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Chapter 5:
The Taste of Power - Night-Heart
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I am known by many names: Queen of the Swamp and The Lizard with a Crown being some of the more… amusing ones.
Others whisper darker ones where they think I’m not listening: The Poison Empress, The Shadow Empress, and most insulting and dangerous of them all: The Emperor’s Folly. Those who speak such things, especially the last, in public soon learn intimately well why I am called such things. Then they will either contain their whispers to the dark corners where I want them, or their “racist ranting” disappears with them. Appearances must be maintained to keep order after all. It would be rather… problematic for such rumors and distrust to spread outside of their place during these tumultuous times after all.
Of my many names, there is one that I prefer as it is my right of station: Empress Night-Heart of the Holy Cyrodiilic Empire of Tamriel, first of Argonia to bear the name. As I will it, I shall not be the last.
To use the words of my Mara-blessed husband: It was not always so…
Once… I was worthy of being called every one of those of those shameful names. They would’ve been right, and I would’ve even found them amusing. That was the influence of my accursed mother.
Accursed though she may be… Ironically, without her influence on my darkly naïve younger self, I would never have been so ambitious as to consciously try to meet and seduce the Dragonborn, and he also might well have not taken up his current station. Thankfully, as the Dragonblood Emperor-to-be at the time is wont to do, he didn’t play my game as I had expected. I ended up the one enraptured with something so headily exotic that I couldn’t help but give in rather than the other way around.
As for what that thing was? That would be telling wouldn’t it?
No… in my story there is a lesson to be learned, one that any reading would do well to heed… and spoiling it would make the whole thing so dreadfully boring and forgettable wouldn’t it?
Only when you know what I knew, when you give my words the careful ear they are due, will you know how a woman drunk on every manner of lustful sin could become an Empress worthy of the trust of her Empire and her Emperor.
My story begins in the deepest depths of darkness and sin. For I was taught that the only measure of one’s worth among the countless teeming masses of plying hands and whispered prayers was one’s capability to make their own real through power, whatever the cost to the countless irrelevant specks among the teeming masses of mortal life, even including myself.
My story truly begins the same time as my husband’s: the day and night of the 17th of Last Seed. A quirk of luck, or perhaps providence of destiny or fate?
I would certainly like to believe the latter.
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CONTENT WARNING: Brief somewhat vague depictions and strong references to rape.
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My body quivered and wracked as my mouth gaped in a soundless, long-since hoarse scream of both agonizing pain and divine pleasure as the monstrous horned gargoyle form of Molag Bal used my tortured body, willingly given to the daedric lord of domination to use in any way conceivable, and some inconceivable for his pleasure until he decided he was sated.
My vision blackened once more as my broken body tried once more to slip into unconsciousness as the Prince of Domination chuckled: a dark, thunderous sound which echoed through his realm and my soul as icy ether-air bit into my body and in some places exposed bone.
The lord leaned down, towering over his toy as he extended his tongue and licked blood and other things my body; his tongue like searing flame over what remained of my scales before he spoke.
“You amuse me little lizard, not even your mother was so… eager and vital, and she was the best I had in many an age. Show me again how much you want my blessing.” The Daedric Prince demanded.
My mind and soul recoiled in terror and horror at the thought of another round with the monster, yet… my mother had taught me that sometimes one must submit to gain the power to achieve what you desire, and there was no greater power than what I had given so much of myself to achieve until this point: I would not lose this, and so my broken jaw wheezed and I barely moved what I could in the sight of the mind and eyes of the Lord of Domination to present myself for my reward once more.
Now Molag Bal laughed, his entire realm shook and morphed as he appeared genuinely amused in a way much less carnal than I’d known before as he pointed at me from his towering height.
“You! I find myself tempted!” The lord of Domination declared his voice the mighty roar of a volcano before he grinned.
I knew then, that nothing in my life that he may will to come would terrify me more than that grin.
