Mona Lisa Darkening m-4

by Sunny

  "Take this woman" — me, apparently — "to the women's quarters and have her prepared. I want her brought before me in an hour's time," Gordane proclaimed and returned to sit at his throne. We were apparently dismissed.

  The prisoners shuffled out, and I felt like one of them, even though I wasn't tied up like they were. Frankly, I'd have rather gone with them. Their fate sounded preferable to mine.

  We parted company near the front entrance. The prisoners were herded back outside, while two new guards accompanied me down another wide hallway. I turned my head, my eyes lingering on the departing group, watching as all I knew in this realm disappeared out the door — Gilford, Demetrius, Rupert… the disloyal Juan and Charles… poor loyal Miles.

  We made our way to the other end of the palace and passed through a towering archway. Two guards stood at attention before a closed set of doors, their horns even more prominent than the two bull dheus that accompanied me. At a gesture from one of my guards, they swung open the heavy doors, their thick muscles bulging with the effort.

  There was the impression of a large airy foyer, richly decorated, with an order and cleanliness that had been lacking in the rest of the palace. A young and pretty woman, unveiled, rose from where she had been sitting behind a desk. I saw with surprise that her skin was flawless, unblemished. She looked normal, human. Staring at me with as much interest as I stared back at her.

  "We brought a new woman."

  "I will find the maistresse?" she said, nodding. With her eyes carefully averted from the bull dheus, she left, slipping through another door in the back. A few moments later, an older woman appeared, her gray-flecked hair bound up in an intricate coil that was both artful and severe. Her skin was also without blemishes, but unlike the other woman, she was Monère. There was no strong resonating vibration of like to like, nothing of what I was used to sensing, but I knew it somehow, the same way I knew that all the guards I had encountered so far were also Monère.

  The woman inclined her head politely to the two guards. "What is our lord's desire?" Not exactly the best words for my peace of mind. I'd been trying not to think about that — his desire… and how it might relate to me.

  "She is to be brought to him in one hour's time."

  With a curt nod, she dismissed them. They left, the heavy doors closing behind them, and then it was just her and I. She looked me over from tip to toe, taking in my wet, dirty, bedraggled appearance with a sour expression.

  "An hour's time," she muttered. "He expects me to perform a miracle in that spit of time. This way," she snapped, walking through the same doorway she had come through.

  The impression of entering another different world hit me again as I followed her and found myself suddenly in an open lounge. It wasn't the large space, so much as the inhabitants that filled it, that made me feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Women, both human and Monère, were strewn on and around cream-colored sofas and chairs. The walls and floors were the same pink and ivory-white coloring, and it was like being inside a giant oyster shell. Only instead of pearls there were women — so goddamn many of them. All beautiful, some stunningly so. All with perfect skin. They sized me up with bored, jaded eyes. Titters and giggles sounded as they took in my dirty appearance, my far from dazzling looks. One brief glance and they dismissed me. Not just the human women but the Monère ones as well that I sensed scattered among them.

  The maistresse waited impatiently for me at the other end of the room. A sharp gesture from her got my feet moving again. She led me into yet another oysterlike lounge filled with even more women. They, too, had pure unblemished skin, but the women here were down a notch or two in the looks department, more pretty instead of beautiful. I belonged here, more with this group than the other — and that was only with lots and lots of help.

  They seemed a friendlier bunch. A few of the women even smiled at me as I passed by. Then I was out that room and into yet another part of the hare em, which was what Lord Gordane seemed to have himself here… with me as his newest addition!

  "What's with the two separate rooms?" I asked the maistresse.

  "The first group of women that you saw are for Lord Gordane's exclusive use. The second group are used to pleasure visitors, guests, and a few of his men that he rewards with the privilege — those who serve him well."

  Wonderful. You either got to be Gordane's exclusive whore, or that of any Tom, Dick, or Harry that he chose to give you to. It was hard to think and process everything. I had questions, so many of them, and needed at least some of them answered before I decided what to do next.

