Page 26 of The Devil's Menage

as fecund ideologies observe from within.

Onward, onward.

No end in sight.

Vapor of melancholia and skepticism

inevitably retracing the past and

contemplating the obscurity of the fruitful figures.”

The lyrical words spoke to her soul, but she raised a brow in question.

“A poem I wrote about this place. It’s… difficult to explain, exactly. Bellinor created it all, and he doesn’t often elucidate his reasons. Le Jardin just…is. It’s made of le Voile, itisle Voile, it will always be le Voile.”

“Hemadeall of this?”

Rul nodded, like the answer was obvious.

“Of course he did. How else would it have gotten here?”

Of course. The beast who stalked her and chased her through the woods had created a mansion filled with strange and wondrous rooms, rooms which sent a shiver down her spine and bent her mind.

“Whydid he make all of this?”

Rul shrugged.

“What would you do if you had all the time in the universe?”

She didn’t have an answer for that, nodding along as she considered the question. What would she do if she was lucky enough to enter the Sanctum upon her passing? An idea which was becoming more and more preposterous as she sank deeper into this lustful Hell.

The Sanctum. The moon mother’s sacred heaven, reserved for her most faithful devotees. Could the people who went there create things like this?

“You write poetry?” she asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“It’s something to pass the time, especially when Bellinor is in one of his moods—which is often. Why? Would you like me to write one for you, my beautiful spring flower?”

Isabelle blushed, somehow enamored with the idea of someone writing a poem about her, despite the fact that the someone was an incubus who was complicit in dragging her to le Voile. When she didn’t answer, he took her hand, leaning down low and planting a kiss on it.

“The full moon reflects

a vision of a dancing girl.

The scent of heat in the air,

and just beyond reach,

a rose stands,

undaunted and resolute

atop a string of thorns

as a whisper of a breeze caresses her,

and the vacant arcade awaits.”

That only made her blush more furiously as she tried to jerk her hand away, though Rul refused to let go.