The Crystal Crux: Blue Grotto

by Allen Werner

  Viridian didn’t feel any pain. She wasn’t quite sure why. Still she drank the solution, some of it falling from her lips, running coolly down her chin, neck and chest.

  The room was stifling. The patio doors lay open but there was no breeze coming in from the sea, the sheer drapes not stirring. Viridian thought for a moment to send for more attendants to fan her but was reluctant to invite addition ears into this bitter betrayal.

  ‘Yes,’ she mused heatedly. ‘That’s what this was. A betrayal. Rugerius has betrayed my love for him.’ Viridian restrained the urge to shake her head. “Love? Do I still love him now?’ She imagined the Castellan’s hirsute face, the grizzled beard she hated, the misshapen bones and muscles beneath it. ‘Un monstro.’

  “Thank you, Eula.” Viridian handed the empty goblet back to the girl. Viridian was often, according to an unofficial consensus amongst the young servant girls that served the women at Court, the gentlest and most considerate mistress. Even at her worst, My Lady could be patient and forgiving. The older women were the worst.

  “You may retire now.” Viridian was quick to engage anxious Zita as well. “Both of you. I will be fine.”

  Obedient, smiling, the youngsters bowed before scampering off, their tiny footfalls gone in a flash.

  For the first time since waking, Viridian realized it was night, the sky outside the patio black. Tall stanchions covered in candles provided the only light, an array of incenses, as always, permeating the room with the comforting scent of fresh lilac.

  It took Viridian several more seconds to gather her thoughts and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her ever-mindful attendants had placed comfortable sandals beside the bed but Viridian never wore them. Viridian never wore anything when she was in her apartment, in the privacy of her chambers. She honestly had no use for clothing and had no memory of ever being cold, not even chilled. She couldn’t begin to imagine how snow felt or what it was like for people living in cooler climes.

  Barefoot, she sunk her toes into a fur rug and reveled in the comfort a moment. Up on her feet, she managed several shaky steps before a wave of dizziness gave her pause. She touched her forehead but not the injury, a silent curse cast upon the Castellan.

  In the heat of passion, Viridian had suffered before. She gleefully invited violence during foreplay, spankings and slappings, bitings and scratchings, some resulting in bruising and cutting. It was all part of the pleasure. But never, not once, had Viridian been assaulted in a manner that caused her to completely lose consciousness. If she did lose consciousness, it was her own fault, overindulging in alcoholic beverages and other aphrodisiacs.

  “That bastard’s going to pay,” she swore aloud, finally stumbling to the chair at the vanity stand and sitting down. A little lizard that had been sitting on the stand made a suicidal leap. It hit the floor and scurried under the bed. Three others dashed out from under the bed and ran to the patio, disappearing in the darkness. The reptiles were everywhere and she had grown accustomed to them.

  Fuming, reluctant, Viridian faced her reflection in the glass.

  “Fuck.” It was worse than she thought, but then again, any blemish on her face tended to disgust her. ‘A woman should be spotless,’ she always thought. ‘She should be smooth and fair; a goddess men will adore and desire.’ The wound was on the upper part of her left jaw just beneath the eye. It was badly swollen and discolored. An unflattering scab had developed over the cut. The only optimism she could rationalize now was the location of the injury. Any higher and it may have impaired her vision.

  Curious, she checked her hairline, brow and chin. Something didn’t feel right about her mouth. She rolled her tongue around inside her mouth. Several teeth were missing. “Damn it.” Viridian leaned in closer to the mirror, examining her gaping mouth, trying to assess the damage. It was all on the left side, two teeth, gone. She was still perplexed as to why she felt no pain. And then she spotted a familiar white phial on the vanity between her facial paints and lotions. It contained a potent theriac created by, of all people, Sinibaldus. The lustful magician sold this and many other medicinal aides from colorful stalls at Sin Circus. Viridian never purchased them directly herself, sending rather intermediaries to perform this duty. She loved to experiment with hallucinogens, get high, drunk, lose her mind and forget.