  We finally reached our destination, the bathing chamber. It was larger than my entire apartment back in Manhattan had been, and was comprised of a tiled portion where a stool and several buckets of water sat, and the actual bath itself, which had to be the size often Jacuzzis put together. A veritable pool. I half expected it to be filled with frolicking, nubile young women, but it was thankfully empty, the bath itself. Not the room. The bathing chamber came with attendants. Two of them. Older, no-nonsense women like the maistresse. Their eyes honed in on me like laser beams sighting their target. A few words spoken in French. I think, from the maistresse, and they advanced on me and started stripping me. I had a moment to decide whether to cooperate like a smart, grateful, new hareem addition, or to shrug off their hands and start screaming at them to stay away from me. I'd like to say that I consciously decided to behave in a smart and civilized manner, but it was actually expedience that won me over. I was exhausted and upset — the numbness was wearing off — and I wanted out of my wet and dirty, ripped gown. I could have probably undressed myself, but only with a great deal of effort. The damp cloth felt glued to my body. Why fight them when they were doing what I would have done? And doing it much more efficiently? My only fuss was when they tried to take off my necklace. "No." I said, knocking their hands away. "The necklace stays on."

  The two attendants looked to the maistresse, who nodded her impatient agreement. They left the necklace alone but laid hands on everything else. In the blink of an eye, they had that wet, sticky fabric off of me. I was stripped naked with assembly-line efficiency and sat down on the stool.

  I looked at the golden, glittery bath longingly but stayed obediently still as they scrubbed me clean from head to toe, even shampooing my hair. Only after they had rinsed me off thoroughly two times did they finally allow me to enter the pool of water.

  Delicious coolness surrounded me the moment I stepped in. I sank down and immersed myself in the clean, liquid embrace, sliding under the soothing water for a long, blissful moment before resurfacing. The sides and bottom of the pool were smooth, polished stone. A shallow underwater ledge hugging the side of the pool made a perfect seat. I sat there and a large goblet of golden water was placed in my hand. Good thing because otherwise I might have simply drank the pool water, so thirsty was I.

  I downed the contents in three big gulps, and had another goblet handed to me. Knocking that second cup back like a shot of whiskey, I leaned back with bliss, closing my eyes. Ah, the miracle of water, no matter how weird the color. Drinking it… even more, immersing myself in it, felt like a slice of heaven down here in NetherHell. It was almost a criminal waste of water, the many gallons needed to fill this overgrown tub. Such luxury and power. I mused over that as I soaked in the precious water.

  This safe, protected kingdom, sitting in the middle of a barren desert land, had water, beautiful women, and military might. Lord Gordane seemed to have himself a real cozy setup here in this oasis city.

  I had all of two brief minutes to unwind and relax before I was urged back out into the women's hands. Most of my weariness had been washed away with the dirt. I wasn't completely recovered yet, but close. I was renewed and refreshed, more than I expected to be. With enough energy to shrug off their hands and dry myself with the thick bath towel while the maistresse watched with sharp eagle eyes and clucked with disapproval and impatience.

  "This way," she said,
walking out of the room.

  I left the bathing chamber with a towel wrapped like a sarong around me, and another towel covering my wet hair. My torn dress had been left on the floor, no doubt destined for the trash. I'd always hated those long, black formal gowns that Monère Queens wore. And yet now, I almost felt a sentimental fondness for that torn scrap of a dress — my last link to my former life. No matter what Gordane said about my still being alive, I felt dead inside… dead and lost to my people in this new harsh realm.

  I was hustled through to another room where more attendants waited — the grooming ones. The towels were whisked off me. I'd never been comfortable with casual nudity, but for some reason it didn't bother me now, maybe because it all seemed so surreal. I was in a hareem, for God's sake.

  The new attendants, three of them this time, were briskly impersonal, drying off the wet spots I'd missed on my back and arms. I lay down on a raised platform they urged me onto, with neat rows of bottles lined up along the top and bottom edges. It was only when an attendant picked up a thin, flat, rectangular stone, sharpened at one end to a wicked knife's edge, that I stopped being the nice, cooperative, new hareem addition and sat up.

