The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Memento Mori

Chapter Three: In Death I Am Reborn

Devon padded closer, muscles rippling beneath pale fur. Kirsten stared into those unfathomable eyes and searched for the mind she knew lay within. The great wolf growled again, and its hunger throbbed angrily through the mourner’s body. There were no words, but still the meaning was all too clear.

“Meat,” she decided.

Tentatively, fighting the urge to run, Kirsten reached out her hand. The wolf’s eyes never blinked as her slender fingers almost brushed its muzzle. Devon sniffed and then snarled a warning when Kirsten strayed to close.

“Feed,” Devon’s unspoken message thrummed through Kirsten’s frame.

“No,” she whispered, stroking her palm over the wolf’s jaw. “That is not the only hunger you long to sate.”

The wolf snapped, closing its heavy jaws around Kirsten’s wrist. She felt those sharp teeth biting down, and Devon’s anger rolled up her arm. There was no pain, and it look her several moments to realise she was unharmed. The wolf squeezed a little more tightly, canines dimpling the pale skin and Kirsten fought to keep her voice level.

“You want me,” she breathed. “That’s what you told me, Devon. If Bridget is right and I am to die this night, then I want you to have me. Can you do that for me? Stay your thirst for just a little longer, in order to take what you truly desire?”

“Kirsten,” the wolf whined, and she could see the consciousness beginning to crystallise behind those bright eyes.

Cautiously she eased her arm from the beast’s mouth. Fangs tugged at her skin, but Devon had already slackened her grip. Kirsten’s back pressed against the sturdy metal bars, a mute reminder of how trapped she was. Swallowing hard, she urged her pulse to slow and then let her fingers tangle in the soft fur covering the wolf’s throat.

“Take me,” she groaned, deliberately stepping closer and forcing their bodies to brush together.

Devon’s claw was a blur. The movement tugged at Kirsten’s clothing, and it took all her self-control not to flinch away. Buttons scattered, and pale flesh gleamed in the moonlight. The wolf snarled a warning, but made no effort to stop the fingers running through her coat. Then the paw slashed again, tearing away more expensive material and spilling Kirsten’s plump breasts from the confining fabric.

One long pallid wheal grew slowly livid, marking the soft flesh and beginning to burn. Kirsten gasped, as the wolf buried it’s muzzle in the gentle curve of her bosom and then ripped free what remained of the silken brassiere. It was wrong. Completely and undeniably wrong. But that didn’t stop her body from responding.

The wolf’s fur was soft, burying her body beneath a silken caress. The long slavering tongue wrapped hungrily around her bared breasts, glazing the pallid flesh and forcing her nipples to shriek. Kirsten’s moan was no less bestial than her friends as those sharp teeth nipped softly. Her legs shook with the effort to remain standing, while studiously avoided thoughts and sensations unravelled the denial she had fought so long to maintain.

“Hungry,” Devon whimpered, and suddenly the wolf’s head was dipping lower.

Her friend’s breath was scalding as the fangs tore away her blouse. Devon’s muzzle pressed under her skirt, lifting the concealed flaps and burrowing beneath. The wolf gave a low snort; inhaling the rich scent of Kirsten’s arousal, and then its tongue had found the front panel of her sodden knickers. The mourner bunched her fingers in the tangled fur, marvelling at the strength beneath, and simply allowed her body to be pressed against the cage.

Devon nuzzled, lapping avidly at the heat of Kirsten’s long repressed desire. The mourner’s fingers slid reluctantly from the wolf’s hackles. She reached up, stretching her arms over her head and clung to the cool steel bars. Gasping, Kirsten felt her thighs being eased apart and then those cruel teeth were grazing her trembling flesh.

Her knuckles whitened, muscles suddenly tensed to support her weight. Kirsten’s knees buckled as the soaked fabric parted. Devon’s clever tongue swept over every straining fold, stealing the mourner’s thoughts and leaving her panting. The wolf sunk onto its haunches, before lifting one heavy paw and letting those dark claws press into her friend’s marked breast.

Pressing closer, Devon buried her muzzle between Kirsten’s thighs. That marvellously deft tongue swirled in the moist heat, and the mourner’s eyes drifted shut. She could feel the wolf’s paw start to stretch, while claws clutched possessively at her swollen breast. Fur tickled over the ripeness, and fingers took her and held.