“You submit, and are even eager, but you do not give all to me: You cling to that mortal life through my pleasure and yet submit to more, all for that wonderful lust.” Molag Bal said as he began to pace, eagerly licking his chops once more as the grin broadened. “You will not cower in your power, you want more, you will always want more. You will take more. You have amused me and will continue to amuse me; willing or not. I will take this life you offer me, and you will take what you desire. I will be watching you with great interest my pet.” Molag Bal spoke, as everything suddenly came crashing onto me in the most excruciating moment of torment yet, not even pleasure to soften its blow as my body died and my soul was torn and reshaped while the realm of Coldharbour faded from my sight.
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END WARNING: References continue, reader discretion still advised.
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I twisted my suddenly healed body out of a curled ball and the nightmare of Coldharbour with a ragged gasp, unfurling and frantically crawling naked on my hands and knees out of the ritual circle on the harsh, freezing stone floor to escape that hell and that monster.
As my body finally left the icy stone, I shuddered as the unnaturally chilled air bit into my once more whole scales as I glanced up through the pitch darkness of the throne room of Bloodlet keep; a pair of glowing red eyes staring down at me from up high on what I knew was a throne-topped stone pedestal.
I blinked once, twice, and the pitch dark gloom suddenly faded; the world now tinted blue in my sight as I saw in the darkness.
Upon the stone throne sat an argonian woman with scales of a single color: black as the gloom that once oppressed my sight. Along with two straight ivory horns sprouting from the back of her head and a crest of lush, rich blue feathers. She sat ramrod straight upon the throne, claw marks in the front of its stone arm-rests as her hands clenched around them.
‘At least she cares that much…’ I thought in disgust before my eyes widened in shock at myself and I viciously shook my head in denial of my own rising fury.
‘She didn’t force you to do this, you wanted this! Without her advice you would never have impressed your new lord so… thoroughly.’ I berated myself as Mother’s form finally relaxed into a much more familiar position:
Elegantly poised on the stone throne, and resplendent as always in a shining mithril coat of mail covered by a flowing fine dark red robe with bronze cuffs and edges, and with her neck adorned with a trio of bronze necklaces embedded with priceless flawless sapphires, Mother rested her palms on her knees and slowly nodded and breathed in relief for her daughter’s continued life before staring at me straight on from her nonetheless high place. Then… Mother actually smiled with genuine pride… I could count on my hands the number of times I had seen her actually smile so since I had grown larger than a young child.
Then Mother spoke, a permanent yet loud husky whisper born of much practice to sound better to the ears of other races, though normally supplemented in such circumstances with illusion magic as well to give her the voice of the finest bard.
“You survived. You’ve learned my lessons well my daughter, to impress Molag Bal is the greatest challenge you are ever to face, bending the will of any others should be naught but child’s play if you bring the same zeal upon them that you did before him. Especially now that you have his blessing.” Mother said as she smoothly rose from the stone throne and all but floated down the stairs before me with such consistent and flawless grace that I was still envious even after long years of practice.
However, Mother suddenly frowned as she stopped before me and her brows furrowed critically before she suddenly snapped at me.
“Well? Why do you still prostrate yourself before me like a peasant wench? Are you a Daughter of Coldharbour or not?” Mother demanded as my eyes widened before narrowing in outrage as I quickly jumped to my feet, heedless of my continued nakedness in the face of the far more pressing concern of my posture before my Mother. I threw open my mouth, a pair of fangs I hadn’t yet felt suddenly unfurling from the roof of my mouth like fangs of a snake as I hissed in offense, the presence of the fangs revealing to my mother and myself for certain that my defilement wasn’t in vain before I carefully closed my mouth again. My voice was still an irate hiss, but with words rather than the wordless noises of a beast.
“Of course I was blessed. I’m alive aren’t I? Or do you wish me to show you my memories of the experience?” I demanded rhetorically, resisting the temptation to gloat that Molag Bal found me more pleasing than her. Most may call it sick to take pride in giving the God of Rape more pleasure than another, but after submitting myself to be defiled by a daedric lord in the greatest purchase of power, my pride was ironically the only thing keeping me sane and unbroken by the living nightmare.
Mother pulled back ever so slightly in response to the viciousness of my words before waving me off.
“That will not be necessary. It was disturbing enough to watch my daughter writhe on my floor in lewd agony.” Mother said with a visible grimace as her normally coolly calculating eyes darted frantically over me as I cocked an intrigued brow while Mother’s brows furrowed deeply in outrage at my reaction.
