? It made her queasy. Then she felt the heat of desire flush through her. She shuddered. He was masterful at his craft. She knew instinctively that this was the male twinsoul that she had waited all of her life for. She knew him intimately on more than just the master/slave relationship than they had now. The feel of him. The look of him. The scent of him. The first moment she saw him in the forge she knew, and she ran in terror and confusion. She could feel him inside of her, mocking, cajoling, brutal, tender...

She shook her head. She had to get out of here. She had to leave the entire area. There wasn't anything left for her any longer in this tiny feudal community anyway. The thought of never seeing him again, never feeling his hands on her body ever again, wrenched at her heart. She felt the waves of obsession wash through her, more potently than tides crashing on a beach under a full moon. Hot tears squeezed through her tightly shut eyes. A loud clanging in the keyhole of her cell sounded, startling her. The door squealed open. Dim torchlight illuminated the large figure from behind. She felt her chest clench in a vise, and felt a cold tremble fly through her body. He started took a few steps forward, then turned, carefully and precisely closing and locking the cell door behind him. She scurried backward towards a corner. He knelt down on one knee in front of her, his eyes glittering behind the leather mask.

"My beauty, I have some news," his voice was low and whispered. He almost seemed subservient as he kneeled, reaching out to carress her cheek. She instinctively flinched, but held steady, leaning her face into his warm palm. Electric jolts of pleasure pulsed through her. She rubbed against his hand like a cat, purring. His head tilted, as he watched her spellbound. He shook himself mentally out of it, dropping his hand.

"Tomorrow, the priests have decided that you are to hang for the crime of witchcraft. They didn't covene a trial. I told them that you have confessed," he paused watching her closely.

She recoiled in horror. She was nothing to him. Why had she let her foolish fantasies ever think otherwise? She was nothing more than another job for him.

"Wait," he breathed heavily, "I want you to know something..," he paused as if searching for the words, " I know you. I know who you are. When I heard that you were jailed, I asked that I be the one to handle your confession. I..I won't let them kill you. You have to believe me. Have faith in me, beauty, I won't fail you.." he trailed off.

Her heart hammered against her chest. "Take off the mask, Victor. Let me see you...again."

He moved back slightly as she crawled out of the corner on the filth-ridden floor towards him. She sat back on her haunches, her hands reaching out to his face. He grabbed her hands.

"No! You can't see me," his grip was iron strong.

She stared into his eyes and began to whisper an ancient lullabye in Gallic. She felt her spirit reaching for his. His hands loosened on hers and she pulled the executioner's mask over his head. A sharp intake of breath as she could make out the familiar features in the dim light. Her hands traced his lips, her fingertips ran along the downturned sides of his moustache. His trimmed beard was shot through with white strands. His temples too had begun to gray. It only made him more beautiful.

"I saw you at the forge that day Victor. I stayed away for all this time. I was a fool," she whispered. "By Mother, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen."
She studied his amber eyes. They were watery now, as he gazed at her in wonder and amazement. They both leaned forward, their lips met for the first time. She wrapped herself into his embrace. It was immediate and soulful. Their tongues danced and entwined each breathing breath into the other. They lay back on her pallet.

"I love you," she whispered into his mouth.

He looked sharply at her, taking her face firmly in his hands. "And I love you my Queen. I have dreamt about you every night since that day so long ago. You are mine. Forever.", he growled.

She purred deep inside of her diaphragm. She rolled him over on his back straddling him. He chuckled deeply as she playfully held his arms over his head. "You will never forget me," she whispered seductively as a small smile appeared on her face. His face grew serious.

"No, I won't my beauty. I will never forget you..."

Her body began to slide downwards. "What?..", he began.

"Shhh, darling," she crooned, as she began to run her tongue under his chin and down towards his chest as she kept sliding. She grazed his nipples with her teeth and felt the tremor run through his body as he growled. Slowly she licked her way towards his groin. Nimbley unhooking his tight trousers, she let her finger tips run silkily through his pubic hair. He gasped for air, as she kissed his manhood. Slowly she ran her tongue under his hardened shaft flicking like a snake at the engorged head of his cock. He grasped her head, his fingers tight in her hair. She looked up at him as he was staring at her in fascination and pure animal desire.

"Oh my God..", he groaned.

She smiled like a tigress before she let her warm mouth slide down his penis. His hips bucked as he moaned clenching her hair. Her tongue swirled up and down his shaft as she sucked him deeper into her throat. His head thrashed from side to side in ecstatic agony. She tasted the milky droplets of the beginning of his ejaculation. She suddenly stopped suckling him and sat up.