Another hand took hold of Kirsten’s buttock, its talons pricking the flushed skin. The mourner moaned and Devon shifted slightly until she knelt between her friend’s trembling legs. Muscles flexed, pulling the girl’s aching sex into that gaping maw. Fangs ground against too tender flesh, forcing soft mewls of pained pleasure from Kirsten’s lips and that horribly agile tongue seemed to filled her.

Devon rubbed urgently against the mourner’s legs, crushing close and letting her dark, puckered nipples slide over polished leather. Kirsten could feel herself slipping. Her friend’s teeth held tight, gnawing at the soft folds then sucking hard. That sensuous tongue pinned her, wrapping itself around her core and draining every wonderfully carnal sensation into a torrent of uncontrolled lust.

She had fought so hard and so long to keep her feelings at bay. But now the fighting was over. Kirsten gave herself to the pleasure, just as she had given her body to her friend. The French called it le petite mort and, as the force of that first unimaginable orgasm tore through her body, it seemed the expression had been proved particularly apt.

The mourner screamed, pressing herself down onto Devon’s face. Every muscle clenched, tendons coiling as she clung to the bars. Then, just as her body began to convulse in ecstatic saccades, Kirsten’s heart stopped beating.

* * *

Grey.

Fog swirled in leaden sheets, leeching colour from the world around her.

Cold.

Her skin prickled into trembling gooseflesh as the clammy air crawled beneath her torn clothing.

Still.

The silence seemed to echo in her ears, reinforcing the unnatural calm.

Kirsten looked down, into Devon’s frozen face. To her surprise the wolf had all but vanished. Her friend’s sharp features showed through the downy fur, but the beast itself had gone.

A familiar sensation tugged at her, strangely discordant with the utter unreality of the moment. Ice dribbled into the base of her skull, but this time the fear wouldn’t come. She felt her body clench against the warm caress of those wonderfully sweet coils.

Kirsten groaned, filling the dungeon with bizarre echoes. Devon kept her pinned in place, while she fought not to squirm against the wolf’s impaling tongue.

The girl seemed to flow out of the darkness, gaining solidity as she moved closer. The heavy steel bars offered no resistance and for just an instant she seemed to merge with the mist itself. Kirsten pushed at her friend, trying to shift her dead weight. But Devon was rooted to the spot, utterly immobile.

“What are you hiding from?” The girl whispered, adding her voice to the reverberating hum.

She reached up again, tightened her grasp on the bars and then heaved. Devon’s motionless tongue grated against Kirsten’s swollen sex, making her gasp in shocked excitement. She flinched away, but there was nowhere to go.

“Look at me,” Thanatos breathed, and Kirsten’s gazed snapped up immediately.

The sword flickered in the moonlight, its blade awash with rainbow colour. Its tip didn’t waver, but although the threat was unmistakable, still the fear wouldn’t come. Kirsten felt her shoulder begin to ache softly, but now the slow, steady throb was almost comforting.

“What’s happening to me?” She wondered dully.

“You are becoming,” the girl voice vibrated somewhere in Kirsten’s belly.

Once again déjà vu clawed at her, tantalising with shrouded secrets. Questions danced through her mind, unanswered and unspoken.

Two of a kind girl.

Bridget’s words stole breathlessly through her thoughts. There was a resonance she hadn’t sensed before; layers of meaning that only now were beginning to become clear. The memory of those cruelly tormenting fingers touched the nape of her neck, and suddenly the blade filled her hand.

Find it.

The command hammered into her, while the fog billowed around them both.

Kill it. Then you will have your reward.

Kirsten’s shoulder pulsed with heat, while the ghostly masseuse’s expert touch slid over her spine. The blade twitched in her hand, and she could feel how it longed to bury itself in soft flesh. Phantom fingers lingered possessively against her buttocks, kneading firmly and letting that hollowness fill her once more.

She lurched against Devon, knowing that even the wolf’s rigid tongue would not be able to quench her growing thirst. Pale light glinted on the flat of her blade and, for the briefest instant, the knife seemed to stretch out towards infinity. Kirsten felt her muscles tensing as her arm drew back seemingly of its own volition.

“No,” the girl explained, very gently and her words were a welcome buzz, humming through Kirsten’s mind and body.

