The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Claire

Claire found the body.

It was her normal routine. She had made sure Camille’s needs were taken care of, that she was asleep, cleaned the foyer and sitting room, then moved to the residential quarters. But when she opened the door to Abby’s room, there was … so much blood.

Claire shivered and forced herself not to vomit, holding her hand over her mouth, keeping her eyes shut. She rocked back and forth, trying to fight back the image of Abby’s face covered in wax, her neck bloated and bruised, claw marks and … blood all over her body.

Even after a week, she couldn’t think of it without summoning the nausea, the disorienting vertigo of finding someone still. Empty. Over and over, Claire tried to imagine Abby laughing or smiling. She wanted to remember who she was, but everything melted back into a corpse, into flesh, into death. Abby was gone, and the memory of her was slipping away quickly. Abby was covered in wax, burnt, broken, snapped, beaten, ripped, and drained.

Claire didn’t scream when she found her. She was proud of herself for that. Screaming would have brought Camille, and Claire needed to talk to Laura first. She needed her orders, to find out exactly how Laura wanted to handle it.

Maybe Laura was too tired or disoriented to process what Claire told her. Maybe she was in a state of shock or extreme grief. Claire wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, Laura simply told Claire to report to Camille. She said it dispassionately, as though Claire had told her that someone had spilled a drink in the parlor.

Claire obeyed, waking up Camille to tell her that Abby was dead. Camille didn’t act shocked. She went with Claire, inspected the corpse, and told Claire to get rid of it. That was it. Two mistresses, one order: handle it. Make it go away. Act as though it never happened.

Luckily, Lucy was far more helpful. Claire called her when Camille didn’t explain how to make a body disappear. She’d helped dispose of bodies before with Angelica. She knew who to call and what to say. The whole thing was so robotic, so heartless. Claire was the maid. It was her job to make messes go away. At the end of the day, that’s what Abby was: a mess. She was a splat on the beautiful floor of her bedroom, staining the carpet and attracting flies. How could someone so full of life become so empty? How could something like that pass, and no one care?

Only the house seemed to care that Abby was gone. Everything in the manor, all operations and procedures, came to a halt. There were no assignments for Claire, no orders. They still hadn’t replaced Angelica, another mess unhandled. Camille had locked herself up in her rooms. She didn’t ask for food. She didn’t write as far as Claire knew. She didn’t host anymore Muse Sessions. Laura had sent Emma and Lucy away. Jacques continued to cook, but Claire wasn’t sure if she needed to clean. What was she doing there?

Whenever she panicked, she looked for Laura. She could take the terror away. She could hold Claire, kiss her until she found her nerves again, until she remembered where she was and why she was there.

Laura had spent the week writing. She’d already filled a journal with ideas, plans, and poems. She was working furiously, barely eating, obsessed with taking down Camille. She kept saying that she was close, so close, but Claire didn’t understand. Laura never revealed her full plan to her. Maybe she didn’t share them with anyone. Claire was trapped between two mistresses, and both had retreated from her, abandoned her to the house and its care.

Claire knocked on the door to Laura’s room. She was not to enter without permission under any circumstances. “Come in,” called Laura from inside. Claire entered, and moved straight to Laura’s desk. The young woman was writing in one of her journals, distracted. She didn’t bother looking up when her maid came in.

“Report?” she asked.

“Camille will still see no one.”

“Mhmm.” Laura kept writing. “Anything else?”

“Are you hungry?” Claire stepped forward, hoping to get Laura’s full attention. “Do you need anything?”

Laura made a shooing motion with her hand. “No,” she said. “I’m fine. If there’s nothing else, you should probably get to work.”

Claire hesitated, rocking on her heels. “Well …” she said, “there is one thing.”

“Hm?”

“Who is running the house?”

“Me.”

“Well, I mean, and no offense, but you’re working. I’m talking about the operations. The paychecks. The groceries. The management and upkeep of the house.”

Laura sighed, stopped writing, and turned to look at Claire. “You’re worried about your paycheck?”