He was panting, and looked sharply at her. "Never has anyone..", he trailed off desperate and heaving.

"I want you inside of me Victor. Now.", she parted the flimsy jail issue shift and impaled herself on his cock. He groaned as if dying as her hips began to work back and forth. She felt the inside of her walls begin to tighten and mold him to her private contours. She felt him harden even more and lengthen to touch the inside of her womb. His face contorted as he could no longer hold back the orgasmic spasms.

"Argggghh!", he cried out.

She threw back her head as her spine arched backwards. Her contractions milked him of his essence as she felt his semen shoot deep inside of her. Her hips ground into him relentlessly. She fell forward on his heaving chest gasping for air. She looked up into his stunned and sweating face. She felt his penis still inside of her. His amber eyes staring into her soul. She leaned over him her tongue licking at his bottom lip. They kissed again. He grasped her shoulders and rolled her over on her back.

"I have to go, my love. Tomorrow morning will come soon enough. Trust me, beauty. I won't fail you, no matter what you think is going to happen," he ran a finger down her cheek. " I do love you. I loved you before I knew you." He rose picking up the executioner's mask, and turned to leave. She sat up on her elbows.

"I love you too, Victor. I always have, I always will," she said quietly as he turned one last time at the door to look at her. "Remember me, Confessor."

A look of intense grief washed over his features. He nodded and the door clanged behind him. Weariness stole over her as she felt her limbs become leadened. She lay her head back down on the dirty pallet. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Trust him? Believe in him? Would she die in the morning? Dying wasn't so fearful, it was the never seeing him in this life again. She sobbed herself into dark oblivious sleep.


"Get up girlie...your time is here," a slimey voice chuckled.

She felt rough hands yank her to her feet. "Your gonna meet your lover Satan today gel. There's already a crowd gathered outside to witness you gettin' your just desserts."

Her arms were roughly bound behind her as she was flanked by two smiling guards. She drew her chin up and looked at the jailer squarely. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards in a defiant smirk. "Your day is coming too. Maybe today is the day," she suddenly spat in his face.

He angrily wiped is face and lunged for her.

"Sir, the council waits," one of the guards reminded him.

The jailer slapped her hard across the mouth and nose. Blood satisfactorily flowed from both. He grunted.

"Come on then, bring her to her fate," he said mockingly.

She was dragged through the rest of the hallways up to the giant stone stairway, which led into the dungeon from the rest of the palace up above. The two guardsmen still held her arms roughly, as the jailer grabbed her chin and pointed her face to the top of the stone steps.

"Here comes your fate, gel," he started to cackle evily.

Her eyes squinted up as a flash of metal began to descend the steps. He passed by a smouldering torch that was glowing on the wall. The executioner's mask firmly in place. Leather strapping crossing his chest, that held to his body knives on his belting. In his arms he carried a giant battle mace that glittered in the angles of the light. His amber eyes glittered behind the mask, staring at her, through her. Time seemed to be suspended between them, hanging heavily in the air. She felt a tugging at her chest. Suddenly she felt herself being propelled to him, and saw his essence stream by her towards her body. The souls flowed through each other before reaching the other's body. Her awareness shook slightly as she gazed at her own body through his eyes. She saw the confusion in her own face, as his eyes stared in horror up the stairs to his body. And just as suddenly she was back in her own . Her breath expelled in a long gasp. She watched the Confessor sway slightly on the last step. He quickly caught himself and descended towards her. His tawny eyes confused at first, then a glaze of impenetrable resolution passed before them.

"You have been found guilty by the Council of Holies on the charges of witchcraft, sorcery, and treason. You will be hanged by the neck until dead, " his bass voice reverberated off of the stone walls.

The guards turned her roughly, her back facing him. She saw the black cloth descend across her eyes and felt him begin to tie it tightly behind her head. His fingers trailed heat waves of feeling as she felt him secretly brush the sides of her face.

"Bring the prisoner up," he instructed the guards.

She felt herself being hauled up the stone steps by the guards. The warmth of daylight soon struck her body as they came from deep down below the Keep. She heard the hollow footsteps reverberate on the woodsteps she was guided up on. Angry mutterings, a few shouted hecklings of "Witch!" "Whore!" were scattered in among the agitated buzz of the crowd. She felt herself placed on the platform squarely. Shouts and cheers sounded through the air as she felt the scaffolding shake under a new set of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Kill the witch!" became the mantra.