The mourner’s arm dropped to her side, and the blade itself became an almost intolerable weight. For a moment she struggled against it. But her muscles barely twitched, despite her best efforts. The throbbing grew more intense, pulsing deep into her belly and filling her with its warmth.

“It’s time for you to wake,” Thanatos breathed, and colour washed back into the world.

* * *

Kirsten’s pulse seemed to roar in her ears as Devon’s growl poured into her musky depths. The fog thinned and evaporated, while the pale woman faded into shadows. Aftershocks gripped her body, while the wolf continued to nuzzle. The blade clattered from numbed fingers, and her scream was enough to drown out everything else.

She sensed the change in the wolf almost immediately. Gone was the familiar feel of her friend’s presence. Once again the beast was at the fore, but now it had slaked its thirst, leaving only hunger. The wolf stretched its jaws wide, yawning obscenely as Kirsten pressed herself against the bars.

Her eyes were still fogged with lust, and the world seemed to ripple around her. Heat flowed from the wolf’s back, forming strange and intricate patterns. Instinctively she reached out, somehow taking hold of the tangled puzzle. Kirsten pulled gently, and everything shifted.

Devon’s eyes grew wide, and her snarl was suddenly choked off. Without thinking, Kirsten eased the wolf’s muzzle down, and then guided the great beast onto her back. She plucked carefully at the newly formed pattern, forcing a soft whine from her friend’s throat. Then, her hands were running over the wolf’s belly, fingers tangling in the soft fur and stroking roughly against each dark, puckered nipple in turn.

“Just lie back,” Kirsten urged, as her friend began to struggle. “Let me do this for you.”

The wolf whimpered, baring its throat and lying still. Kirsten took hold of Devon’s neck, tightening her grip, as her friend’s whining grew more needy. Her other hand ran in slow, comforting circles, smoothing the increasingly downy fur. Devon trembled beneath her touch, panting in need. Then, the mourner’s probing fingers crested the matted fur and slid down into the welcoming heat of her friend’s glistening slit.

For several seconds she contented herself by simply running her nails up and down the gleaming length of that perfect, dewy seam. Then, as Devon began to lift her pelvis, loins trembling with the urge to simply hump herself against those tormenting digits, Kirsten let her fingers slip inside.

Kirsten bent close, letting her exposed breasts brush against the soft fur. Her lips brushed Devon’s neck, feeling the building whine vibrate under her touch. Then her teeth closed around the wolf’s throat. She squeezed gently, but the threat was unmistakable. She cupped and held her friend, fingers moving slowly in the slippery heat.

The wolf’s low whimper grew more plaintive and her shudders took on a different quality. The wet sounds of shifting bone and cartilage cut through the moaning arousal. Grey fur melted into gleaming pink flesh, and rich auburn tresses. Kirsten’s fingers plumbed more deeply, nails scratching over every trembling fold.

She tightened her grip, holding the squirming woman in place while the change once again took her. Then, just as the wolf was about to disappear, Kirsten slid lower and dipped her tongue into the font of Devon’s rich, honeyed arousal.

Again she let the pattern change, and this time it took only the gentlest nudge. The wolf’s howl dragged on, gradually losing its feral strength. Devon slumped back to the floor, while Kirsten nursed the sensitive nub with her tongue and sent yet more blissful shudders through her friend’s already exhausted body.

* * *

“Kirsten,” she managed eventually, her voice dreamy but still filled with pain. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kirsten smiled, stroking Devon’s cheek with still sticky fingers.

”What happened?” her friend asked, pressing herself into that assured touch.

“I remembered,” the mourner answered simply.

She leaned in and kissed Devon deeply, letting the other woman taste herself on her lover’s tongue. Her friend shivered against her, moulding their bodies together. Kirsten could feel the exhausted Thrope’s pulse hammer at her, every beat strengthening the link between them.

“I…” Devon began, her voice faltering.

“I know,” Kirsten interrupted. “You’ve done everything I asked, and for that I am grateful. But it’s time.”

The mourner helped her friend to stand, enjoying the feel of Devon’s weight against her. The redhead’s breathing was still ragged. Beads of sweat clung to her nakedness, and filled Kirsten’s nostrils with the spiced scent of spent arousal.

Kirsten had already scooped up the fallen blade, and once again the air seemed to shiver around its mirror-bright edge. She flicked her wrist and, suddenly, fragments of tempered steel were raining onto the hard stone floor. The severed bars smouldered, their cut ends glowing dimly.

