by M Palmeri
“She has told you a lot more than I thought she would,” Ella admitted. “She must be very fond of you. Especially to tell you about what happened with Count Frederick. But she did not tell you about what happened after…” It wasn’t a question. Ella took her time before continuing. Then she looked Marie in the eye. “You must never speak of this. What I will say is only for those closest… I know. Richard knows, though he would never have the heart to tell you. Mayleen knows. And Claire, I think, because she is so close to Richard… As are you…
“After the wedding of the Duke and Mayleen, there was a great celebration, both publicly and privately. Mayleen’s wedding night with the Duke is the stuff of legends, and Rosalie was more than generous with the ‘entertainments’. But in the dark, in their bed alone, the Duke confided in his new wife that he still feared Rosalie.
“Mayleen tried to allay his fears, but the Duke’s heart was set: he could not trust one who had been so bloodthirsty and ruthless, who had committed such unforgivable sins. Mayleen was taken aback, and made excuses, defending Rosalie as a protector of women and an avenger of atrocities, who had done nothing worse than slay two wicked monsters, both—arguably—in self-defense, or in defense of the innocent.
And the Duke’s heart broke then, because he realized, through Mayleen, that Rosalie did not know the depth of her own atrocity.
The Count Frederick had been more than Black Therese’s master. He had been her father. And far more terrible, the Baroness was not Step-Mother to Rosalie, but her true birth mother.
Despising the child, it seemed, had driven Therese to deny motherhood. Nor had she ever named Frederick as her father. Without knowing, Rosalie had slain both her mother and her grandfather.”
Marie felt her stomach go cold, felt herself shivering despite the warmth of the bath.
“She knows…”
“Mayleen could not bear to keep it from her,” Ella explained. “And it crushed her. Not only did she bear the horror of shedding the blood that bore her, but she also felt the awful burden of knowing that she was of the same blood as these monsters. She even suspected she might be the product of an abomination between her mother and grandfather, and that her beloved father was actually her step-father, as there was rumor—supported by birth and marriage records—that Therese had come to the Baron already with child.”
An icy shock went through Marie, and tears began to well. Ella breathed and continued, tears visible in her own eyes:
“There was no consoling her. She drove Mayleen away, even avoided her husband, until he pressed her to confess her burden to him. And Richard, like Mayleen, offered her nothing but love. This, I think, is what saved her. For she was loved. No one had loved Frederick or Therese. They were hated and feared. That love, and her devotion to her mission, redeemed her.
“But it was out of that redemption that Rosalie of the Red Dress ceased to be. After a month spent in solitude, she emerged as the Black Countess Rose, seemingly older and more terrible, but far more intense in matters of love as well. No longer a girl, but more than any woman. She sought to redeem her lineage by drawing it into the light, embracing her dark hungers in ways she had never dared before, but always tempering them with kindness.”
Marie reached out and touched Ella on the shoulder, her hand still trembling but grateful for her candor, wanting to sooth the pain she had brought up. And then her fingertips slipped along the lines of the scars, and her hand drew back as if stung. Ella caught her wrist, held it. Seeing what was in Marie’s eyes, she smiled and shook her head.
“No, girl. Rose didn’t do this to me. In fact, she ended what did this to me.”
Ella took a sip of her wine, leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Let me tell you a story…”
Chapter Fourteen: The Cinder Girl
“It was in those next years that the Countess Rose found herself wanting despite her prosperity. She now had two fortified estates that she populated with women of like minds from across the countryside and beyond—she had saved hundreds of women and girls from horrible fates, and she was greatly loved for it. She dressed as Roland and moved in the world of men when she wished, trading and politicking. She had dozens of Sapphic lovers at her whim, and a husband she loved dearly, who shared equally in her passions.