  "What the fuck is that?" I demanded as my hand shot out and wrapped around the woman's wrist.

  "It is to remove your unsightly body hair," the maistresse said, lips thinned.

  "Where?"

  "Where what?"

  "Where exactly is this unsightly hair?" I asked, nice and patient.

  Her patience, though, seemed to evaporate — what little there had been of it. Throwing up her hands in hot agitation, she said, "I have no time for this foolishness! There is still so much for me to do, and only three-quarters of an hour left!"

  "That blade," I said uncompromisingly, "is not touching me until I know exactly what parts of me it is going to be touching."

  Her eyes narrowed down into slits. "I can force your obedience."

  My fingers found a pressure point, dug into it, and the attendant dropped the stone blade with a cry, her hand spasming. I caught the blade before it hit the floor.

  "You're certainly welcome to try," I said, giving a few quick slashes in the air to test the weight and balance — easy blurring movements that had the attendants backing away in fear.

  "Not quite the usual blade I'm used to," I said, "but I could work with it."

  "You waste time!" the maistresse cried. And made it sound like the worst crime.

  "No, actually you do," I said, my voice hard. "Where?"

  She hissed out a breath. "Your legs, under your arms, the curls between your thighs."

  "Between my thighs? You've got to be kidding me."

  "It is our custom here."

  "Legs and armpits are fine. Not between my thighs."

  "That is non-negotiable."

  I considered the hard resolve on the maistresse's face and saw that she wasn't going to budge on this matter.

  "Very well," I said. "My cooperation if you answer a question."

  "Were we not so short on time, I would not need your cooperation," she said in a low, heated voice.

  "But time is short."

  "What is your question?" she snapped.

  "How do I leave this realm?"

  "You cannot," she said. "None of us can leave here."

  Not the answer I'd been hoping to hear. "How long have you been in NetherHell?"

  "Over eighty-five years."

  "And Lord Gordane? How long has he been here?"

  "The eldest here say that he has ruled for over a century. Others whisper two centuries.Their kind — gargoyles — exist far longer than we do." She made a gesture with her hand. "That is three questions I have answered — two more than you bargained for. Waste no more of my time. You will have plenty of your own time later to seek answers to your foolish questions. Lie back."

  A deal was a deal. It wasn't her fault that her answers weren't to my liking. I'd keep asking, but there seemed to be a depressing consensus so far. No way out of this realm.

  I handed the flat, polished stone razor back, and the attendant took it from me with wary caution.

  "Be careful," I admonished, lying back. She was. Not a nick or a scratch on my legs or under the arms. But when the blade scraped firmly over my mound, I flinched; tensed a little when they parted my folds and carefully shaved off every single piece of hair down there. Then it was over. A light fragrant oil was rubbed all over me. My hair was combed out, dried and styled, and I was dressed in this tiny scrap of cloth that they called a dress. The bottom of the material skimmed the tops of my thighs, barely keeping me decent. It bared most of me — my neck, throat, the top of my chest, my arms and entire back, and lots and lots of leg. Only two thin straps held up the itty-bitty dress. The color, though, was a beautiful shimmery rose, and the fit was surprisingly good. The material clung snugly to what there was of my bosom. No bra or underwear underneath. Nothing to impair Gordane's hands from touching me anywhere he damned well wanted to. Or maybe undergarments just didn't exist here, for hareem women anyway.

  It wasn't until powders had been dusted on my face and eyes, and stuff rubbed on my lips, that I was led to a full-length mirror and got the whole effect. I looked at the utterly feminine, delicate creature reflected back, and didn't recognize her as me.