They stepped out of the cage, and Kirsten was amazed at how quickly her friend’s strength returned. But her attention was split between the warmth of Devon’s proximity and the cold emptiness of the animates she had felt before.

Another door led from the cramped dungeon, and the sense of wrongness radiated from behind the heavy oak. She took a moment to let Devon find her balance and then she stepped away. Kirsten pulled her coat around her, covering herself as best she could. Then, she walked towards the barred and bolted door.

It swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a steep staircase spirally down into the darkness. Devon pressed herself into Kirsten’s back, peering over the mourner’s shoulder. They exchanged glances and then, without a word, the pair stepped through the doorway.

* * *

A gentle glow rose from the depth, growing more intense as they descended. By the time they had reached the bottom of the stairs, the light was bright enough to see unaided. Kirsten stopped abruptly, causing Devon to collide heavily with her. The mourner let out a hiss of surprise, and a moment later her friend echoed the startled gasp.

The chamber before them was far larger than the dungeon above, and it was filled with all manner of glasswork and alchemical paraphernalia. Eight low tables were spaced evenly around the centre of the room, and on each lay a young woman. Tubing ran from each one, linking the girls and scientific equipment in some obscene experiment.

Alembics and retorts bubbled fiercely, while the woman moaned softly in the background. Their naked skin looked sickly in the strange green phosphorescence, but Kirsten had no sense they were the source of her unease. Then, she noticed the faded scars adorning each victim and gasped in sudden understanding.

“Half-lifes,” she breathed, recognising the bite marks for what they were.

“All of them?” Devon asked. “Why would she need a room full of half-lifes?”

“You’re the alchemist, Devon, you tell me. What the hell is she doing to them?”

They began to trace the pipework, following the flow of reagents into and out of each victim. Some of the process was obvious, even to Kirsten. She recognised the scent of anaesthetic, and could see that blood was being siphoned from the unconscious women. But most of it was beyond her, and she could only hope that Devon would be able to cast some light on just what Bridget was trying to accomplish.

“We’re not seeing the whole picture,” her friend explained eventually, tapping a slender glass pipe. “Some of this tubing rungs into the walls.”

Kirsten stared at the glasswork, noticing for the first time how it simply disappeared into the stonework. She rested her hand just beneath it, already feeling the cold presence. Carefully she picked at the wall, and wasn’t surprised to find the plaster coming away under her nail.

“It’s an animate,” she told her friend. “Bricked in, that’s what the pipe’s running to.”

“And there are more of them, aren’t there?” Devon whispered.

“Yes,” Kirsten agreed, her eyes flicking around the room. “What does it mean?”

Devon walked slowly between the tables, her face thoughtful and, just for a second, Kirsten felt a twinge of envy at how comfortable her friend seemed despite her nakedness. But then she realised, this was not an unfamiliar situation for the tall redhead. By their very nature, Thropes would often find themselves in expected places, sans clothing.

“I think,” Devon began, hesitantly, and Kirsten couldn’t tell whether she was uncertain of her conclusion, or just reluctant to speak of secret knowledge. “She’s trying to brew the elixir.”

“Why go to all this trouble?” She asked, indicating the unconscious bodies with a wave of her hand.

“No,” her friend sighed. “Not some pale imitation to sustain her a few extra years. I mean the true elixir.”

“But that means…” Kirsten began.

“It means,” the soft voice echoed around the chamber, “Lady Levy has cheated me for far too long.”

* * *

Kirsten looked up into the grey mist, and realised the world around them had stopped again. A cool breeze blew where no wind could reach, and her skirt billowed open. The girl glanced at each sleeping prisoner in turn, before turning her gaze back to the mourner.

The memory of Bridget’s words hissed in the distance, but they held no power over her. Kirsten let them fade, while Thanatos walked to the wall. This time she did see the sword being drawn, even though the movement was inhumanly quick. Blurring, the blade passed through the thin plaster, and the room seemed suddenly warmer.

“You can’t touch her,” Kirsten whispered, finding certainty in those words. “Can you?”

Thanatos whirled round, fixing the mourner with eyes that had seen far too much.

“No,” the girl admitted, her face tight. “But you can.”