“Just because I commend your ambition doesn’t mean that I wish that monster upon you.” Mother pleaded as she clasped her hands together in front of herself demurely. “It’s a means to an end, but you are still my daughter. I love you and it pains me to see you suffer so…” Mother pleaded soulfully as my gaze softened somewhat and I reached out around her shoulders and pulled Mother close as she sighed in clear relief with the contact before I slowly withdrew somewhat; running my palms across her arms before clasping her palms in my own as I stared into her soulful red eyes and spoke.
“I know, I love you too Mother, I’m just…” I trailed off as I glanced away at the ground while Mother reached up between the forward-curved horns of my head and brushed my feathers back before speaking.
“I know… I know… I had to… sustain the same thing after Bal took me. The price for this power is great indeed… but what you can achieve with it is far greater still. I’m the closest any argonian has ever come to the emperor, and much of the Elder Council yield to me.” Mother reminded me, her way of comforting me, she was right; but it didn’t make what I submitted to any less revolting and horrifying. Nonetheless, she continued as she always did. “I’ve trained you well my daughter, Aetherius is the limit for you; even an emperor’s hand could be yours… you need only place yourself where you can take it; and now you have until the end of time to do it.” Mother said as I smirked and responded.
“There can only be one spouse of the emperor dearest mother…” I reminded in only a half-jest of the obvious fact that, given such an opportunity, Mother would not let it pass her by just because I wanted it. Mother chuckled grimly before countering.
“Indeed… but it would be rather suspicious if every emperor had the same argonian wife, we can’t be drawing attention to ourselves now. You’ll get your chance… eventually.” Mother “reassured” me smugly before I glanced upward thoughtfully and responded.
“Well… the high priests of the divines are the ultimate arbiters of the emperor’s marriage… and everyone knows that priests aren’t nearly so saintly as they make themselves out to be. I could perhaps… convince them otherwise.” I suggested as Mother pulled back with a grin behind a faux-shocked hand to her mouth.
“Sharing the emperor? Scandalous… and useful… I did train you well didn’t I?” Mother commented wryly with a lecherous grin, my face mimicking hers before her hand suddenly jumped out and glided teasingly across my breast.
I recoiled with a startled hiss of shock as Mother laughed and waved me off and turned back to her throne before looking over her shoulder and speaking, the lecherous grin still on her face.
“You’d better get used to it daughter. If you act on that plan of yours, our man would probably want a show, and the divines only know what manner of favors we could pry out of him then.” Mother said over her shoulder before ascending the steps again, leaving me feeling suddenly very confused with a fresh wave of revulsion as I considered just what my spur of the moment idea would likely entail: a little breast play being the absolute least of what might be necessary, not to mention I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to be an empress.
Stolen novel; please report.
I knew I wanted power, and great power, with that I could do whatever I wished, and I was willing to even be played with by the daedric lord of rape for that, but… I suddenly found myself at an impasse as I was faced with the reality of what exactly to do with my power; of how far I wished for my ambition to go.
Mother had always coveted being the wife of an emperor, though specifically not the empress herself: that would be far too much work and responsibility, she wanted to enjoy the greatest luxury and power in the land without having the riff-raff staring at and demanding of her every moment of the day, and knew well that the derided “riff-raff” could suddenly become quite problematic when appropriately incensed. That was not something she wanted to deal with or manage.
I however, was less certain. Being the wife of an emperor and having the emperor wrapped around my finger would be impressive and positively decadent. Aside from satisfying my pride with such a grand catch though… there was no dress, weapon, magic, or even vista of land that I could get from the emperor’s side much better than from a count’s or king’s. Worse, if I enthralled the emperor… everything would just be easy.
Why seduce a count when my emperor could just order them to do something? Why bribe a guard captain, or manipulate some naïve “adventurer” to get me coin for said bribe when my emperor could simply have them look the other way? I could just pretend and have my “husband” around as a backup plan so that I was never truly in danger, but too much “play” such as that would push him away and damage his reputation. The game wouldn’t last forever. So that meant the end of my quest would mean I would either be bored to death, or would risk being caught and burned to death.
I also didn’t particularly fancy a more cunning emperor making me his errand girl and using my unique talents to his political advantage. If I used my talents, it would be on my terms for my goals.
