Face Of The Monster

~18~

Lillian stood above the yawning mouth of the cave, breathing in the rancid scent of the air rising from it. Something rotting, something spoilt and deeply old. Breathing in that scent, she felt utterly alone despite Agatha's gently grazing hand on her waist. The chains bumped against her skin, But Lillian barely felt them. Her heart was beating so quickly that her body felt numb.

"The monster," said Agatha, "Is right below."

"The monster," Lillian repeated. She could not imagine what awaited her at the bottom of the plummet. Monster. Beast. A mass of darkness, she supposed. A decayed story of malice told in teeth and claws and scales. She heard nothing from the cave and imagined the colossus asleep, its magnificent haunches rising and falling.

Agatha pulled her away from the opening, as if afraid she might fall inside. Indeed, the mouth opened into a steep, purple throat that, Lillian had no doubt, would swallow her up with no intention of spitting her back up. "As I have said, I cannot give you the cure," said Agatha, "but here is your monster. Her is your lake of healing. All there is left to do is bottle your elixir, my darling. All there is left to do is slay your monster."

Lillian recalled the legend, the ending coming prominently to mind. "Agatha?" she whispered.

"Yes, Dear?"

"Will it hurt me? Killing the monster?"

Agatha took Lillian's hands in her own, delicate face crinkling into an almost aged smile. The lines around her eyes darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her eyes water and the muscles in her neck tensed. "Yes, my love," she sighed. "It will hurt you very much. But, as these chains are for me, your pain will be a labor of love for you."

"Will it kill me, Agatha?"

Her dark eyes twinkled with tears and something like pride. "Would you be willing to die, Lillian?"

She thought of Gabriel of all the people who loved him, needed him. Who needed her? Gabriel. And even he didn't need her. He would find himself another pretty girl to hold at night and pour coffee for in the morning. He would miss her, she didn't doubt that, but his grief would not render him helpless, dysfunctional as Lillian's would if she lost him. "Yes," she told Agatha. "I would die for Gabriel. I love him."

Agatha's smile became tighter. "My heart aches for you," she says. "I wish I could bear this pain for you. Alas, it is yours and yours alone."

Lillian looked at the sleeve of black flesh on her arm. A labor of love, she had said. A burden she was willing to bear simply to be here with Lillian. "I love you as well," Lillian found herself saying. "I love you in a way I've never felt love before."

And she did. With Gabriel, her love was a steady pulse, a consistent burn, that kept her alive and alight. But with Agatha, love was more sudden. More intense. Rather than walking footsteps, there were great leaps from one place to the next. Instead of gently flickering flames, there were spectacular fireworks of pleasure, of passion. She felt these when she looked at Agatha, when they touched. She felt them when urges seized her, when the woman became too simply beautiful for her to resist. She felt them when she gave in and kissed her, felt them when she pulled away.

Agatha laid her hands on either side of Lillian's face, leaning closer. "I love you, too," she whispered. "More than you know."