Page 50 of The Flesh Remembers
Let Only Devotion Remain
Twilight smothered the clinic in a suffocating hush, an oppressive weight that seemed to seep into every corner of the monstrous old building. The air shimmered and writhed with an unnatural charge, its thickness almost unbearable, a damp concoction of incense, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood that clung to Eleanor's skin like a fever. The walls seemed to pulse faintly, their surface alive with the grotesque dance of shadows that twisted and writhed as though they knew she was watching. Their shapes hinted at horrors just beyond the edge of perception, unspeakable acts that the clinic seemed to breathe out with deliberate secrecy, daring her to unravel its secrets.
Candles, arranged in twisted spirals, cast flickering, sickly glows that illuminated half-dressed staff and robed acolytes. They moved as if drawn by an unseen, inescapable force, their eyes shadowed with exhaustion and feverish desire.Whispers of impending debauchery filled the air, promising that tonight would shatter every remaining boundary, if in fact, there were any boundaries left to shatter. This dusk ceremony, ordained by Lord Blackwood himself, would mark the clinic’s final descent into depravity.
In the clinic's heart, the library, once a place of learning, had become a sanctuary of sacrilege. Bookshelves lined with forgotten tomes were cleared away, replaced by a massive velvet-upholstered platform surrounded by wrought-iron stands. The stands bore a mix of tools: floggers, serrated rods, and instruments that looked like they belonged in a medieval torture chamber. Splashes of red wine, or perhaps something more disturbing, stained the floors.
The crowd was already gathering. Figures in varying stages of undress sprawled across the room, their bodies marked with sigils carved into flesh, the wounds fresh and glistening. Masks adorned their faces; many etched with forbidden runes. Some bore collars or chains, symbols of their submission, while others flaunted bruises and lash marks with twisted pride. Every corner pulsed with activity: whispered bargains for humiliating acts, muffled moans, and the sharp crack of whips.
Lord Blackwood stood at the centre of the platform, a dark beacon amidst the chaos. His voice rang out, a low and resonant chant that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of those gathered. “Tonight,” he intoned, “we erase all boundaries. We offer not just flesh, but our very essence. Let shame, identity, and morality die here. In their place, let only devotion remain.”
The crowd erupted into a frenzy. Acolytes crawled forward on all fours, begging permission to approach the dais. One by one, they were marked by Blackwood, a branding iron searing glowing sigils into their skin. The cries of pain morphed into moans of ecstasy as the sigils pulsed, their energies feeding the room’s growing aura.
At the far edge of the platform, James stood, half-robed, his dead flesh gleaming like marble in the flickering light. Though his flesh had been made whole by the prior ceremony, his flesh was yet the unnatural pallor of death. However, his aura of dark charisma was undeniable. He radiated an unnatural magnetism that made onlookers quiver, torn between revulsion and overwhelming desire.
Women and men gravitated toward him, their breaths shallow and their hands trembling. Some reached out, desperate to touch even the hem of his tattered robes. James’s piercing gaze swept across them, his lips curling into a predatory smile that sent a chill down Eleanor’s spine.
She watched from the shadows, her chest tight with jealousy and dread. This wasn’t the James she had onceloved. The man who had gently teased her about her medical notes was gone. The supportive friend who had stood by her when she faced open hostility at medical school simply for being a woman. In his place stood a being who revelled in the degradation of others. Yet she couldn’t deny the aching pull in her own body, a sick yearning to feel his power consume her.
Eleanor clung to what little of herself remained. She felt a profound sense of anger fill her when she thought of all she had lost in her life and all that she was still losing, losing her parents so young, and then being raised by an emotionally distant and unloving grandfather. And then the struggles to be taken seriously at medical school, even after graduating as a real doctor. But, through all of it had been James. He had picked her up when she felt discouraged or defeated. He was there to support her and encourage her. But most of all, he had been there to love her. He had made Eleanor feel like she was truly worthy of love again, which was the greatest gift he had given her.
Eleanor watched now as James extended a hand, beckoning a masked acolyte. The young woman stumbled forward, her anticipation and excitement evident in her rapt expression. James pulled her close without a word, his pale lips brushing against her ear. The crowd fell silent, as if holding their collective breath, as James’s hand traced the acolyte’s spine.
Then, in one swift motion, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. The acolyte let out a gasp, a sound that was equal parts pain and ecstasy. Her body shuddered as James drank the blood he had spilled, the act so horrifyingly erotic that even those watching found themselves quivering with arousal. The air crackled with an electric charge as James released the acolyte, her body collapsing in a quivering heap.
James smiled down at the young woman; his lips stained with her blood. The girl knelt before him, her arms out before her in supplication.
“Please, sir, please…” Her voice was a small, frail whisper. Was she begging for mercy? Restraint?
“What is it you desire, my dear?” James asked her, his dead hand reaching out to lift her chin so that he could meet her eyes. “Tell me.”
The girl quaked but with something other than fear; goosebumps pebbled her flesh. Her dark pink nipples were hardened and erect, and her eyes had a glassy, fevered look to them.
‘Take me, please. Please.” Tears slipped down her pale cheeks as she begged James, this living thing of nightmares, to ravish her.
“I shall not be gentle,” James said softly and with a smile that was horrifying in its sweetness. “Indeed, there is no softness left within me. Are you still so eager, my sweet child?”
The young woman, tears still flowing, reached up her arms to James, her hands touching his arms, stroking the pale, smooth flesh there.
“Hurt me as you see fit,” she whispered.
James smiled, the dried blood on his lips giving him the look of a feral animal. “As you wish, my sweet.”
James yanked the girl up by her long brown hair, half pulling and half dragging her over to what appeared to be an ordinary bed, except the chains at each bedpost and the leather cuffs that dangled from the end of each chain.
“Tie her down!” James ordered no one in particular, but he knew everyone would rush to obey his commands.
The young woman lay down on her back, her arms and legs spread wide apart and shackled within the tight leather restraints. She looked both terrified and enraptured. Soft moans came from her already, as if anticipating what would come.
“I am going to make you bleed some more for me, my dearest. You would like that, wouldn’t you? You would like to give your last drop of blood for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, yes!” The girl cried out. “I would give you everything.” Her unquestioning devotion had a mania to it as though something else had taken hold of her and was working through the girl.
James approached the bed with something in his hands that glinted in the dim candlelight. The group of acolytes had all stilled their activities to watch with bated breath as James blessed this lucky young woman.
It was a dagger. The blade was short but no less lethal-looking, and the bone handle had been intricately carved with exquisitely detailed thorny vines and roses. It was truly a work of master craftsmanship, but on this night, no one seemed to notice the delicate beauty of the piece. All were watching in hungry anticipation of what James would do with it.
James held the dagger up to the young woman’s face, letting her see the delicate features, the glinting, fierce blade. Fear shone in her eyes as she watched James bring it closer and closer to her face until it was mere inches from her tearful eyes. James laughed softly at the fear he saw in her face, taking it into himself and feeding off of that fear.