She opened her mouth, but the mists were beginning to clear and colour was already returning. Kirsten caught a glimpse of Thanatos moving to the next bricked in animate, and then she was gone.

* * *

“The law of unexpected consequences,” Devon interrupted, apparently unaware of the change.

“I don’t follow.”

“You can’t create or destroy energy,” the redhead explained. “It has to come from somewhere. So, if Lady Levy wants to live forever, then she needs to find an infinite amount of lifeforce.”

“These girls?” Kirsten wondered, her voice suddenly hoarse.

“No,” Devon disagreed. “Eight woman wouldn’t provide nearly enough. These poor wretches are just raw materials.”

“So, what then?”

“That’s the trick,” her friend explained. “The false elixirs simply sacrifice one life for another. Using the death of one to fuel the life of another. The older the patient, the bigger the sacrifice required. So eventually the demand becomes too high, and nature takes its course.

“But what I think Levy has done, is heresy. Somehow she has found a way to take life from the recently dead. That would give her a nearly limitless supply, theoretically enough to sustain her indefinitely.”

Kirsten grappled with her growing confusion, as the room grew progressively warmer. Understanding seemed almost within reach, but the enormity of what Devon was saying seemed overwhelming. Her friend looked at her expectantly, clearly expecting her to link the pieces.

“How is that possible?” She asked carefully. “The dead have no lifeforce.”

“Exactly,” Devon grimaced, “and that’s why there are consequences. If you take vital energy from a cadaver, you create something that is the very antithesis of life.”

“Animates!” Kirsten gasped.

“Yes,” the Thrope agreed. “In her selfish pursuit of immortality, Lady Levy has created the plague that threatens to destroy us all.”

“And that’s why she wants to kill Death!”

* * *

Devon tried to argue, but Kirsten just took hold of the intangible strands and dragged her friend down into the fog of sexual surrender. The redhead couldn’t argue, she was too busy pleasuring herself to manage more than ecstatic moans. This was something Kirsten had to do alone, and there was simply no time for debate.

Anger coiled around her, driving Bridget’s words even further into the shadows. How many had died, purely to prolong one woman’s existence? It no longer mattered. This ended tonight.

She padded soundlessly through the house, her thoughts slowing into the comfortable familiarity of the combat trance. The blade danced in her hand, its edge blurring and changing from moment to moment.

By the time she reached the Lady’s private chambers, Kirsten was certain she was walking into a trap. The house was unnaturally quiet, and no servants prowled the dimly lit corridors. A sense of unease pervaded the place and sent graveyard shivers trickling down her spine. The mourner took a deep breath, then pushed at the double doors and strode confidently into the spider’s parlour.

The butler stood between his mistress and Kirsten, brandishing a galvanic rifle. Beverly sat demurely on a chaise longue, and regarded the mourner with apparently distain. Kirsten shunted aside her anger, and held onto the mantra’s soothing presence.

“Hello, Beverly,” she said airily, ignoring the butler’s presence. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

She saw the skin tighten around Beverly’s eyes, but there was no other outward sign of the Lady’s irritation. Kirsten took a step closer, and the butler’s rifle began to swing towards her.

“Now Kirsten,” the Lady began, her voice breathy and expectant. “Why don’t you be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

Those practiced fingers caressed her throat, lingering sweetly and making Kirsten shiver. She could feel her attention faltering, as the mantras slid away and the trance began to fail.

“That’s right,” Bridget laughed. “You are my good girl, aren’t you, Kirsten?”

Kirsten clenched her teeth, while invisible hands ran down over her collarbones and cupped her bared breasts. Heat suffused the tender flesh, sinking hungrily into her body and wrapping those suddenly aching nipples in a fiery embrace. She moaned helplessly, as the Lady’s mouth began to form the words she knew would break her utterly.

Glancing around her, desperately, Kirsten couldn’t see a way out.

Time seemed to slow almost imperceptibly. Her shoulder was still throbbing angrily. But, moment-by-moment, the hot pulses were becoming less frequent and, just like that, she knew exactly what had to be done.

The mourner reached inward, using every ounce of self-control she had left. For an instant she just focussed, and then, her heart stopped.

* * *

Kirsten stepped from the now, into the grey space between heartbeats. Colour washed out from a world suddenly frozen, and the groping fingers vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. Quickly she stepped forward, jabbing two fingers into the pressure point behind the butler’s ear. Then she turned her attention to the Lady herself.