“No, it’s just that —”

“Jacques will get the groceries. Don’t worry about that.”

“What about everything else? That’s what Angelica and Lucy did. They handled everything else for Camille, but they’re gone and —”

“I know they’re gone,” muttered Laura.

“Who is making those decisions without them?”

Laura rubbed the bridge of her nose. “What are you really worried about?”

Claire hesitated. Everything she said just frustrated Laura. She was becoming a burden, a bore, to Laura. Claire knew what happened to people that made Laura’s life more complicated than necessary.

“Who’s feeding Nikki?” she said quickly. It was the one thing she knew would get her attention.

Laura bolted up. “Holy shit,” she said. Claire resisted the urge to smirk. “Good catch. Let’s go.”

She followed Laura out of the room and down the abandoned hallways to the kitchen. Claire grabbed bread and water. Laura wet a towel and grabbed that. They both went to the cellar.

The formerly curvy redhead was gaunt. Claire could see her ribs, her hip bones, and frailty in her limbs. It broke her heart to see her like this, but it also reminded her what was at stake. This is what Camille and Angelica did to people. The vision of Abby’s body flashed before Claire’s eyes.

She needed the reminders whenever she started to doubt Laura. They weren’t the monsters, even when Claire drove Emma to drain Angelica. Angelica was the monster. Camille was the monster, and all of this was to put an end to their tyranny.

Nikki was asleep when they came in, and Laura gently woke her. She talked to her softly, but Nikki could only mouth the words in response. It had been almost a week since she’d been fed or drained. Lucy was normally in charge of the process, but when she left, no one thought of it. They worked together to feed Nikki slowly. Claire gave her water, and Laura used the towel to gently wash Nikki’s limbs, trying her best to watch the flesh beneath the manacles.

Nikki weakly asked when she would be free.

“Soon,” whispered Laura. “We’re close. So close.”

“How long?” mouthed Nikki.

“A week? Two? Lucy and Emma need to come back, but everything else is ready. Camille should only have access to your poisoned blood. Soon, love. Very soon.” Laura kissed Nikki’s lips, but the redhead couldn’t kiss her back.

“Why wait?” whispered Claire before she thought better.

Laura turned around, as though slowly remembering the Claire was here. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we don’t think anyone’s going to come for more blood, and you said that Camille has enough to last her, right?”

“Right.” Realization dawned on Laura, but Claire kept explaining.

“So why not free her now? Get her out of here. Take care of her.”

“It’s not like Camille ever comes down here,” said Laura.

“Exactly.”

Laura kissed Claire’s cheek. “I’m going to find the key!” She smiled at Nikki and bolted out of the room. Nikki closed her eyes and mouthed some thanks to god.

“I’m going to keep cleaning you up,” said Claire. Nikki nodded. She got to work rubbing the towel over each limb. Nikki occasionally hissed. Her body was bruised with bedsores. She needed a doctor.

“Maybe we can have a doctor come here,” said Claire. “I doubt Camille would ever figure it out.” She looked up to see if Nikki was responding, but the redhead had her eyes closed, tears streaming down her face.

“Right,” said Claire. “I’ll just shut up now.”

Claire took her time with Nikki. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she thought it was important. Nikki had spent months being treated like a piece of meat. It was important to Claire to treat her with some dignity, to give her some genuine care and affection.

It was strange being so close to someone who was naked, to touch them so intimately, and for none of it to be sexual. Claire kept worrying that she’d hurt Nikki, but she also wondered if she was turning her on. She wondered if you could be turned on after weeks of being locked in a dungeon. Would Nikki ever be turned on ever again?

And what would things be like with Laura once Nikki was free? Would she need Claire at all? Or was Claire disposable? Was she just the replacement Nikki? She wondered if Laura knew what she was doing when she told Claire to apply for this job. Did she know about the danger? Did she know that Claire could have ended up like Nikki? And would she have cared? She had battled monsters to save Nikki. Would she have done the same for Claire?