“But she had lost Mayleen. Not completely, but the Duchess had her own estate to busy herself with, and the two grew apart. Even Richard could feel the emptiness in her heart. Which is why, on the celebration of their fifth anniversary, he took her hands in his and told her:
“‘You have a husband that loves you, who could ask for no finer bride in the world. But, perhaps, you need a wife of your own.’
“Richard, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to conspire with Mayleen, who—in turn—levered a favor from the Duke. Richard now presented documents identifying Roland as Richard’s son and heir, and conferring upon Roland the title of Baron that Richard had previously held.
“‘A young noble should have no trouble finding a fair bride,’ Richard teased. And Mayleen, apparently, had someone already in mind.
“The Viscountess Francesca kept a moderate farming estate that bordered the lands of both Charles and Richard. She had inherited from her Viscount husband Robert, after his accidental death some ten years prior. They had only been married for a year.
“Francesca had already been a widow once before they wed, and had come to Robert’s estate from a more comfortable life in the capital, bringing her two raven-haired daughters, the willful Sofia and the gentler Juliana. Both girls were only a few years younger than the daughter that Robert—a widower himself—already had: the golden haired Eleanora, a plain, tall and boyishly-built girl, raised on the rustic estate, who truly had been the treasure of his heart.
“Francesca fell deep into despair after Robert’s death, taking her daughters as her only comfort, while growing to despise Eleanora as a reminder that she had been but second in Robert’s heart. Further, Francesca knew nothing about running an estate, much less a farming estate, and quickly began to bankrupt the property by letting go all but the household servants that she kept at her beck and call. And despite her financial state, she continued to deplete Robert’s inheritance by trying to keep herself and her daughters in the same finery she had become accustomed to at court.
“So it was only a matter of time before Eleanora, still grieving the loss of her father, found herself reduced to being a servant in her own home.
“Francesca proved to be a cruel mistress, fond of giving the girl tasks she could not possibly complete to the Viscountess’ satisfaction. And this gave Francesca ample excuse to have the poor girl regularly whipped, a task she happily took her own hand to, while having her two daughters watch the spectacle, possibly to cultivate similar tastes in them.
“The lashings were always administered with a long braided whip, while the girl hung by her wrists from a rafter in the cellar. At first the Viscountess was content to focus her attentions upon the girl’s upper back and shoulders, but as the girl grew toward womanhood, the whipping moved lower. Eleanora would find herself stripped to the waist. Then her dress would be pulled low on her hips. Finally, she was made to endure her abuse completely naked.
“Sofia seemed to take some perverse glee in watching the ordeals, sometimes asking her mother for a turn at the whip, which she applied with mutilating violence. Juliana, on the other hand, seemed to have no stomach for it, to her mother’s vocal disappointment. But over the years, it became clear that the younger sibling was developing other tastes.
“Striped bloodly, Eleanora would be left to her simple bed in her sparse tower room to recover. It was not long before Juliana began to sneak up after dark, to apply salves to her step-sister’s wounds, and to sit silently by her side as she finally drifted away from pain into sleep. As they grew, and the whipping became more severe, Juliana would have all of Eleanora’s naked back to nurse, and eventually her ass and thighs as well. Eleanora had to lay face-down
at all times because of her wounds, but then, one night, feigning that she had fallen asleep, Eleanora turned over onto her back and let Juliana see all of her.
“Juliana fled the room in shock and shame. But hours later, in the dark, she quietly returned, and began to timidly explore her stepsister’s body with her gentle, trembling hands.
“Weeks passed, and Juliana became steadily bolder, until one night when Juliana brought Eleanora her mother’s whip. She stripped off her dress with her back to Eleanora, stretched her arms up over her head and quietly begged her to let her feel the whip herself. Eleanora was as careful as she could be, teasing at first, but the whip was not meant to be kind, and the first lash brought the girl to her knees, biting back a scream. Despite this, she offered her back again. But instead, Eleanora embraced her from behind, and Juliana felt hands begin to explore her for the first time.
