Beneath Bloody Feet
“Come, we shall dance!” Artus declares suddenly, taking my hand and gently leading me towards the sound of laughter and pounding drums. My hounds do not follow. A light and lively reel play, inviting one to spin and prance and laugh. Figures dance, leap, and clap along with the music. The Folk are a whirling mass of bodies. Some dance in ways that are familiar and proper by village standards. Others gyrate wildly, erotic and obscene movements I am both enthralled and repulsed by.
And then I am in Artus’ arms, laughing while we twirl with wild abandon, my braided crown of hair whips around me as I spin and sway in time with the beat. I feel sharp tugs of my braids and it reminds me of…I’m not sure. I am swept up by partner after partner, each more beautiful and grotesque than the last. From satyrs to kobolds, brownies to elves, each plying me with sugared kisses, saccharine words and chilled, sweet wine.
I am spun to a new partner and struck speechless by the golden goddess before me. She is so very tall and is sunlight’s warmth itself. She laughs joyously when I smile up at her. She is dressed in a gown of decaying butterfly wings, all blues and yellows and whites. A few of the insects are still clinging to life and I shiver at the thought the entire garment alive and squirming against skin.
We spin and move to the music, my feet pounding out unfamiliar steps. She pours wine in my mouth and down my throat as we dance, her cup is never refilled and never emptied. I shiver and then, I am hearing a different song, I peer up at a different partner and I am so very, very cold.
The memory recedes quickly as a cup tilt against my mouth and her lips follow the wine, ensnaring me. I am drunk on wine and the feeling of the sun-blessed creature’s mouth against mine, her skin under my palms.
“Solialv, my sweet. I’m Solialv.” She whispers, her lips moving against my ear and I tremble beneath the touch.
“Solialv,” I breathe. Her lip’s part and a look of ecstasy crosses her face at the sound of her name on my tongue.
Solialv takes my hand and twirls me slowly, her eyes devouring every inch. She spins me faster and faster, her laughter the only thing I hear. After one last spin, I am back in her arms, her lips pressed to mine, her tongue begging entrance. I open for her, and she plunders my mouth with such ferocity I sigh and press further against her. Her very kiss chases away the déjà vu and cold the wine leaves behind.
When Solialv breaks the kiss, I want nothing more than to find a soft spot nearby and ravish each other until we expire from ecstasy. I am utterly spellbound and crazed by the feeling of her.
I sense Artus’ gaze at times, like a small pressure between my shoulder blades. Not unpleasant, but strange. I turn to look at them and they simply stand observing me their face an unreadable mask. Why do they not come dance with me again? Why do they merely watch?
Soft hands slowly cover my eyes from behind and I feel lips at my ear. My body tingles with anticipation of what Solialv will do next.
“Beware Solialv, mistress.” The unfamiliar voice rasps. “You are her favorite flavor, and she devours her meals, every bite.”
I spin around to confront the owner of the voice but find no-one. While I blink in confusion, Solialv is winding an arm around my waist and tugging me closer to her. Grasping the back of my neck, she dips me into a deep kiss, And I throb with the want of her. The want of her mouth on mine, her hands on my skin and her tongue slowly lapping up my soul while I cry out to the heavens.
“Oh, sweet Ada. You have beguiled me, little mortal goddess. Let me worship at the altar of you, let me taste your essence, see how your flesh feels beneath my teeth and on my tongue.” Her sharp nails dig into my neck a little more and Solialv devours my moans.
“Yes. Please, yes.” I murmur against her lips. She spins away from me, singing along to the music and disappears into the crowd. I am dismayed as she leaves me, but I can still hear the sound of her voice and dive forward after her. My passing is marked with sharp cries and curses as I push the revelers out of the way, seeking my sun-blessed goddess. Her song pulls at my very soul, and I follow it to the outskirts of the glade. I do not see her until she is upon me. Still singing, she presses me down on the moss-covered ground, pulling at the ties on the front of my dress. They slip free and the top slides from my shoulders, baring me.
