The Unchaste

Butane.

With the possibilities of fates worse than death lurking on her horizon, the wetness in Delilah’s eyes was only reasonable. Between the Devil and the deep blue sea, she had no choice but to choose the devil_ the Wolfbridge. The deep blue sea would only choke her to a more agonizing death. Emily didn’t deserve this. And wasn’t it the better way? With her going, things would be simpler. It wasn’t like angels would bemoan her death. If anything, it might afterall be the castigation of her crimes.

Men had lost their lives at her hand, so what if they didn’t deserve to live anyway. Who was she to decide? She was not blameless.

She was the unchaste.

Her chemise was ensanguined and nothing changed that.

Emily reclutched Delilah’s hand the moment the grip was broken, jerking her closer, wide, winter midnight eyes gaping up at her in sheer warning.

“Don’t go!” The girl squealed in a panic. “They are not …Don’t go, milady. They will hurt you like they hurt Georgie.”

Torn between desperation for her own helplessness and sorrow for George, for whatever he might have suffered before his final sufferance, concealing it all under his vivid pretense of happy smile, teasing grin and charming manner_ Delilah bowed over and kissed Emily’s hair.

“Don’t worry, Emily.” She whispered sadly. “If I can, I will flee this place. And I will chop off every finger that once they pained my friend, I vow it.”

Emily shook her head fiercely. “You cannot milady. None can. They worship the Devil.”

“Only the better.” Delilah pulled back and faked a smile. “I be the Devil.”

And perhaps she was that. Because if she was not killed soon enough, this place was to be bathed in reddest of the blood at her dispense.

“Are we to witness this mind-numbing play much longer?” Mother Reverend jeered meanly. “Or will your lordship be kind enough to grant us all leave?”

“Indeed, I think it’s about time.” The Lord nodded. “But do I get my point across when I say I am a rather a selfish man?”

Every person in the room stiffened.

“I will not entertain one more of your demands!” The mother spat.

“Your alacrity for misassumptions is notable, but needless.” He waved his stately hand in dismissal. “I demand nothing. I am only aborting one of my earlier proposition.”

“Your earlier proposition? Which one, might I ask?” The mother fisted her hands. “And why?”

He smiled. “You might not ask and I do not find relevance in telling you why.”

“Careful, your Grace.” The older woman’s face turned to an unbelievable shade of livid crimson. “You might as well be asking for your death.”

“_which you are not in station to bequeath me?” He reminded in a fairly gentlemanly way. “I need not remind you that all the time.”

“You_” Then she paused and laughed. “Oh! What a traitor you are! I promise I will have you buried right under my own window.”

“Passion drives you, Mother.” He warned back. “For once, let logic manipulate the reins. And, as for Delilah Eves_”

Delilah turned green.

“As for Delilah Eves, you see,” He repeated softly. Pensively. “I find I am rather sentimental about this woman. I cannot bear the idea of forsaking her to anyone, let alone you lots. She is not worth it. You are not worth her. I cannot, and will not, in my best or my worst of principles; leave her alone. Here. With you all.”