Part of her knew this was silly. They were best friends. They’d been roommates forever. Of course, Laura would have saved her. She wouldn’t leave her alone to feed vampires for the rest of her life. But then again …

Claire kept coming back to Laura’s reaction when she heard the news about Abby. It was a setback, an inconvenience, a mess that needed cleaning up. Laura had seduced Abby dozens of times. She told the small girl that she cared about her, that she would protect her, but, at the end of the day, she didn’t care. Abby was a pawn in her game against Camille. Surely Claire was the same. Surely once it came down to it, Laura would choose Nikki, sacrificing whatever she needed in order to save this woman.

And for what? Because it was her first lesbian fuck? Give me a break. That doesn’t deserve a lifetime of emotion. That doesn’t deserve Laura’s plan to tear down Camille and her legacy. That wasn’t worth Abby’s life.

Laura came back with several keys in her hands. “These were Lucy’s,” she said. “She left them for me. Should work.” Laura spent several minutes trying each one, but finally the manacles clicked. Nikki and Laura both gasped as Nikki’s arm was free. The other limbs quickly followed, and both women collapsed into each other’s arms. Sobbing.

Claire looked on. They were both lost in each other, and she was standing on the outside. Watching. Looking. It was her idea. Her reminder. This wouldn’t be happening without her, but now that Laura got what she wanted, she could cast Claire aside.

The two broke their embrace. Nikki couldn’t stand, and Laura couldn’t hold her. “Carry her to your bed,” said Laura. Claire looked confused, but Laura quickly added, “It used to be hers.”

Right.

Claire obeyed, carrying Nikki all the way to her room, careful not to bump or strain the poor girl. The entire walk, Claire’s mind was dark. Laura kept giggling and crying. Claire had never seen her so happy, so alive.

They laid Nikki down and quickly got more water and food. They wanted to bathe her, but they were afraid of the bed sores. Claire called Lucy and told her what had happened. She asked if they had a doctor that kept Camille’s privacy and did visits. Of course they did. She asked when Lucy and Emma would return, and she said it would be a few more days. They were close.

Everyone was so close except for Claire. Claire who called the doctor and set an appointment for the next morning. Claire who looked up what to feed Nikki and how to take care of her. Claire who talked to Jacques and made up a lie to have special food made for Nikki. Claire who did all that while still cleaning and doing her job, still checking on Camille. Claire who did everything without prompting from Laura, without thanks. Without anything.

Claire slept in Angelica’s room that night. It reeked of cats and was covered in dust. She spent half the night sneezing and the other half of the night cleaning it. She didn’t know how long she’d been in exile from her own room. Perhaps indefinitely. She might as well get comfortable.

The next morning, the doctor came and saw Nikki. He didn’t ask any questions. He said a nurse would come by each morning to monitor her and check in on her. He gave the bill to Claire. She handled it after consulting Lucy and went back to work.

Laura didn’t leave Nikki’s side. She kept writing in her journal, working on poems, but she brought the desk next to Nikki’s bed. She spent the night next to her. She held her hand when she was awake. She was entranced. Nikki was her whole world.

Claire was nothing.

She wondered what would happen if Camille rounded a corner, fangs bared, trying to kill her. If she cried out for Laura, would her mistress come rescue her? Of course not. Laura would sit by impassively. Claire wasn’t worth whatever plan she had to take down Camille. Claire was nothing. Just like Abby. She’d probably tell Jacques to handle the body, put a maid uniform on him, and go on with sitting at Nikki’s bedside, adoring her one true love.

One. True. Love.

One.

Claire was cleaning Laura’s bedroom when the small brunette came in, looking exhausted.

“You can go,” Laura said. “I need to sleep.”

“How’s Nikki?” asked Claire.

“She’s fine. But I need to …” Laura yawned. “Must sleep.” She peeled off her clothes quickly. “Own bed.”

“Right. I’ll get going.”

“Hey,” said Laura. She was sprawled out in her bed in her underwear. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’ve been off ever since we saved Nikki.”

“I didn’t think you’d have noticed,” muttered Claire.