It was obvious that Bridget’s most potent weapon was her voice, and that gave Kirsten an idea. It didn’t take long to find a pair of silk scarves. She balled one up tight and wedged inside the Lady’s partially open mouth. The second wrapped around her face, pinning the first in place. Kirsten pulled the scarf cruelly tight, before knotting it in place.

Only then did she step back, flooding the world with colour and enjoying the look of abject consternation on Bridget’s face. The butler dropped bonelessly to the floor, the rifle tumbling from his hands, and the Lady could only mewl into the impromptu gag.

“You don’t mind if I talk now,” she began amiably.

The initial shock was beginning to fade, and Beverly began to snatch at her gag, trying to tear it loose. In response, Kirsten took hold of the Lady’s writhing emotions, and began to weave them into a new shape.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Beverly,” Kirsten continued, as her captive began to whimper. “Trying to make me kill Thanatos, drugging those girls… killing your husband.”

Beverly pressed herself into the mourner, tugging open the frock coat and nuzzling her gagged mouth against Kirsten’s tightly puckered nipples. She gave a low whine and then wrapped her arms around the other woman’s slender waist.

“You could have just invited me,” Kirsten whispered. “You don’t need a dead body to bring a mourner to your house.”

The Lady clung to her, while she buried her face in Kirsten’s cleavage. Moaning, Beverly bathed her face in the scent of spent arousal.

“I’ve been hiding for so very long now,” the mourner continued. “Forgetting who I was and trying to lose myself in the mundane. But you brought me back, Beverly. Because you saw Thanatos was drawn to me, just as she was to you.”

It was no longer clear whether Beverly was even listening. But Kirsten continued, regardless, while the Lady ground herself against the mourner’s body.

“Two of a kind, girl. That’s what you said to me,” Kirsten sighed into her captive’s ear. “But not you and I. I am not your distorted reflection to be used and discarded.

“I am hers!

“Eros to her Thanatos, life to her death…”

Tenderly, she pressed Bridget’s head down. Kirsten parted her legs, allowing the slits in her skirt to open. The Lady surged forward, crushing her face into the mourner’s exposed sex. She ran her mouth up and down those gaping lips, painting herself with the thick juices as she basked in their rich perfume.

The knife hovered over her captive. Hazy streamers flickered around the Lady’s head and Kirsten could feel the life pulsing through those slender tendrils. The mourner waited until Beverly leapt and jerked before slashing the blade down through the ghostly strands.

Beverly stiffened, screaming through the gag as the climax rolled over her. Kirsten had to hold her in place, while the convulsions softened into shuddering aftershocks, and then she finally lay still.

Very carefully, she cut the gag free, easing the soaking cloth from Bridget’s slack mouth. The Lady stared at her through eyes hooded with fatigue and fogged with arousal. Her face was flushed, and still wet from her exertions.

“It’s gone,” she breathed, eyes glassy with tears.

“Yes,” Kirsten nodded sadly.

“I don’t want to die,” Bridget whispered, her voice pleading.

“Everyone does,” the mourner explained. “But I promise, there will be nothing but bliss until you pass on.”

“And then?” the Lady asked forlornly.

“For that, you will have to ask my sister,” Kirsten laughed gently.

* * *

The three women walked slowly across the immaculate lawn. Kirsten’s clothing was in tatters, and her movements were almost arthritic. But her companions still leaned heavy on her. Devon was wrapped in a long coat, although her nakedness was still very obvious beneath it. And Bridget stumbled, as if every step was a great effort. Now and again, the Lady would give a heartfelt groan, but those sounds were clearly not due to pain.

Kirsten turned slowly, peering back at the house through the thickening fog. A tiny figure stood on the threshold, her hand raised in silent salute. The mourner smiled, as the girl slowly faded in the pre-dawn light.

The source of the elixir had been destroyed, its hold on the Lady broken and the natural order restored. Death was final once again, and there would be no more animates. But none of that was Kirsten’s concern, not any longer.

Her sister could worry about the dead. Kirsten’s interest was in the living.

“Well girls,” Kirsten smiled as they headed towards the Gatehouse. “What I need now is a nice hot bath. You two should join me, and help scrub all those hard to reach places.”

“Yes, Kirsten,” they agreed eagerly, and this time she didn’t even have to tug on their heartstrings.