  Without hesitation, Viridian snatched up the white phial and popped off the black stopper. She turned it over and tapped the bottom. A small pile of yellowish powder formed up on the index finger of her other hand. She stared at it a moment, already feeling comforted. She rubbed the substance inside her mouth, on the injured gums, licking the administrative finger feverishly. She remembered how someone had once told her that the concoction contained, among other ingredients, the skin of il bacco, black whip snake.

  Relaxed, relieved, Viridian slouched back in her chair. The image in the mirror already looked better. She only wished the girls had not washed off the paints. She felt so plain without her paints.

  “Rugerius Fabbro,” she whispered at the reflection, almost laughing. “My proud, powerful cousin.” There was some blurriness and she wasn’t quite sure if it was from the concussion or the black snake powder. “No pain.”

  Her hand, one finger still moist from the feverish licking, slid down between her legs and she played with herself yet again.

  Viridian reminisced about her time with Rugerius, their relationship over the years. ‘Such a handsome bastard he was before the beard, before the broken jaw.’ Viridian kept stroking herself but she felt her anger rising also. ‘He never kisses me anymore, never uses his tongue for anything.’ Her stroking was more intense, determined. ‘I fucking miss his tongue. His tongue. I want his tongue again. Give me your tongue.’ Viridian trembled and came, her back arching, hardly able to breathe. ‘Oh god, that was good.’

  Content, she closed her eyes for a long moment, nearly falling asleep. The contentment waned before she could reach oblivion. ‘Every time I touch his face; he complains about his jaw hurting.’ Her face crunched. ‘He really does disgust me.’ The crumple relaxed. ‘Who needs him anyhow?’

  Before she could cozy up to that conclusion, the ominous warning proffered by the giant Sinibaldus rendered her stiff. “Lonely whore. You are nothing to these people without the Castellan.”

  Viridian realized she had already admitted this to herself. She remembered the desperation, the anxiety she felt when she stormed into the bathhouse and shamefully latched herself to Rugerius, begging him to take her, trying to save what was quickly slipping away.

  “You’re still my favorite fuck,” Rugerius coyly declared.

  ‘His favorite fuck.’ Viridian nodded. ‘And he meant it. The bastard meant it.’ And then her face grew dark.

  “Stay in your place, girl,” he said. “Stay in your place.”

  “My place?” Viridian’s countenance fell further, not into petulance but rage. A fog blanketed her vision, and from within the mist rose the smoldering skin of the albino giant’s hand and face baking in the sun. His power blue eyes were intense and passionate. “Queen of Sin Circus,” he crooned. “I will give you a crown and make you my queen. The world shall bow before you.”

  Chary, Viridian tried her best now to imagine intimacy with the albino monster. She even stroked herself again hoping to discover some lost passion. The sensation of his cold cock surging up inside her hot freshness, a hiss of steam rising from the enjoining of their diametrically opposed hips was simply not enough. It was a hopeless proposition. “Necrophilia. I’ve done many things over the course of my life but even that is a line I cannot cross.”

  The memory of Sinibaldus would not be so easily dismissed. The giant spoke to her again. “When your affair with Rugerius has played itself out and you find yourself sinking between the ruts of truth and fear, you will discover I am already in there. No one thrives between the cracks of society as well as I do.”

  Viridian leaned forward, placing her elbows on the vanity. “If crawling through t
he cracks and discovering Sinibaldus be the wages of survival, then I shall not survive.”

  These multiple voices spilling over in her head were becoming maddening. She began to understand what Aunt Bertina must be experiencing in her lunacy.

  Rugerius Fabbro responded. “If you have a problem with the arrangement, you best end your life.”

  Sadness glazed her brown eyes. “You would have made a beautiful queen,” she whispered to her reflection, staring intently on the bruise, the bump, the scar she imagined would never heal. Using her peripheral vision, Viridian located a beckoning glare on the vanity stand, a sharp pair of steel sheers. A minute passed before her grief and right hand found the fortitude necessary to take hold of the sheers.

  ‘Two cuts,’ she considered. ‘One to cut to each wrist and this life is over. I go to the land of gods. No more men and monsters.’