“What was that?”

“I’ve just been worried,” said Claire. “Ever since Abby, you know ... “ Claire smoothed her skirt. “And rescuing Nikki. It just reminds me of what we’re up against. It scares me, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Laura. She yawned. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll let you get to sleep.” Claire turned to go.

“No. Hey. Hang on.” Claire paused and turned back around. Laura was sitting up in her bed. She tapped the space next to her. “Come here. Let’s talk.”

“You sure?” asked Claire. “I know you’re tired.”

“We haven’t talked in a while. Not really since Abby came on board. I feel bad.” Claire warmed and moved quickly to sit on the bed. “How are you?”

“Fine,” said Claire with a shrug. “Like I said, things have been a bit intense.”

“Weird. I thought they were happening in a manor.”

Claire bunched up her nose in confusion. “What?”

“A manor, not in tents.”

Claire rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the grin. “That’s so stupid.” She laughed despite herself.

“And yet, comedic gold,” said Laura. “But seriously, I know things have gone dark. Really dark.”

“Yeah,” said Claire. “But how are you? You hardly let me in anymore.” Claire playfully tapped on Laura’s head, and the brunette smiled.

“Yeah. I know.” She looked down at the floor for a second, but then back at Claire. “It’s hard for me to let anyone know what’s going on. The more they know, the more of a target they become. I don’t want what happened to Abby to happen to you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“It’s shitty. Trust me. But I’ve learned what it’s going to take Camille down, and part of that is ruthlessness. It’s secrecy. It’s being alone all the time. I’m surrounded by people helping me, but none of them get to know what’s going on inside my head.”

“Not even Nikki?” Claire couldn’t help herself.

“Not even Nikki. No one knows my plan, and that’s the only hope we have that it will work.”

“Can’t you just let someone in a little?” Claire reached past Laura and grabbed the journal on her nightstand. “What about this? What are you filling this with?”

“Poems mostly.”

“Well then, you can share those can’t you?”

Laura blushed. She was embarrassed. Nervous. It was something Claire hadn’t seen from Laura since she moved into the manor with her. Some of her old self was there.

“It’s stupid,” she said.

“I won’t think they’re stupid.”

“I think they’re stupid. That’s all that matters.”

“You don’t like them?”

“Well,” Laura took the book back from Claire and held it tightly in her hands, “I’m trying something. I want to know if I can put some of my power into written words, like Camille does.”

“And it’s not working?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if its working. That’s half the problem. I need to test them.”

Claire’s hand shot into the air. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Laura laughed. “The problem is that they’re bad. Really bad. I can’t tell if I need to write a poem or some kind of hypnosis script. I keep slipping into all these command sentences. It’s awful.”

“Show me one.”

“What?”

“Show me one,” said Claire. “Just one. I won’t laugh. Promise.”

Laura hesitated, looking dubious. “Promise?”

“Promise. Just one. I’ll let you know what I’m feeling and if it’s working.”

Laura didn’t say anything, but she slowly unfolded the journal. She cleared her throat, then read:

Flesh

Holds life on life on life,

Bursting from your breath,

Burning in your chest

Like the stone in that pond,

Each nerve rippling with fire

To the end of you,

Begging you to continue forever.

Claire closed her eyes as she listened. Her body hummed, tingles crawling over her arms, over her scalp, and down the back of her neck. She didn’t know if it was the poem, the words themselves, or the sound of Laura’s voice, soft and delicate for the first time in weeks, close and vulnerable like a lover’s prayer.

She imagined her body laying out in the summer heat, naked with the sun slowly licking her, tasting her, summoning red and pink from her skin. She felt the heat and thought of it spreading with each breath, with each pump of her heart, crawling to the edge of her body, on her fingertips, desperate to break out of her. She imagined herself full of energy, almost bursting with it, but not like an explosion, like a dam cracking, like a leak, like panties soaking.

Claire moaned.

All that you are could be lost

To a lover when you give your

Skin away, when you surrender lips

To tongues, nerves to teeth.