Beyond that, there might be many ways to entice a male, but if you were bound to him as a wife then to keep his interest you would have to begin to engage in the delicate balancing act of emotional manipulation, giving him enough “love” to keep him begging but not enough that he just expected it. I wasn’t nearly so experienced in this as my mother was, so such long term arrangements might even be risky for me.
I wanted a challenge, but I also didn’t want to risk being paraded through some town and burned at the stake for the amusement of a bunch of peasants, nor did I wish to be tied down either. Why have all of this power if I was just going to let it and myself languish on some throne all day. I would never say the words in front of my Mother… but I didn’t need to be validated by mobs of courtesans and sycophants.
Unfortunately though, I’d just given my Mother an idea, and she was hesitant to let good ones go, especially if they had any potential to get her closer to the Imperial Throne.
So as I watched mother gracefully twirl and allow herself to lounge languidly upon the stone throne, her tail and a leg hanging off the seat as she threw her other leg upon an armrest and laid back against the other armrest, I quickly started to draft an excuse and explanation to avoid the pact that I just presented. Apparently even the blessing of a daedric lord didn’t fix a simple lack of experience… or base impulsiveness.
Mother smirked as I felt her eyes roaming heedlessly over my naked body, and I was starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable at this point at her abnormal lack of concern for my disrobed state in front of her as she cocked a brow and spoke again.
“Well? Do we have an accord, or were you just running your mouth again?” Mother asked somewhat hotly at my continued silence as I desperately held back a wince and a hiss of offense as she called me out on my habit of indecisiveness, if not this particular instance of the aforementioned habit.
I forced myself to stare into Mother’s demanding blood-red eyes as an excuse flowed smoothly from my mouth; not an outright lie since those were easily caught by anyone half-decent at reading others.
“I’ll prepare for it in the future, but for now I don’t believe I have the necessary skill to go through with that plan. I was merely suggesting a possible method after all.” I excused myself as Mother’s eyes narrowed for a moment in annoyance and disappointment before she waved me off with an exasperated huff and looked away from me and off at some unknown point in the darkness by her throne.
“Very well. Leave now and do as you wish, you have the power and everything I’ve taught you. Come back to me when you’re done running your mouth and you’re ready to actually do something… and put some clothes on while you’re at it. You may be a Daughter of Coldharbour now but I assure you that frostbite is still immensely aggravating.” Mother waved me off as I glanced down and away, grateful she was looking away from me for the moment so I could at least somewhat relieve the fury simmering inside me at her usual almost careless dismissal of me after everything I’d been through.
Her words also served the dual purpose of casting me out from under her wing. Most daughters would have been horrified, terrified and outraged at such a callous method of sending them out. However, as the years of my young womanhood came closer, Mother had increasingly gave me “missions” through which I would have to prove myself. These missions I completed crucially without her supervision and with only minimal assistance. As such, combined with my anger, I hardly noticed any surprise at the declaration and simply nodded in acknowledgement and pivoted on a heel to walk off, only to be stopped by my mother’s stern and scolding voice.
“Night-Heart! How many times must I remind you to bow when leaving the presence of any person of note?” Mother scolded as I rolled my eyes and pivoted towards her: my right foot just behind and perpendicular to my left and bending my knees slightly as I tensely bent at my waist and lowered my body parallel to the floor, my arms sharply rising behind me at a forty-five degree angle from the sides of my torso; giving an obviously irritable and tiredly sharp yet technically correct bow before turning again without so much as a glance at my mother as she heedlessly called in mild offence from behind me.
“I sincerely hope you’re reserving a more respectful bow for those who haven’t raised you and taught you it.” Mother jabbed at my back as I rolled my eyes and threw open the dual grand doors at the front of the throne room with strength that unfortunately made me stumble in shock as Mother chuckled behind me and called once more.
“I also hope that you learn to control that strength soon, it would be a rather unfortunate first impression if you tear some noble’s cock off instead of pleasuring him you barbarian.” Mother mocked as I now vocally hissed in offense before exiting the throne room entirely, completely inconsiderate that it may be the last time I ever saw my Mother again.