  She touched the pointy tip of the sheers against the wound on her face almost causing it to bleed again. A few tears began to wash down her cheeks. “I was beautiful and so shall I be again. Turning into dust and mist, I will return to this world as a ghost. I will dance every night with Bertina and make her happy.’ Viridian smiled at this. ‘Yes, I will dance with my Aunt and become her special counselor, an adviser to the otherworld. I will teach her everything I learn along the way. She will like that.”

  Viridian took a deep breath and placed the sharpest edge of the sheers against her left wrist. “But first, before I dance or do anything with anyone, I’m going to haunt the fuck out of Rugerius.”

  Chapter 34 – The Invitation

  Viridian was just about to press the steel into her tender skin when a frightening flurry of wind rushed through the room, throwing back the curtains, tossing lighter items everywhere, blowing out many candles. An enormous, terrifying shadow blackened the already dark night on the balcony before disappearing again. Something enormous and strange had landed on the balcony. A few more sounds, bizarre sounds entered from the patio. Viridian could not identify what sort of thing would huff, puff and ruffle as it did.

  Petrified, Viridian aborted her suicidal quest for fear of being killed. Falling out of her chair, she stumbled to the nearest wall and pressed her back tight against it, the sheers clutched against her naked, heaving chest. Her whole body was exhilarated and trembling. She couldn’t control it. Her heart was racing, blood pumping so quickly it made her dizzy.

  “My Lady?”

  ‘My Lady?’ The voice that said it was thin and nasally. It didn’t sound large at all but it didn’t sound like a voice anyone would want to trust. ‘Why the hell is there a voice on my balcony? How the hell did it get out there? How did it know I was in here?’

  The first thought was flight. ‘I could run for the door and alert the guards.’ Only problem was, there were no guards, not any posted nearby. This was Capua, the Villa Jovis, a luxurious, remote palace on an island. The only armed guards were stationed at the entry points and they were hardly ever alert or prepared to do anything but sleep. ‘Why did it call me, My Lady?’

  Viridian closed her eyes a moment and steeled her resolve. She had to manage her shaking. Opening her eyes and mouth at the same time, she spoke. The word left her wholly unlike any word she had ever spoken; unnerved. “Hello?”

  “Viridian?”

  That was it. Her legs got weak and she almost buckled and collapsed. She had never felt cold in her life but a deathly chill ran up and down her spine. ‘Oh my god, it knows my name.’

  “Does My Lady weep for love or hate?”

  Viridian’s eyes bounced around her head. ‘It knows I weep?’

  The little green lizard that had leapt from the stand and hid beneath the bed suddenly made an appearance. It scurried over the rug, across the marble floor and by the vanity. Confident, it continued pass Viridian and went to the open patio doorway. It stopped there, looking at whatever menacing thing was on the balcony, its green tail wagging back and forth. The little creature slowly turned its head and glanced back at Viridian with beady white eyes, the countenance nearly aware of her presence and beckoning her forward. The lizard then turned back to the patio and dashed out into the darkness.

  “I will not bite you, My Lady, unless you want me to.”

  ‘Oh fuck, it wants me to come out there. What do I do?’

  “I haven’t all night, Viridian.” The voice snarled, sounding a bit more imposing than before; impatient.

  Pointing the sheers in front of her like a weapon, she slid along the wall until she got the patio opening. She slowly turned her head, black mane and all, around the column to have a peak. The thing looked like an unusual black bird perched on the railing overlooking Tiberius Drop, the shadowed Faragoloni stones silhouetted perfectly behind it as though it was seated on a throne.

  “I thought my humor would lighten the mood,” the strange bird cackled. “Would you like me to come in there and bite you so you know this is real?”

  Viridian just stayed frozen at the doorway, her head peering around the corner, eyes hypnotized.

  “If you don’t come out here soon,” the bird threatened, “I will come in there, and I tend to be a messy houseguest, kicking up quite a shit storm.” The thing laughed at itself. It seemed impatient but jovial, cruel but curious.

  Viridian didn’t want this bird-creature inside her apartment so she stepped out in full view, the sheers aimed at the intruder.

