Page 27 of The Devil's Menage

“What? You prefer something more…sensual?”

He smiled, then pressed a kiss to her inner wrist.

“The rapturous delight

of lingering touches,

longing breaths.”

Another kiss to her forearm.

“Your lips,

they sin.

Your cunt,

it beckons.”

Another at her collarbone.

“Sweet temptation

of an earthbound soul.”

There was one last kiss against her neck, the anticipation coming to fruition and tingling the space between her legs.

Rul released her, his grin beaming through the dark hallway, making it difficult to stop her own smile from forming.

“Well? What did you think?”

“Impressive,” she said, with only a hint of sarcasm, and he chuckled.

In truth, the first poem was abstract, but delightful, the bawdy one even more so.

“What would you like to do next?” he asked.

“What’s through the door?”

“Would you like to see, sweetheart? Le Voile is beautiful.”

Isabelle nodded, and he led her up to one of the large windows flanking the door, a heavy black curtain blocking any light from entering. With a grin, he pulled back the fabric, and le Voile was revealed.

A vast cosmic chasm lay before her, eternal blackness stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a singular path winding into the nothingness, coiling and twisting into the heart of le Voile, a jagged bridge of shiny obsidian.

Itwasbeautiful–and horrible–like a great power was tugging at her chest and trying to swallow her whole.

Isabelle couldn’t look away, drawn to le Voile, le Jardin des Délices fading away and nothing but eternal misery taking over. There were wisps of light floating through the void like specters, beckoning her as she placed her palms to the window. The glass was hot to the touch, the only thing protecting them from le Voile’s black flames.

A vision entered her mind, a skeleton rotting in the forest, overtaken by ivy and moss and all manner of green things, becoming one with the endless cycle of existence. Was it her? Her father? Her mother? Was that all there was? No Veil, no Sanctum, just infinite rotting, the soul decomposing along with the body.

Despair consumed her, a deep melancholy that penetrated into her bones, and she longed to end it all, to cease to exist, to becomenothing.

“Isabelle?”

There was a voice calling her name, though it was fuzzy. She tried to reach for it, but her arms were like lead, her body unable to heed her instructions.

Suddenly, the curtains were shut, and she heaved in a great breath, her body struggling for air after getting sucked into le Voile.