My Lady of Bones

by Michael Clement

  It had felt good.

  Trembling, I sat on the floor, torn between a woman’s viewpoint… And, a man’s; a very heterosexual man who wavered between very homophobic and secretly, not really.

  There had been another man. What was his name? I could almost see his image in my mind. He had big hands also.

  “Mother locked you in that body,” Rose hissed, breaking my concentration. “And yes--good boy--you remembered the rune’s name… do you want a cookie? You fucking idiot!”

  “Who am I?” I asked.

  The crow cawed, shrieking with laughter.

  “She fucked you up, worse than she did me,” it laughed, flapping her wings as it almost fell off the chandelier.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Mother, of course,” the crow cawed. “She punished me, feeding my flesh to Lukas.”

  Images of the giant filled my thoughts.

  And… those terrible, bone-shattering crunches.

  “...and then she threw my soul in a crow,” Rose continued. “But you…”

  The crow laughed and laughed.

  Finally, it continued. “She threw you… into a slut’s body. A whore’s whore. A hussy. A floozy. A harlot.”

  I didn’t know what to say, as Rose continued unabated.

  Flying around the room, the crow brayed, “Whore… whore… whore. Maxwell is a whore!”

  I hated her.

  “I am not a whore,” I yelled at my sister, standing up and stamping my foot.

  Crack went Aubin’s hand in my mind.

  I shivered, as lust whispered through my body, twisting up and down my spine with desire.

  Fuck. I wanted to feel that smack again.

  Cackling laughter followed the bird around the room, as her tirade continued.

  Then, the crow landed again.

  “I am free now,” it said. “Are you? Whore…”

  She was trying to piss me off. Just like she had when we were…

  Children.

  Another piece of my soul snapped back into place. Memories flooded my mind. Rose was my sister. She was a selfish bitch who I had hated most of my life.

  Until she died.

  Maybe I was right to hate her…

  Maybe not.

  “I remember pulling your hair,” I told her. “It was blonde and filled with pink ribbons.”

  “As a girl?” it… no, Rose was a she… my mind insisted.

  “No,” I said. Remembering the rough feel of a boy’s skin wrapped around my bones.

  The crow rolled on the table, giggling madly.

  “Who has ribbons in her hair now?” she admonished.

  Reaching up, I felt two ribbons, holding my hair in place.

  Pulling them out, my--her--hair fell to my shoulders, and then it tickled the middle of my back.

  Aubin had liked my hair down.

  He had said that it was beautiful.

  I shivered, remembered how it felt when he wrapped his hand in it and yanked.

  The raven cawed, breaking my memories.

  I looked at the ribbons.

  They were pink... and fragrant.

  Lifting the material to my nose, I smelled the perfume.

  Lilacs.

  Thoughts of...Grandmother... filled my mind.

  I remembered eating her soul…

  Adalisia.

  I remembered her.

  My Ghoul.

  My wife.

  The mother of my child.

  Her crimson eyes and pale skin filled my thoughts. I remembered being deep within her cold depths, as we fucked in a hot tub.

  My Liche.

  “Adalisia,” I groaned, nearly shattering as I remembered her.

  She had taught me how to eat the divine.

  “Good,” the crow whispered. “Dumb fuck is remembering…”

  “Don’t call me that,” I yelled at her.

  - 3 -

  “Moli,” the crow croaked at me.

  Dark black hair with the tips highlighted in blue. Bedroom eyes that were profoundly seductive and dark, almost black. Tattoos of ships, elks, and pixies filled my thoughts.

  I remembered her on top of me, fucking me silly.

  Her breasts… oh good Lord... they were beautiful.

  ...Now, I had breasts.

  I touched them with uncertainty.

  “They hurt your back,” the crow cawed, “don’t they?”

  “No,” I replied.

  “That’s because yours are itty-bitty,” she chuckled.

  Flying around the room, Rose called out. “Little Dick. Little Dick. Little Dick. Maxwell has a Little Dick...”

  I remembered those words.

  I was twelve, and Rose had caught me doing what little boys do to themselves when they are alone.

  She had run throughout the Palace, calling me Little Dick. Even the servants had whispered it after that incident, just to taunt me. Mother loved Rose best, and everyone knew it. I was the nasty little prince who tormented everyone.

  “Moli is going to be hurt,” the crow laughed. “You remembered corpse-eater first.”

  My sister laughed, enjoying my torment.