She felt her body begin to tremble of it's own accord. She whispered a prayer to her Goddess. One of request. One of beauty and knowledge. She felt a love and a peace well up inside of her. She held her face up towards the sunlight. The noose was fitted around her neck.

"Return the devil's own back to it's maker, Confessor!", a sharp nasally rasping voice, whom she recognized as the Priest's, said.

His deep whisper carressed her ear with his warm breath. "Forever Beauty. Trust Me."

With a sharp whoosh! the floor under her feet disapeared and she felt herself falling into the air. The feeling seemed to stretch on forever. Her body flinched as she waited for the cord around her neck to snap back and for it all to be over. The first moment of tension around her throat and she prepared for the backlash. Instead she felt it give way and her body slam into a another one. She felt herself impossibly constricted in some sort of bag.

"Sorry miss. Stay still and don't make a sound," a youngish male voice whispered through the fabric.

She felt herself be hoisted up close to his body as he worked their way out from under the platform. A cawing sounded from behind her. The noise of the crowd filtered in around her. Jeering, booing, hissing. Suddenly screaming and hysterical yelling. A bird somewhere began to raucously squeal and caw the noise growing fainter as they left and the bird took flight. She felt the young strong body beneath her stiffen as he began to work his load into the back of a wagon. She felt scratchy blades come through the burlap and the sway of the cart as it began to move. She lay very still as she heard the clatter of hoobeats over cobblestones. She finally let her body surrender to sleep as the back and forth motion of the wagon bed smoothed out over dirt highway.

She awoke to hands lifting her out of the bag her hands untied and her blindfold removed. She let her eyes adjust to a star filled nite. The blond haired youth stood in front of her. "Umm, ma'am, everything is arranged," he pointed over to where an expensive carriage waited.

"Wait," she started, "What happened?"

The young man paused his light eyes wide, "You should have seen everybody's face when they saw the raven fly out from under the hangman's noose," he shook his head, "I was told to tell you that your patron has taken care of everything. To trust," he gestured towards the carriage, "You need to go quickly, before they figure anything out."

She started towards the carriage then turned back to him, "And my Patron, did he say anything else?"

The sandy-haired youth shook his head, and she nodded in response. She slipped quietly into the luxurious interior of the carriage and laid back, letting her eyes close to the swaying of the ride, as she rode towards a new life.


TEN YEARS LATER


The woman walked through the teeming market, looking at the beautiful ripened fruit for sale. An elegant yet understated dress flowed around her feet as she made her way through the stalls. A shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders still didn't hide the firery red in her hair, nor the creamy white streaks which flowed out from her temples and crown. More than a few passersby took note of her beauty, but she was oblivious to any admiring stares. The bustling city had been a balm and an inspiration to her for the past years. Exploding with life and intellectualism, art, and music, she had found herself in the middle of it. Her life was full and happy. Busy and productive. And yet, there was something deep within that was terribly empty. She paid for an apple and inhaled it's sweet earthy scent, as she bit into the fruit.

"Mother! Mother! The show is about to begin! You said we could watch it!," an excited and familiar voice caught her attention, as he always did. She watched her son bound over to her. His dark hair, his serious amber colored eyes. At the age of
ten he was almost her height.

Warm waves of love washed through her, "Of course darling, just one more min...", her voice trailed off as she stood and stared at the visage that stood on the other side of the stalls. The old scar on her thigh throbbed in heat, the navel ring she sported felt electrified.

He stared too. His hair white, with the black undertones of the color it used to be. He goatee still black with whitened stripes, his eyes still whiskey colored, and hypnotic. They both stood spell bound gazing upon the other. His gaze sliding from her to the boy at her side. His eyes widened in understanding as he looked back at her with the look of a man who sees his first oasis in the middle of a year long trek in a desert.

"I said, Victor, I want this bolt of cloth not the other," a feminine scratchy voice whined. The woman looked at his companion, a short obese woman with a perpetual frown line across her eyebrows. Her hair was the color of straw. She glanced over at the woman her husband was staring at, her eyes narrowing, "Who is that?"

He broke away from their shared stolen moment and looked down at his wife, "No one, it isn't anyone.."

She heard his voice drift in and around her, tears quietly threatened. She turned away putting her arm around her son's shoulders and began to walk with him back through the marketplace.

"Who was that mother?", he asked looking up at her with a puzzled expression in his tawny eyes.

She smiled. "I don't know my darling. We better hurry or we will be late for the show you wanted to see, Victor my love."


FINIS