“Their late-night encounters were kept carefully secret, all the while the Viscountess’ abuses intensified. Eleanora’s body was already covered with scars by the time she reached womanhood, but for her own reasons, she would not leave her father’s estate.
“Until the night of The Ball.
“The Viscount Robert had been a close friend of Duke Charles, who was not blind to the abuses of his widow. He confided his disgust in Mayleen, who told the tale to Rose, and the two conspired with their husbands to find ‘Baron Roland’ a bride.
“The Duke himself provided the use of his castle hall for a great feast and dance, and sent word to all the surrounding estates and towns regarding Roland’s search for a wife. And Richard himself brought his ‘son’ visiting to the Viscountess’ estate to introduce themselves and invite them personally.
“Francesca had her daughters preen for the beautiful youth, though Juliana seemed reluctant. This did not faze Francesca, who must have had it in her head that Sofia, her eldest, would be most appropriate for courting. What puzzled her, however, was that the young Baron seemed to be expecting to meet someone else.
“It wasn’t until they were about to ride away that they caught sight of the strong-built blonde girl working in the gardens, filthy with mud and greasy with sweat, and those green eyes found Roland’s gray. They locked only for a moment, something in those eyes overwhelming the girl, before Francesca was out dismissing her as a worthless servant; and Eleanora, in turn, dismissed Roland for just another spoiled child of nobility.
“Eleanora and Juliana masturbated each other furiously that very night, and Juliana confessed that she was dreading the Ball, dreading—further—that she might ever be married off by her mother. They held each other until dawn, when Juliana had to slip back into her own bedroom.
“But that very day—as Francesca groomed and dressed her daughters—Eleanora was out collecting apples when she spied a regal woman with the palest skin she had ever seen, her hair as black as her dress, riding a horse like a man. The apparition watched her from a distance for a long time, not trying to hide, but neither approaching, and Eleanora thought she could see a smile on those red lips. It was only when Eleanora returned to the estate that the woman finally rode away.
“Count Richard was kind enough to send a coach for Francesca and her daughters, a sign the Viscountess took as favorable. But before they left, still early in the evening, Francesca took the time for one last symbolic cruelty: she stripped Eleanora naked and left her suspended in the cellar, the whip left where she could see it, promising to take her frustration out on the poor girl if she was not able to secure a proposal for her Sofia.
“Eleanora hung there for only long enough to hear the coach depart, when she realized that she was not alone.
“‘Do not fear,’ a soft voice sang to her. ‘I will not harm you. The contrary, actually. I can free you, if you wish it.’ And Eleanora felt gentle hands caress her scarred back, her ribs, her hips. Pale, delicate hands encircled her waist, fingers stroking her belly like they were playing a harp. Then they danced over Eleanora’s breasts, and she felt a lean body press into her from behind. The fingers found her nipples hard and swollen, and played with them while the voice continued to hum, breathing into Eleanora’s hair.
“Then the hands released her, and the pale woman in black stepped around where she could be seen in the failing light. She stepped up close to the hanging girl, brushed her face against hers, and whispered in her ear that she was beautiful. Those delicate fingers slipped down between Eleanora’s legs, combed her fur, then parted her lips to go exploring her most delicate parts. Eleanora did not close her legs.
“Those fingers made her wet, and brought her farther up on her toes that the ropes did. Then they withdrew, and those red lips tasted them, and smiled approvingly.
“‘I will give you more than you have ever imagined,’ the pale woman told her. ‘I will free you from all of your prisons. But you must trust me completely, and give yourself entirely.’
“Before Eleanora could answer, the pale woman fell to her knees before her and started to tongue her sex, parting her with those skilled fingers so that her tongue could dance where it would. Eleanora began to cry out, to gasp for air, and that red mouth sealed herself on her and started to devour her with a passion she had never imagined. By the time the pale woman had finished with her, Eleanora’s world was spinning, and she was limp in her bonds when her rescuer finally let her down.
