4
Lolita
Kingston, Jamaica
City of Tonoho Oʼodham
Territory: Midasʼ Gold Fields
June 27th, 2004
Time: 2:00 AM
_____________________________
The last thing Lolita remembered was Bogotá.
La Candelaria, the Andean peaks, all in ruin, surrendering to the fire eating it alive. Uninhabited, Lolita woke up on a beach, where the wavesʼ foaming, icy teeth gnawed at thousands of broken, deteriorated dolls cocooned in cobwebs and insects. The water-banks carried the echo of anguished whispers and cries in darkness, the sand woven into silvery bones. An ominous little rope bridge glued several chilling rapids together, an endless stream fog and mist rolling in as the tides rolled out. This islet hummed with the anxiety she felt in Louisiana, and snow poured once more, daggers in her skin.
Lolita groaned, wincing as the shards of bone splintered her forearm.
"F*ck," she muttered, cradling her head.
Rain speared her as hail would. Next to her, a Korean woman was also asleep, her skin burning chemically – glistening, made of pearls – with blood streaking her face, her hair – made of snakes. Her stormy eyes, ghostly. The wind seemed to howl around her, the rain and snow weaving into a curtain around her body, and like an angel made from clockwork, her veins sung. As the derelict, decrepit woman slept, the trees swayed, their metal leaves kissing the floor, and the ground sighed. Outward, inward. Swallowing her whole. Lolita shrieked.
"Sh–"
A gun cocked outward. Once, twice.
Lolita shielded her face, squinting and shivering.
"After the week Iʼve had...this is the last sh*t I want to be dealing with."
A Manʼs voice, hoarse and raspy, greeted her. Unhealthy and run-down, this Man was a queer creature that was familiar. Romanesque nose, brittle skin, but a full head of sapphire blue hair. Patchy beard. A varicose ulcer, full of pus, latched onto his leg like a leech, and he had a pigʼs eyes. Fat cheeks, and a oiled, forked beard adorned his face, with silks wrapping around him as cigarette smoke would. His fingers were peppered in gemstone rings of black diamond, onyx, opal, and sapphire.
Lolita squeezed her eyes hard, thinking.
Awaking to the scream of Sirens.
Back-arching, fingers driving her desire, thighs inviting midnightʼs darkness with a succubusʼ kiss. Lolita remembered Robinʼs face the brightness of her eclipse, and then she remembered this Manʼs face was the dark side of the moon. Watching her, waiting, enjoying the sight of her soft, pliable, skin...
"I know you," Lolita said simply. "Weʼve met before. In Vinci."
"In Vinci?"
"Youʼre a member of the Order."
The Man towered over her, staring down.
"Hmm," he simply muttered.
And then, he slammed her into the ground.
YOU ARE READING
Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)
FantasyTHE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO LOUISIANA - And there will be killing until the score is settled. Tortured and exiled, Robin DeMarcus came back to the United States unscathed: a ruthless heiress to an antebellum empire with a hunger for revenge to carry on...