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I threw open the door to my chambers, and stumbled slightly as my new strength surprised me once more, breaking my years-practiced graceful poise again as I hissed harshly in frustration over more things than one as I cursed in the “forbidden tongue”.
“Oblivion-damned domineering vahtuxki(1)…” I cursed in Jel, our native tongue as argonians, as I shoved the door closed again, this final stumble and the reflexive shame drilled into me for even this tiny failure courtesy of said “(1)unclean sex doll” was the proverbial back-breaking straw upon the horse’s back as my composure broke, and I bared claws and fangs and slashed at the air with a vicious swipe from my left arm; imagining my Mother’s smirking face in the path of my claws for a moment even as a felt a pang of guilt at the mere mental image. She was still my Mother after all, she only ever wanted what she thought was best for me, and many little things, anecdotes and moments were more than enough proof of that.
When I was young, Mother doted on me just as any other new mother. It was a time of innocent bliss even when one day my Mother came back with red eyes and long fangs. Even as time went on and Mother swiftly grew more stern and occasionally even harsh in her care, there were still little moments throughout that reminded me that she was far from just a simple tyrant: never once had she neglected my birthday, not only gifting me with various very expensive things, but also doing her best to make the day one about us rather than the future and training for it. It was something I looked on almost nostalgically or regretfully even as it happened every year.
On my birthday, Mother often seemed strange. Even as we enjoyed each-other’s company, it almost felt like talking with a shade of some kind. It was like my Mother found and let out some long lost part of herself that seemed very much like a normal woman, even though her dark viciousness and lust for many various types of things never truly vanished. It always made me a little sad to think about, making me wonder curiously what our life would be like given a different situation. However, the thing was as I well knew, and Mother had drilled into me over the years: there was no such thing as indomitable “fate”, just the will and skill of one person against another. Our life was a result of us, so by definition our life would always have been and would be this in all timelines where my Mother was who I knew her to be. If anything was inevitable, it was the choices and life shaped by one’s personality, which would without fail choose the same way every time given the exact same situation and personality.
This philosophy was certainly of no comfort, knowing that Mother would never change. She would always be in one form or manner or another an “oblivion-damned domineering vahtuxki”, and would always despise the fact that I knew the term if she ever found out.
My mother and I spoke Cyrodiilic even in private and I had to learn Jel in secret because Mother despised everything to do with our homeland and home-culture.
Argonian culture was inherently unambitious compared to the inherently ambitious Cyrodiilic culture, believing strongly that because everything would “return to the roots” eventually anyway that there was no point in building for the future, trying to “leave one’s mark”, or otherwise doing anything else than “living in the present”. This was so deeply rooted (pun unintended, but accepted) in argonian culture that Jel didn’t even have a past or future tense. Furthermore, practically all argonians in Black Marsh were enslaved so thoroughly by that bunch of “over-glorified weeds” that they couldn’t even have sex or shit out a kid without the approval and influence of the Hist. This philosophy of submission, mindless obedience, and enslavement disgusted my immensely ambitious and domineering mother. So though she was born in Black Marsh to whatever the equivalent of a noble family was, she lied, bribed, and whored her away out of that backwards and barbaric swamp and into Cyrodiil the first chance she got.
I initially had been outraged at my mother’s decision to deprive me of all knowledge of our people’s culture, and had eventually decided to learn what I could about our culture on my own in secret, including and especially our native tongue of Jel. However, the more I learned about it, the more I came to understand and share my mother’s revulsion at our people’s culture. However, I still enjoyed the little defiance of learning Jel under Mother’s nose, especially when I could curse her in it.
I turned away from my doorway into my chambers, stopping just inside as I closed my eyes and took a calming breath.
Mother was stern at the best of times if she was actually being honest with someone, but she did teach me everything I knew, it was her way of showing that she loved me: ensuring that I was skilled enough that none could stand between me and my goals and that I had the ambition to learn anything she couldn’t teach me.
One of the things Mother taught me was the importance of looking one’s best, and unless I wished to entice as very specific type of person, wandering about naked most certainly did not classify. Something I would have to fix eventually. However, for the time being, I simply wished to bask in my one retreat from the world as I tried to calm myself and just forget the abhorrent yet necessary ritual.