  “Did you like fucking the Dead One?” it whispered caustically, thrusting its hips forward. “Was she cold inside?”

  Adalisia filled my thoughts again.

  Her eyes filled with crimson as she climaxed.

  The coolness of her flesh against mine.

  Little Flower.

  That translation of her name rocked my thoughts, breaking loose another walled away portion of my memories.

  I saw a Cathedral on fire, as holy sunlight rained down on it from the sky above.

  Adalisia had been in my arms, and so had…

  Catherine.

  “Ah,” the crow murmured. “You remember the stern little bible thumper, the knee bender, the dick-sucking nun of…”

  I threw another pillow at Rose, making the crow take flight.

  Then, she veered and swooped at me.

  Splat.

  I felt a hot, smelly wetness splash on my face.

  The bitch shit on me… it was in my hair!

  I screamed in rage.

  The smell reminded me of the sewers in Malatorah. Zombies and glowing green rings filled my thoughts, as I remembered the Jewel of the South. Memories of death and regret pulled my mind away from the smell... and Rose’s continual taunts.

  Father died in Malatorah, I recalled.

  And… so had... Devonika.

  Her name was like a cold rush of grief, covered in death and brimstone. Hundreds of thousands of people had died, cut down by her greed, and rush for power.

  My Witch.

  That endearment almost made me blackout.

  Her dark blue eyes haunted me, as she lay on a red silk bedspread. I watched as she tweaked her own nipple ring.

  Moans of lust filled my ears as her fingers slipped lower.

  Then… in my head, I heard her screams of pain.

  Devonika’s metal pyramids suddenly surrounded me. I was on the plains of Malatorah, as Grandfather and Mother called down the fire, destroying the demon’s trapped in the metallic shells, like tortoises on their backs.

  Great-grandfather’s holy fire.

  Angels.

  Glowing wings wrapped in fire held back the demons as they tried to flee.

  Images plucked at my soul one after another.

  “Help,” I whispered, remembering the past.

  Remembering my promise.

  - 4 -

  Rose stopped flying, freezing in midair… as time stopped.

  Looking around, I saw a woman sitting next to me.

  She was wearing white robes with her hood up. Golden runes ran up and down her sleeves, and a starburst was embroidered in the front of the garment in gold and silver thread. Her dark brown hair mimicked mine, but her eyes…

  They were filled with stars.

  “Larosha,” I whispered, remembering her words, when…

  Death.
<
br />   Larosha had talked to me after Darla had died.

  Darla. The love of my life. Mother of my dead children.

  I remembered fighting for her, walking the gauntlet, fighting the dragon, and finally killing her father.

  My wife.

  I saw Darla clearly, for the first time in… years.

  She was standing before me in glistening silver armor with her dark brown hair looking at me sadly. Half her face, from the nose down, was painted black in war paint. Her tiny orc tusks jutted out from her lips, as I yearned for her touch.

  Then… visions of my wife’s death assailed me.

  I felt the machine’s claws dig into her chest and start ripping upwards.

  Her blood poured down upon me, and I screamed in torment.

  She… I had loved her best.

  Mother of my children who was murdered.

  Love of my life.

  My reason for living.

  I wanted to forget again.

  All of it.

  “Redraw the rune,” I pleaded with the Angel. “I don’t want to remember. It hurts too much!”

  Moaning, I shrieked, remembering Darla’s death, remembering the pain and the sorrow. The uncontrollable grief that dragged me down, making every last second without her a dark dream, a nightmare.

  I didn’t want any of it. Hiding was better. Running away from myself, from my memories... was the drug, the balm that I needed.

  I didn’t want to live without her.

  Darla was...

  “Lexi needs you,” Larosha scolded me.

  Lexi.

  Remembering my daughter… hurt.

  I had left her alone.

  My memories, my pain, my grief had overwhelmed me.

  I had abandoned her.

  “Fuck,” I hissed, swearing in front of an Angel and not caring.

  Fuck her. Larosha hadn’t come to help me hide.

  Angels aren’t big on running away and hiding. The bastards believe in facing your fears and grief.

  “Catherine needs you,” the angel continued. “Moli and Claire…”

  Claire.

  Long-limbed, the body of a goddess, blond hair that fell to her ass and then some. Her breasts were magnificent. She was strong-willed, fiercely protective, but tainted by a lust for demonic magic because of a deep-seated need for revenge and power.