  An abundance of pure white skin was showcased by the tiny dress. The rest of me had been done along the same general theme. My black hair was pinned up in an elegant coil, revealing the delicate curve of my neck, the gentle slopes of my shoulders. Shadow deepened my eyes, made them larger, darker, more mysterious. Blush made my cheeks glow. My lips were painted red. I was an artwork that had been splashed with three essential colors — creamy white skin, dark hair and eyes, and rosy red cheeks, lips, and dress… and the purple-red bruises ringing my throat. The distinct imprint of each separate gargoyle finger could be seen on my neck; no attempt had been made to hide them. The primitive markings of violence were more eye-catching than any jewelry would have been. And bespoke somehow of ownership.

  I looked soft, fragile. Delicately feminine.

  "A remarkable transformation in such a short time, is it not?" said the maistresse, coming to stand behind me.

  "A miracle. You made me something that I'm not. I didn't know I could look like this."

  "Like a woman?" she asked, voice dry.

  "Like a fragile, easily breakable one."

  "All women, no matter how strong they perceive themselves to be, are fragile, easily breakable, even Queens. Perhaps especially Queens. Keep that at the forefront of your awareness; it will serve you well in your dealings here in this realm. Come," she said briskly. "It is time for you to go to him."

  Our return trip garnered different, varying responses. The second group of women looked at me with more intense speculation than friendly smiles now. The first group was outright hostile. A honey-haired beauty rose to her feet, blocking my path. "He summoned her?" Anger sharpened her words. "It should have been me that he called."

  "I would not have prepared her otherwise, Mathilde," said the maistresse.

  "But she is not as beautiful as I. Nor any of the rest of us!" she wailed, looking like a little girl stomping her feet and crying — no fair! "You aren't half as lovely as any of us here," she said hatefully to me.

  "I agree," My easy answer made her frown, but only for a moment before she continued her sulky tirade. "It's only because you were a Queen!" Mathilde said, making me suddenly aware that she was Monère, one of the few I sensed among them. None of them were Queens, as far as I could tell.

  "He will sample you once for the novelty. Then cast you aside to be used by others. You are not beautiful enough to hold him."

  "Why would I want to hold his interest? I would have expected you to shrink away from the horror of his touch instead of fight for it."

  Surprise and confusion flickered across Mathilde's exquisite face, then finally understanding. She laughed, and the other women laughed with her. Irritating titters
with a spiteful edge. "You think yourself smart, but how stupid you really are. You are not worthy of his touch."

  "Again, why would I even want it?"

  More laughter, as if what I had said was beyond funny.

  "What's the joke here?" I asked, tired of the nonsense.

  "The joke is that Lord Gordane's touch is what keeps all of our skins unblemished," said the maistresse. "He absorbs our defilement onto himself."

  I remembered Pietrus touching Ghemin, the young gargoyle. The transfer of slurry darkness. I remembered also how monstrously ugly Gordane had looked the first time I saw him, his skin thick with layer upon layers of warty bumps.

  "But I saw him touch the prisoners they captured. Saw him touch them and transfer all that ugliness onto their skin."

  "That ugliness that you speak of is what he took from us yesterday. You saw the inhabitants outside when you entered the city, did you not?"

  I nodded.

  "It is the environment, the very air of NetherHell itself that layers the blemishes across our skin. Lord Gordane's touch cleanses us from that defiling growth. Without his touch, ugly growths will start to show on your skin in less than a week."

  My vision shifted, readjusted itself. "So he's not really the cause of the unsightly blemishes. He's the cure for them. Is he the only cure?"

  "Yes," said the maistresse.

  A most depressing answer.

  "What about other gargoyles?"

  "He is the only one of their kind who roams the lower lands."

  "Lower lands?" I asked.

  "Gargoyles usually reside on the highest mountains, beyond our reach."

  I felt Mona Louisa stir within me, felt her sharp interest. It mattered to her, this piece of news. But I wasn't exactly sure how much it mattered to me.

  "Move aside," the maistresse snapped at Mathilde. "You delay us. And you risk our lord's displeasure."

  Shooting a final venomous look at me, Mathilde swished aside, and I followed the maistresse out into the airy foyer. A sharp knock by her, and the hareem's closed doors were swung open by the two guards standing outside.