I opened my eyes and looked about my chambers: the floor was clad in finely chiseled and smoothed stone, the wall opposite the dual doorway had its left half dominated by a grand arched window stretching twelve feet to the ceiling and wider than my arms’ breadth, in front of it was a long bench-like a couch with no backrest stretching the width of the window with a glass and bronze table the same length in front of that.
My angrily hardened eyes softened in what was in hindsight a fascinating level of regret as I approached the bench-bed and rubbed my hand across its surface before laying down languidly in a similar position to what my Mother had before I left. I liked to bask here in the mornings, not because of the common misconception that Argonians are cold-blooded, but because the heat and rays of the morning sun were soothing in a way that did perhaps stem from the reptiles from which the Hist magically created our kind. However, it was something I would quite simply no longer be able to enjoy unless I had some brilliant alteration or enchanting mage create some form of barrier for the detrimental effects of the sun in my window. It was another part of the price I had paid for power, but as I gazed out through the albeit far more colorful night and laid my hand upon what would now be the always-cold window, it still felt like it somehow hurt more in the moment than the loss of that abstract concept of the ‘soul’.
I caressed the bench-bed as I lay upon it like a lost lover, or at least how such things seemed like they were described in the romance novels I kept hidden well away from my Mother in a small alcove I’d made in the wall conveniently within arm’s reach of the bench bed, hidden behind one of the very bricks that were supposed to make up the wall. My Mother despised the things, saying they were full of corny nonsense that never happened or would happen in life, even scoffing at the very idea of the ‘true love’ often mentioned in them. While I shared her disdain for the idea of the likelihood such things in reality, I also hadn’t seen the world enough yet to know for certain that they were nothing but lies. My Mother cared for and “loved” me and I loved as well as respected her, so it seemed to me that at least familial love, and therefore the concept itself did exist. However, the idea of some random stranger meeting another random stranger and ‘falling head-over-heels’ for them and practically worshipping the ground they walked on, catering to their desires with only a “loving smile” in return, and willfully continuing to do so seemed absurd at best. Even so, I couldn’t help but admit that the things and their vaunted “true love” were a nice fantasy though, such was why I kept them and even reread some of the better ones. Certain novels even had juicier and more stirring scenes in them, like the infamous ‘The Lusty Argonian Maid’ but with a little more story and less juvenile poetry and wordplay. Those ones I kept on display as explanation for any occasional mention I made of ‘romantic’ topics around my Mother… she’d actually even borrowed one once during one of our occasional social calls, saying she wished for material for a bit of ‘comic and other relief’.
Even without the soothing sunlight I normally basked in, the bench-bed did provide some much needed comfort as it brought memories of better times, bittersweet things now since my Mother would expect me to head out on my own and have at least begun to forge my own destiny before I returned, if I ever did, be my absence by choice or worse.
I sighed as I took in my chambers and the memories associated with them once more: the now-far wall with the doorway, its other half dominated by a grand beauty station with a large counter bracketed by body-height mirrors between it and the doorway, and two large dressers to the other side. Between myself and that, my exquisitely carved, scarlet-dyed frostbite spider silk curtained queen’s bed dominated the center of what was the left wall from my perspective. A large footlocker rested against the footrest of the bed and a round scarlet and gold rug in the center of the room.
Finally, there was my reading area with a nightstand and small chair in the center of the left corner from my bed surrounded by multiple bookshelves. Then there was my favorite of all: my alchemy study.
In the center of the right wall from my perspective was a finely carved and decorated alchemy lab standing between and below a trio of hardy and well-tested and used dwarven-metal shelves. Wear, stains and corrosion along with one entire bookshelf dedicated entirely to a veritable library of study guides and carefully organized and studious notes marked my alchemy lab as a favorite place of eager and carefree experimentation, despite the shelf of hand-labeled poison bottles bearing grim illustrations and warnings of a myriad of gruesome effects.
This room was a place of solace through the seeming lifetime of my teenage years: a place of uncommon carefree joy, pleasant relaxation and comfort as well as fulfilling self-pride, and even some subtle love on the rare occasions mother entered the room. Mother and I had an unspoken rule that any unpleasantness would take place outside this room, that no hardship would violate my sacred solace. My studies and other such things were dealt with in another room adjacent this one and if mother was displeased then it was dealt with outside my chambers.
