Page 18 of The Flesh Remembers
The position was humiliating, exposing her in a way that sent a rush of heat coursing through her veins. Her gown slipped from her shoulders, baring the curve of her collarbones and arms. She gasped, not in pain, but in the sheer vulnerability of it.
The chanting grew louder, a hypnotic rhythm that reverberated through her core. The flickering candles cast monstrous shadows on the walls, their shapes writhing like living things. One acolyte approached with a slender riding crop, the sound of it slicing the air sending a jolt through her. Behind her, another acolyte pressed a warm hand to the small of her back, steadying her.
Blackwood’s voice rose above the chant. “Tonight, we tear the veil between your body and soul, fear and desire. Pain and pleasure are but mirrors of the same truth. Let them guide you.”
The first strike of the crop against her thigh was a whisper, a tease. Eleanor gasped, her body jolting against the restraints. A sharper strike followed, sending a spark of sensation spiralling through her. Pain bloomed, but with it came an unexpected heat that surged through her. Her lips parted, a soft moan escaping before she could stop it.
“Good,” Blackwood purred, his voice close to her ear. “Feel it. Let it consume you. Think of James. Think of what you’d give for him to touch you again.” The disk at her throat flared hot when Blackwood’s eyes met hers, almost as if it recognized him. Or wanted him.
She bit her lip, her mind flooded with memories of James: the way his hands had gripped her hips, the way his lips had devoured hers. The sting of the crop became a counterpoint to the ache of longing in her chest. Her gasps became soft moans as the strikes continued, each one sharper, each one drawing her deeper into the abyss of sensation. Tears stungher eyes but so did a familiar and shameful throbbing between her legs.
Blackwood motioned to the acolytes, who wheeled forward a massive iron apparatus. The structure was terrifying in its intricacy: a latticework of wires, clamps, and levers glinted menacingly in the candlelight. But it was the centrepiece that drew Eleanor’s gaze, a pulsating black crystal embedded in the device, its light twisting unnaturally as though it drank the shadows around it. This was no mere machine; it was something alive.
The acolytes affixed cold metal cuffs to Eleanor’s wrists and ankles, her body stretched taut within the apparatus. The crystal’s light flickered, casting eerie shapes against the stone walls as the machine hummed to life. Blackwood stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek. “This is the heart of our ritual,” he said. “The crystal feeds on extremes, fear, pain, ecstasy. You will give it everything, Eleanor. Every part of yourself.”
Her heart thundered as the first shock of energy surged through her body. It wasn’t just sensation; it was a force that tore through her, stripping away layers of restraint and igniting something primal. Her mind screamed in protest, but her body betrayed her, arching into the machine’s relentless rhythm.
The crystal flared brighter as the sensations intensified, dragging Eleanor to the edge of her limits. Blackwood watched with rapt attention, his eyes gleaming with reverence and dark satisfaction. She screamed out, her voice raw, as the device forced her into a release so violent it left her shaking, her tears mingling with sweat. The chamber’s chanting grew deafening, the voices merging into a single, otherworldly roar reverberating through her soul.
But the machine didn’t stop. Another surge ripped through Eleanor, shattering any semblance of control. Her criesechoed in the cavernous space, raw and unrestrained. The crystal pulsed, feeding on her, consuming every ounce of her fear and desire until she was utterly spent.
The acolytes, however, did not halt. One moved forward, removing a small, curved blade from the table and carving a delicate symbol into her shoulder. Eleanor’s scream tore through the chamber, though she barely felt the pain; the overwhelming haze of sensations the crystal invoked drowned it out... She could feel the blood pooling against her skin, warm and sticky, as the chanting grew louder still.
A second acolyte approached with a small vial filled with a shimmering black liquid. With calculated precision, they painted the symbol on her shoulder, the liquid seeping into the fresh wound. The pain was immediate and searing, but what followed was far worse. A dark heat coursed through her veins, filling her with a foreign presence that clawed at the edges of her consciousness. She whimpered, her body writhing as the chanting swelled to an unbearable crescendo.
“Now she is marked,” Blackwood intoned, his voice echoing triumphantly. “Bound not just by will, but by blood and soul.”
The crystal’s light pulsed violently as though it fed on her life force. Eleanor’s mind wavered on the brink of unconsciousness, her body a trembling wreck of nerves and sensations. She had been consumed, wholly and utterly, and the ritual had left her changed in ways she could not yet comprehend.
When the machine finally stilled, Eleanor hung limp in her restraints, her body trembling and her mind a haze. The acolytes moved silently, releasing her from the apparatus and gently lowering her to the platform. She felt stripped bare, her very essence laid open for all to see.
Blackwood knelt beside her, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “You’ve crossed the threshold,” he said softly, his voice heavy with satisfaction. “You’ve given everything. And now, the crystal is ready. Soon, James will walk among the living again.”
Freed from the restraints, Eleanor collapsed onto the cushions, her limbs weak, her body aching. An acolyte offered her a goblet of water, which she drank greedily, wincing at the throbbing welts across her skin. Marian knelt beside her with a basin of cool water and a soft cloth.
“Let me help,” she whispered to Eleanor as she dipped the cloth in the water, brought it to Eleanor’s fevered brow, and gently let the cool cloth caress her skin. She let the fabric slip down Eleanor’s cheek and neck, the cool water feeling so good against her overheated skin.
Eleanor let out an involuntary moan of pleasure, and Marian gave her a knowing smile.
“Rest,” Blackwood said softly as they ascended into the clinic’s cooler air. “You’ll need your strength for what comes next.”
Eleanor’s lips curled into a faint, bittersweet smile. Whatever came next, she would face it for James.
Eleanor heard it as she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind for sleep.
“Ellie…”
The softest of whispers tickled her ear. Eleanor shot up in bed and stared wildly around the room's perimeter. No one was there. It was just her mind playing tricks on her again. But then…
“Ellie, look at me…”
The voice was so close behind her that she could feel the air near her ear stir with the phantom breath. If she turned, would she see him? Would James be there?
Eleanor turned and saw only the opposite wall of her chamber. There were no phantoms of James, just shadows dancing upon the stone wall. Eleanor relaxed and let out a breath. She turned back to lie back down in the bed when she saw the faint outline of a man across the room, shuffling towards her.
“Ellie…” the ragged whisper came again.
Eleanor screamed.