Claire moaned again. She saw Laura’s teeth gliding over her body, teasing her skin, finding the perfect spot to nibble. Sometimes she found a nipple. Sometimes it was the curve of Claire’s neck. Sometimes it was her soft ear. Always, always, it was heaven. The life, the fire in Claire, found a new way out, a new hole in the cracked surface of Claire’s being, and all that heat surged to Laura’s teeth, to her kisses, to her mouth.

Or lost to the grave,

The heart goes cold,

But the skin goes first.

Your life smolders then stills.

An abandoned hearth

Makes for an empty home.

The teeth gliding over Claire’s skin became fanged. They hovered over Claire’s neck, exactly where Emma’s teeth sunk into Angelica, where Camille’s teeth sank into Abby. Claire shivered, opening her eyes. Laura was still reading, her eyes transfixed on the page.

Unless it lives in another,

Sliding from tongue to lips,

Down throats to belly,

Dripping like a lover’s hand

To the womb, to life on life.

Laura was reading faster, her breathing heavy, her pupils dilated. Is that what she thought happened to Abby? Was Abby living on in Camille? Laura rubbed her thighs together as she read, and Claire shuddered. She put her hand out over the page, and Laura stopped reading.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Maybe not that one.”

“Well, was it working?”

“I mean … at first. Yeah.”

“Then what?” Laura closed the book and looked intently into Claire’s eyes.

“Maybe in light of recent events, talking about death is a little … you know. Too soon.”

Laura looked confused. “Because of Nikki?”

“No. Abby.”

Clarity blossomed on Laura’s face. “Ooooooooooh. Yeah. That makes sense. Bad choice of poem. Poor taste.”

“Yeah,” muttered Claire.

“Well, did it work though? The power in the words?”

Claire thought for a second. “The first part did. It got me way too wound up way too fast for a poem.”

Laura smiled broadly. “Good.”

“But not the last part, though I don’t know what you were trying to get me to do? Look forward to dying?” Claire laughed nervously, but Laura’s face was serious.

“Hmmm.” Laura opened the journal and scribbled something down. “I’ll have to work on that.”

Claire started to say something, but thought better of it. Did Laura want to take out the dying part or make sure her power worked there? Claire didn’t want to know the answer.

Laura finished scribbling and looked up at her. “Can we try another?”

“Something lighter? Sure.”

“Absolutely. Light and fluffy as waffles.”

Laure flipped through a few pages, shaking her head after reading a few lines. She eventually found one and started to read:

Gothic

If I’m a monster

Then come closer.

Run the pink flesh

Of your fingertips

Over fang and horn,

Hoof and claw.

Know every abyss

And cavern of me,

Every pit and

Forbidden place.

Know me better for

My deformity,

Search me deeper,

Plundering the depths

Of my depravity.

Claire watched Laura. She wasn’t breathing heavily. Her voice warbled at parts. Claire reached out and held her hand. That seemed to help.

For I have stalked you nights.

I have seen the curve of your sheets,

Memorized the sighs of your dreams.

You have found me in your nightmares,

But I was looking back at you,

Trying to end the lurking terror.

Your shadow is a friend of mine,

Cast upon the wall with me,

Keeping vigil over each night,

Each battle with your forbidden self.

Claire closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it. She saw herself sleeping naked under the sheets of her bed. She could see the monster standing next to her, looking like some kind of satyr or demon. She must be the shadow, watching Sleeping Claire, keeping vigil over her.

Your shadow dances well,

Darting into moonlight and twirling.

I have loved her longer

Than you have feared her.

Her hair catches each beam,

Held out from the darkness

Into the light. She is unashamed

Of what you want and hide.

Claire watched the demon and the shadow dance in the orchard outside of the manor. They twirled in the moonlight as a soft melancholy sonata filled the night. She wondered what Sleeping Claire dreamed of. What was she so afraid of in the night? In her desires?

We have tasted each other.

Each darkness is different

Like shades of wine.