As I took in my chambers, I felt a familiar sense of calm flow through me almost as if by an illusion spell. As carefully as I kept this place unspoiled as a source of any bad feelings, I naturally felt myself calm as if by magic when I entered. Even the sour scent of old alchemical stains brang nothing to mind but an almost palpable sensation of endless hours of released curiosity, and the satisfaction and pride of a new discovery. However, as I calmed and my conversation with Mother became further and further distant, my mind began to wander, inevitably making its way back to the ritual.
My mind suddenly became lost as I stared blanky into my chamber, ghosts of feelings sinking through my scales as my mind’s eye saw the giant-sized pale-skinned horror over top of me again. I winced and curled in a fetal position as I futilely covered my now not-so-sacred area from a phantom pain as I shuddered from shame and cold. Revulsion curling in my gut and jolting me out of the vision as I clenched my eyes and curled tighter in disgust, shuddering again as I shot up from my bench-bed and hissed in anger and discomfort, powering towards the bathing room door to the left of my alchemy study.
I knew it would be a futile effort, for no mere water could ever truly cleanse me of the memory of willfully submitting myself to such defilement. I knew that Molag Bal preferred virgin women to despoil and I had saved myself for that purpose, even as I didn’t hesitate to otherwise pleasure any male I needed to accomplish my goals before. Nonetheless… there was something particularly… regrettable in giving something I only had one of to a monster, even if the other options of easy power didn’t suit my plans.
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A flame spell upon water, and a long and exceptionally thorough bath later and I at least felt cleaner in body, even if my soul still felt tainted. I found it in myself to chuckle grimly at that thought as I exited my bathing room and made for my beauty station.
It was a normal experiment of thought for me to consider how to murder and bribe my way into a court, how to select and seduce a man or even woman of appropriate influence for my plans, when I might use my powers of vampirism to enthrall a more problematic opponent and how to cover for that, etcetera et infinitum.
‘I’ve already committed every sin possible, what’s a little more?’ I thought as I tried to just let the thought and feeling pass as I turned and stood in front of the tall mirror hung upon the wall next to my beauty station; furrowing my brows critically as I scanned for any of the imperfections often associated with vampirism.
After all of a second, I reeled and hissed harshly in shock and displeasure as I noticed that my scales were suddenly multiple shades paler and duller than they should be. They were now an odd and boring dark grey color rather than the seductive black they normally were, and the royal purple of the inner half of my moderately endowed chest and my stomach was now a mere pale lavender. Less unexpectedly, but no less irritatingly, my now horrified and blood-red eyes made a terrifying mockery of my once enchanting azure orbs; the red color was useful for intimidation but detrimental to practically everything else. Worst of all, my gorgeous head of feathers that had matched my underbelly’s royal purple color still matched it in dull pale lavender. The only saving grace was that at least the two gracefully forward-curved and delicately spiral-chiseled horns by the sides of my face remained unchanged.
My hands traced my face and petite chin as I stared in horror at the mirror, I didn’t look old at least as I had feared I might, but I wasn’t me! I shuddered in shock as I slowly turned away from the mirror, a moment passed, then another before I shook my head viciously and sprung into action: all but diving for my beauty station as I tried to find some way to make… this work for me. I knew I’d have better luck impressing some noble by balancing a ball on my snout like a circus animal than walking up looking like glorified charcoal smeared with flower paste!
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After long hours of borderline alchemical amounts of trial-and-error, and calming down as I fell into the familiar mindset, I realized that “I” still worked almost like usual; I was just “pretty” rather than “gorgeous”. However, those are two different words and reactions, I could work with that. After all…
No one suspects the pretty girl…
Some lavender coloration to the scales of my medium-length snout-bridge between my eyes and the tip of my petite snout, and the slightest dash of tint of the same around my eyes… add some gold and amethyst horn-rings and…
I tested my new look with a feigned giggle as I covered a side of my face and turned my head away from the mirror “bashfully”… then I grinned, throwing a salacious wink at myself before baring my new fangs, making me feel even better. As always, as Mother had trained me, I adapted and overcame; in our way.