  My wife.

  Her green eyes flashed in the night.

  Then… my vision swam as the Angel forced me to see Claire… right now.

  She was standing in the moonlight, in her long white negligee.... with another man.

  “Who?” I hissed, enraged beyond reason.

  Larosha shrugged. “You don’t want to know….”

  Enraged, I pounded on the pillows. “Who is with my wife!”

  “You can’t know unless you are open to remembering...” she sighed.

  Leaning forward, Larosha breathed memories into my face, stripping away some of my lost thoughts, while leaving others still hidden.

  The fucker’s name was Caiden, and he was a demon.

  I wanted to fillet him alive… slowly.

  Larosha forced me to watch as she lay down and spread her legs for…

  Somebody else!

  My mind screamed, tormented beyond belief.

  “HOW could she do that to me!” I roared, enraged, and infuriated.

  Didn’t Claire know how much that would hurt me, after Devonika’s betrayal?

  Larosha’s breath yanked my mind away from Claire and filled it with visions of my other wives, the newest ones, originally thirty-three, but only six survived.

  The rest of them were bloody piles of rotting meat. That was all that remained of the beautiful women. Most of them had died when the Citadel fell.

  But… I didn’t care.

  I forced the magic to show me, Claire, again.

  She was finished having sex. The tang of cum filled the air… along with the scent of demon spices.

  Claire’s eyes were rolled back into her head, and she was spasming.

  Seizures, I realized.

  Her body shook and thrashed, as Caiden smirked at me.

  The demon could feel me watching them.

  His eyes flared with darkness, as smiled and cupped Claire’s womanhood.

  “Mine,” he whispered to me.

  Then, the fucker slid his fingers into her as far as they would go. Brimstone and sulfur assaulted my senses, as the infection within her pummeled my nose.

  “No,” I cried out, horrified at what she had done.

  Larosha tried to wrench my concentration away from the demon.

  I fought her.

  Caiden had flipped her over, and he was now fucking Claire’s ass.

  “Not yours anymore… Little Lady,” he mocked me. “She’s mine now!”

  Laughing, Caiden viciously grabbed the back of Claire’s head and pressed it down into a pillow, smothering her.

  - 5 -

  I shrieked in anger and attempted to stop him. But, my magic only gave a tiny flutter. Cursing, I realized that I was unable to change the vision.

  I could only watch.

  Larosha jerked my vision away from Claire, leaving me with only the demon’s taunting laughter in my head.

  This time, I didn’t fight her.

  I had lost Claire, and it was my own fault. She had been addicted to demonic magic before I met her. My magic-- Maxwell’s--had been enough to keep her satisfied and clean.

  But… I had left her.

  Coward, my mind pointed out.

  Coward. Fool. Moron.

  I was that, and so much more. I had always run away from my troubles. Now, I saw the results of that strategy.

  Annoyed, my mind churned with impossible thoughts. If I had my body and my dragon, I would travel to Claire and kill the demon.

  God Dammit. He was fucking her and infecting her soul with darkness.

  “Mine,” I grumbled. “Claire is mine.”

  “Was,” the angel replied. “You are hiding.”

  “I am trapped in a new--female--body,” I complained, forgetting about forgetting. “Covered in runes that made me…”

  Forget.

  Fuck. Was I complicit in the runes... in everything?

  “Yes,” the angel told me. “It was your idea.”

  I looked at her in shock.

  “You--Maxwell--gave up when Darla died. Shaken to the core, you forgot about revenge or the other people who loved and needed you.”

  Sighing, she added, “You ran and hid, like a coward. Your dragon screamed at you… not to leave it. But, you abandoned your first, and best friend to your Mother’s tender mercies.”

  “No,” I told her, shaken to my core.

  “Yes,” Larosha replied. “You prefer to run away and hide when things get too hard. Maxwell hates talking about his feelings and desires. It is easier to hide.”

  I felt the truth of her words resonating through the part of me that was still Maxwell.

  My face flushed, and I burned with shame.

  Tapping my new chest, Larosha said, “You gave up your body, your dragon, and your responsibilities to hide in a sex pit.”

  Snapping her wings with irritation, she added, “Every day, your Mother eats the magic that you generate with your debauchery, and laughs at your cowardice.”

  “I wanted to kill her,” I groaned. “Not help her.”

  “Your sane self wanted her dead, however, the grief of Darla’s....”