I should care we are out in the open and anyone could see, but I find I do not. There is only Solialv and the irresistible promise of a rhapsody of pleasures at her hands. She plies me with kisses, and I feel her hands along the inside of my leg moving towards their apex. The barest touch of her fingers between my thighs pulls a shiver from me.
“Open for me, Ada. Let me in.” Solialv purrs seductively and I comply, licking her lips and enticing her tongue deeper. She pushes my legs apart, her delicate hand teasing my core.
I cry out and writhe as she slowly slides a finger inside and strokes. Solialv’s tongue plunges deeper, swallowing my cries, her kisses become bruising as she picks up her pace between my legs. She pulls back to look down at me and I notice her beautiful face has taken on an inhuman sharpness. She gives me a wicked smile and buries her face in my neck, lathing the skin and peppering it with little bites down my shoulder. With each wave of pleasure, I feel more languid; like my bones would be happy to sink into the ground while she makes me scream. I tip my head back and close my eyes, riding out each release while bracing for the next.
Solialv screeches and the warm weight of her is gone. I look down to where she had been betwixt my thighs, and I see Artus standing there. I rush to pull my dress up to cover myself, and frantically scramble backwards, finally getting a good look at what is happening. Artus has Solialv, a single hand encircling her throat. I cry out for them to stop and Artus turns their animalistic glare on me.
“Siren, you were touching.” They grind out behind a gritted smile while staring at me, anger palpable.
“Leave her alone!” I scream at them. I rise to my feet to try to save her, but I stop short. Artus lifts Solialv off the ground, but she is not the beauty I danced with; she is now distorted and bizarre looking. Those light pale eyes are now bloodshot and remind me of the dead. Her golden hair is matted and streaked with blood. I can feel my panic start to rise, a panic held at bay until now. My thoughts feel thick, the only clear thing I feel is my want and need for Solialv, despite how she now resembles some kind of vicious, hungry beast. The ache between my legs has me squeezing my thighs together.
Artus turns their gaze back to Solialv, nothing but pure hatred written across their features.
“Oh, is Artus angry I touched their human first? That I tasted their delicious prize?” Solialv taunts loudly. She runs a red pointed tongue over her lips. “Want to taste her, Artus?” Her voice turns husky and carries a dangerous undertone.
“You should not have done that.” Is all Artus says as they drive her into the ground with a headed thud. With unearthly speed, they reach down with their free hand and wrench her bottom jaw free, bones splintering and skin ripping. They toss it to me, and I shriek as I drop it to the ground, a greenish gold liquid streaking my hands.
Solialv releases an unearthly wail as thousands of ragged brown moths emerge from her throat. The grotesque cloud grows until nothing is left of her, not her jaw or her putrescent dress. I run from the gruesome scene, making it no more than fifteen steps before collapsing on all fours, crying and emptying the contents of my stomach.
Artus is soon beside me, a clean handkerchief in their hand, gently wiping the sick from my face as if they did not rip apart another being moments before. They say nothing as they smooth back my hair. My mind cannot make sense of what happened, of what is happening now. They help me to a kneeling position, retie my dress and hand me a cup of something cool to drink. I realize too late it is more of the frigid wine. I grimace and turn away. The feeling of wet wool at my fingertips gives me pause. Wet wool? Mittens?
One of my hounds lets out a low bay and I lurch to my feet, feeling more myself and push Artus away. I look down, finding my boots are gone. My feet are caked in dust and blood, but I continue to move towards the cries of my dogs, despite the chill in my bones and the pain in my feet.
Artus, their face a thundercloud once more, flings me into their arms and all but sprints me in the opposite direction. Until it is the two of us, beneath an old oak tree, the music and laughter and my hounds are faint noises on the wind. Dropping me to my feet, they pull away with a displeased jerk.