“The pale woman drew her a bath, soothed and cleansed her, washed and groomed her hair, then dried her carefully before presenting her with a magnificent golden gown, a jeweled necklace, bracelets and even shoes, and a mask for the Ball. Once dressed, she was unrecognizable as the dirty, scarred servant she had been.
“The pale woman took her out a waiting carriage, and sent her off with one instruction: ‘You must do whatever Baron Roland wishes of you. Refuse him nothing.’ And then the pale woman kissed her mouth like a lover and watched her drive away.
“There were hundreds of guests at the festivities, and almost as many servants. The Duke’s guard let Eleanora enter without challenge, as if she had been expected. But she was late: dinner had passed and now the Great Hall was filled with music and dance. No one took particular notice of her, not even her stepmother, who she caught sight of across the crowd and moved to keep distance from.
“But when she came into view of the head table, she caught her breath. The Duke and Duchess, the Count and his son all had eyes on her, as if they had been looking for her for quite some time. And a moment later, more eyes than that were on her, as the youth Roland approached her directly, took her hand, and kissed it gently. There was something about the feel of those lips that unsettled her, worse because of the look in those strangely-familiar gray eyes. But she followed her instructions and accepted the invitation to dance.
“The feel of his hands on her, even in such a civil fashion, made her tremble. Then at the end of the dance, he leaned in close, letting his perfectly smooth cheek brush hers, and he gave her instructions to meet him in one of the galleries.
“She tried to make her exit discreet as Roland faded back into the crowd of guests, suddenly flocked by young ladies who had taken notice of his sudden attentions toward the woman in the golden gown. Eleanora could recognize Sofia in that throng, almost being pushed forward by her mother. Then she caught sight of Juliana, and even across the room their eyes locked, and Juliana caught her breath in.
“Eleanora slipped away.
“The corridor she had been directed to was empty, on the floor above the Great Hall. She wandered cautiously in the low light, until a pair of strong but delicate hands seized her and dragged her through a tapestry into a small chapel, lit by candles. She knew it was Roland, but without his cap, in the low light, with his hair falling down around his shoulders, her mind played tricks on her. Then his voice came to her in a whisper:
“‘You will refuse me nothing?’
“Eleanora hesitated, but nodded to acknowledge her consent. Which is when she found just how accessible her new gown was. The youth pinned her to
the wall and bared her breasts, then, keeping her waiting only a moment, took them artfully but hungrily in his mouth. His hand opened her skirts and found her sex, delicate fingers roughly probing her, then withdrawing to taste what they had found. Eleanora knew well the smile that came to those lips then.
“But those strong hand spun her about, not taking time to acknowledge what she was realizing, and they made her bend over the small stone altar. Then those hands were exploring her from behind.
“‘You will refuse me nothing?’ the voice repeated, and she knew it now, and answered it by bending further, offering herself.
“Something hard probed her, stroked her sex; then, as she was taken hold of by the hips, it tore into her. She had many years practice at stifling her screams, and the pain of this was nothing compared to what the whip had conditioned her to. But this was so much more than pain…
“The hard shaft pumped into her from behind, as those delicate fingertips held her open, stroking her lips and teasing her anus. Eleanora felt her arms pulled down her sides, her hands passed under her belly, and the voice commanded her to touch herself. Between her own touch, the touch of those fingers and the thrusting of the hard shaft—it was not flesh, her fingertips told her that—she burst in ecstasy on that cool stone slab, then gasped as the shaft withdrew, and—her lover kneeling behind her—that devouring tongue returned.
“She was lost to delirium when it finally let up, and then she was commanded to return immediately to her carriage. Before she could get her feet under her, she was alone.
“But not completely. Gathering herself and slipping back out through the gallery, she ran into Juliana, who had been hiding close enough to hear. Eleanora could find no words for her stepsister, whose face danced with a hundred conflicting emotions. So she turned from her and ran to find her carriage.