  The creature ruffled its whole body a bit seeing her naked figure for the first time. “Mmm, yes. The rumors are true. Stunning. Nice form.”

  Viridian knew men well enough to differentiate between compliments and deceptions. This creature was male and there was something in the tone of his voice that hinted at arousal. This made Viridian curious.

  Keeping the sheers pointed at the stranger, she started her approach with slow, calculated steps. She was surprised to find that she was no longer lightheaded or dizzy, the intensity of the moment seemingly keeping her mind clear and focused.

  She got within three feet of the intruder and stopped. It was not a bird though it shared many traits. Four-feet tall, pitch black from head-to-toe, the creature remained perfectly motionless in an upright, vertical posture, leathery wings pressed tight to its sides, short legs and claws gripping the railing, no tail. Most disturbingly, however, the creature’s face was scaly and human, the nose and mouth, the eyes beady, red and fixed.

  “What are you?” Viridian asked.

  The creature nodded its head as if bowing. “Allow me to introduce myself.” His voice was no longer nasally or cackling. It was deep and hearty, manly. “My name is Didian and I am what humans refer to as an imp.”

  “An imp? What the hell is an imp?” Viridian spoke before thinking. She actually knew what an imp was according to the manuscripts and pictures some of her religious lovers showed her but she wasn’t reflecting on any past knowledge now. She was intimidated and not thinking about what ancient, superstitious writers had written.

  “Think of me as a squire.” He shot his right wing out suddenly from his body and the flap it made caused Viridian to lurch back a foot. Didian held the pose, the wing extending nearly eight feet away from his body. “I’m a demon in training.” His cackle returned.

  Viridian’s brown eyes popped out in horror. “You’re a devil.”

  “Devil, demon, imp. Can we get past all that?” He retracted the wing and squared up his attention. “I’ve come with an invitation, My Lady.”

  “An invitation? An invitation to what? Who is it from?”

  “My Master would be honored to meet with you. He has a proposition I don’t think you can refuse.”

  “And what is your master’s name? Do I know him? Is he from around here?”

  Didian’s deep voice cackled again, chuckled. “No, he is not from around here and you do not know him. Few do. And although he is known by many names, he prefers, at this time, to be referred to as, Lord Ophis.”

  Viridian tilted her head in a skeptical manner, her whisper filled
with contempt and disbelief. “Lord Ophis?”

  Didian knew she would require more coaxing. “I assure you, Lord Ophis is powerful and wealthy. He rules more than anyone you’ve ever known, even the Emperor. He can fulfill any desires you have.” The imp winked. “You do have desires, don’t you?”

  Viridian felt herself getting warm again and it was not just her spine. She was aroused by the talk of power and wealth, and having her desires fulfilled. She recovered the step she had lost when Didian flared his wing and even drew nearer to the odd creature until she was standing close enough to touch it.

  Didian did not flinch.

  Viridian looked Didian up and down and held out her hand, the one without the sheers. “May I touch you?”

  Didian bowed his head slightly. “If it pleases, My Lady.”

  Viridian gently touched the top of the imp’s head. The black feathers were downy, incredible soft. The more she touched and rubbed him, the more Didian leaned into her hand like a pet desires a good rubbing.

  Viridian wanted to touch more. She grew bolder and ran her hand down the creature’s side, on the leathery right wing. His skin was scorching hot and yielding, not cold and statuesque as she had supposed.

  ‘The blood in his veins must be pure fire.’

  Viridian was enthralled now and wanted to feel Didian all over, caress him, take him in her hands and carry him about. She dropped the sheers on the marble deck and fondled the imp’s chest, groping him under his wings. The heat radiating from his body was so intense it was flowing up her arms and into her chest, down through her hips and legs. She was getting hot, aroused.

  Didian began to purr as he shifted and readjusted his spindly feet a little bit more apart so his third appendage, pronounced and erect flared up between them.

  Viridian stepped back and stared at it. It was thin, long and pointy like a common stick on a withered tree. She held back her laughter and pretended it was impressive. She came in close to him again and leaned against the railing, her right hand gently taking hold of the pointy black stick.