Chapter 5 - The End of It

Oh, yes, the bedpost was hers. The room was hers. The olive-skinned girl was safely chained and collared, and so, apparently, was also hers. And best of all, her life was intact, a playing field on which to make some determined changes in the name of prevention.

"That future will never be mine, my precious," she cooed, stretching across the coverlet and brushing a gloved fingertip just beneath the sweet vixen's chin.

She was so swept away by the splendor of new hope that she could hardly help the dramatic toss of her curls as she rolled to one side, then to her back and off of the bed, springing to her feet and sidling up against the bed, wrapping the corner post in a sultry lover's embrace, a steely glint in her eyes. "Oh, Azrael... have you any idea the inspiration you've wrought?"

With a girlish giggle, she smoothed gloved hands down over her hips, and her eyes drifted closed, in an expression of sublime pleasure, at the painful squeak of leather on latex.

"I hardly know where to begin," she purred, her voice as warm as liquid cashmere, her eyes alight with cruel dagger points. Lifting one hand to rest at her hip, she allowed the other a playful moment of twisting in her curls, as she stepped towards the staircase, then released those ringlets with a flourish as she whirled to study the slave girl, licking at the corner of her mouth in greedy anticipation.

"I've no idea what day it is, my pet, and it hardly concerns me now... so long as I have time to make right the wrongs that have yet to be done." Leaning back against the cold stone, she braced her hands at her sides, flattening her palms and flexing her fingertips, and looking for all the world like a cat about to pounce on a ball of yarn as she gazed at the woman by her bedside.

Then, upstairs, in the corridor, there arose such a clatter, she sprang... well, actually, she sauntered, never one to *spring* anywhere, up the winding staircase, thrusting her Byzantine door open onto the simple pageant of a slave boy, shivering in his loin cloth, hunched over a pile of fallen chains and struggling to pick them up.

At Rose's discovery, his cheeks peppered with a mortified blush, and his eyes narrowed in apprehension, as he scrambled even faster to scoop the chains up into his arms.

"What night is it?" came Rose's venomously sweet crooning, and she laced her fingertips over the taper at one side of her waist, studying him with careless intent. The boy's eyes dropped, of course, and he shivered all the harder under her scrutiny.

"It's... it's..." His hands trembled so violently that the chains began to peal like church bells.

"Well... out with it!" Taking a demanding step forward, she lifted one shiny patent toe and lodged it against his hip, holding it there in menacing quiet.

"T-t-tonight?" stammered the boy, still stupefied by his nervousness. "W-w-why, it's Christmas night."

"I thought as much," she hissed, and with an easy nonchalance, she shoved at the boy with her foot, sending him toppling over under the weight of the chain links. "Well, at least the spirits were able to get it over with in one day."

"Y-yes, Mistress Rose," was the boy's whispered reply. He had no idea what she was talking about - to his ears, she sounded like a complete nutcase - but so long as she held his collar, he thought it best to agree, and so he just forced a smile and struggled to right himself into a posture more seemly to her eyes.

"When you've done cleaning that mess, I want you to report to my slave chambers, on the double. Do you know in which cabinet the hoods are stored? Or am I going to have to show you?"

"I know, Mistress Rose," the boy replied, with a familiar wince that confirmed his words.

"How *very* bright you are." With a smirk, she stepped back, already angling herself down the hallway, even as she continued to issue orders. "I want enough laid out to accommodate every one of my properties - include yourself in that count. And I want the stocks oiled, ready and waiting for me when I return." And then, under her breath, she muttered," I'll teach those wretches to covet what's mine..."

On the wings of greedy enthusiasm she flew, hips rolling from one side to the other, fiery tendrils streaming out behind her like the blazing hot vapor trial in the tail of a comet, and as plans for her own brand of restitution churned in her mind, a smile crept over her lips that might even have been mistaken for a look of glee, had it been on any other face but hers - as it was, it more closely resembled the danger of beautiful madness.

· ~ .¸¸.»» ø°ø ««.¸¸. ~ ·
· ~ .¸¸.»» ø°ø ««.¸¸. ~ ·

Her first stop was, of course, the office, but before she could even unlock the door, who should emerge from the shadows but those brave little gnomes who had dared to solicit money from her the night before? Oh, they were apparently more courageous - or more foolhardy - than she'd initially believed, to return here, and they staggered towards her, hats in hand, grim frowns on their pudgy faces.

"Please forgive us for returning... but we're looking for a child who's gone missing...," mumbled the spokesman for the pair, his eyes darting furtively from side to side.

"Not at all, gentlemen, not at all." You could have knocked those two gnomes over with a whisper, as Rose clasped her hands together and put on her most gracious smile. "Perhaps I can help... "

She ushered towards her office. The gnomes, too dumbfounded to protest, shuffled through the entryway, and the last words she uttered before closing the door behind her were," A child disappeared? At the Morkai Consortium? How very odd..."

Moments later, a gurgling scream could be heard, muffled though it was behind the door. The second scream, preceded by a whip crack, was a little louder, a little higher in pitch, but ended just the same - in unsettling silence.

When the office opened once more, only Rose came out, and looking more satisfied than she had in a long time, like a kitten drifting into a lazy torpor after finishing a bowl of milk. This image was confirmed as her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth, and she flicked away a single droplet of crimson, erasing the only indication that anything had gone amiss in her meeting with the gnomes.

She went shopping, of course, and paid visits to every slaver, anointing them all with gifts of appreciation - a kind gesture, to be sure, save for the fact that her appreciation was kindled by the manner in which they had all dealt with the carolers' scourge.

And when she'd had occasion to spread her own sort of bliss, and returned to her stately office, the gears began turning anew. With the pleasantries aside, it was time to plan, to devise some sort of contingency against the fortune that the last spirit had cast for her.

"Traevyn... Brutin... even Nokturnulz... all looking idly on, not lifting a finger to release me... I wonder which of them was responsible for putting me there in the first place?"

The office was only barely lit - just a hazy glow from the fireplace, really, but it was enough to illuminate the patrician lines of her expression and cause the sides of the Waterford tumbler she held to wink coquettishly.

She spent hours in repose there, making plans, drawing blueprints for intrigue in her mind. Every one of them would suffer her wary calculations from that point on, and she would do her part to make their lives a little less safe, and would always be on the lookout for an opportunity to slip the dagger in first, before it should be done to her.

"But of course...," she whispered to herself, "...for that creep Nok, a dagger's much too good... he deserves the proverbial stake of holly through his heart."

At that, she tossed the last remaining swallow of claret like a sacrificial offering on the fire, and stepped over the bloodless carcasses of the gnomes, somehow expecting that someone would be along to clean them up later.

Back in her room, she pulled the olive-skinned slave girl into bed beside her, and curled up to rest, whispering sweet nothings about countless atrocities, and declaring her plans to harass the population of Rhy'Din forever after.

Rose was better than word. Not a single townsperson in all of Rhy'Din escaped her wrath, coasted in treacle and molasses though it was. Every slave was beaten in the stocks every night, not for a particular transgression, but because it suited her idea of teaching them humility. And around her own heart, and person, she erected a proverbial wall, of ice so thick that no amount of pity or warmth could penetrate.

She had no further intercourse with the spirits (unless, of course, you count the collared Yet-To-Come), and ever after, it was always said of her that no one kept Christmas in *quite* the same way.

· ~ .¸¸.»» ø°ø ««.¸¸. ~ ·
· ~ .¸¸.»» ø°ø ««.¸¸. ~ ·