You are sweet at first,

Delighting the tongue

With bursts of fruit,

But behind it aches

A bitterness I treasure,

Something age and buried

With care to bloom.

Claire’s body warmed as she watched the demon and shadow kiss. She felt herself transported back to the dance club with Laura, the sole object of her affection. She felt her limbs go soft, letting go of intentionality. The fear left her. The doubt abandoned her body. Her breath went ragged. She moaned.

And you have tasted me.

In the night, in your dreams,

When the light abandons you,

Your tongue finds me eternally.

I am a harsh taste to accustom.

Pungent and overpowering,

But bursting with citrus

As I reach the back of the throat.

Without warning, Claire’s body rose. She dropped Laura’s hand and moved in front of the poet. She sank to her knees and spread Laura’s legs. Her eyes were still closed, still lost in the vision of dancing with her demon, but she reached out and peeled off Laura’s panties. Her body knew exactly what to do, exactly what it wanted.

She lowered herself between Laura’s legs. She watched as her shadow did the same, and she mimicked it, feeling the strings of their connection moving her. Laura was already wet. So was the demon. Claire and her shadow licked, tasting what the poem said was true. It was bitter at first, salty and earthy, but then she found the burst of citrus at the end of each stroke of her tongue. It kept her going. She only had to find the sweetness in her demon.

Our moans may wake you up,

As we have prayed they would each night,

Summoning you to us with passion,

To join in our dance macabre.

All darkness is welcome here,

Made sharper in the light,

Like waking up from a dream

In the arms of a lover.

Stir, little one, don’t you hear us?

We’ve been calling to you,

And we always will.

Laura moaned as she put down the journal. Her hands roamed through Claire’s hair, pulling the larger woman closer, tighter, against her. Claire kept licking, kept tasting the hidden fruit within the demon. She prayed with them that Claire would wake up and join them, that she could taste the demon and her shadow.

Laura lifted her up, and Claire opened her eyes. Laura’s eyes were dilated, foggy almost. Her chest heaved, and she looked hungry.

“Want a taste?” asked Claire.

Laura nodded and pulled her in. She kissed Claire at first, but then ran her tongue over Claire’s chin, licking up the juices that lingered there. As she licked, she purred and moaned. Claire joined her, hoping to wake up Sleeping Claire. If they were loud enough, she could join them.

Laura pulled again, and Claire climbed on top of her. They kissed, each looking for the hidden sweetness, and Laura tugged at her clothing. Together, they stripped Claire’s shadow and then took off Laura’s bra. Their hands were eager; they were starving for each other. But more importantly, they sang together. They made a chorus of moans and purrs, gasps and sighs, as their hands found skin and lips found skin and tongues found skin. They hunted for the next spot that would evoke a moan, that would arch a back, that might be the one to wake up Sleeping Claire.

Claire searched the demon’s body. She found each crevice, each crack, and each abyss. She lowered herself between Laura’s legs, wanting to taste again, to keep the sweetness lingering in the back of her throat. Laura spread her legs wide and moaned. She wrapped her legs around Claire’s back and thrust her hips forward, moaning. She roared as she came, and in her mind, Claire kept looking back at the bed, wondering what would wake the poor girl. She was lost to herself, so afraid, and all she needed was to give in.

Laura pulled Claire away and rolled over, climbing on top. Claire sprawled, filling the bed with her long limbs, letting Laura pick any spot to explore, to taste. Laura’s tongue crawled from Claire’s breast to her neck to her ear. Claire arched and moaned. The girl did not wake up. Laura licked the curve of Claire’s arm, nibbling the spot between forearm and arm. Claire’s eyes shot open. She thrashed, almost flinging Laura from herself, and shrieked. The girl did not wake up. Laura’s hand slithered between Claire’s legs, slowly fingering and teasing Claire’s pussy. She whimpered, but the girl did not wake up. Laura slid two fingers into Claire’s pussy and began to pump. She started slowly, pausing at her deepest and swirling her thumb over Claire’s clit. Lightning and oranges and moonlight shot through Claire’s body, but the girl did not wake up. Laura pumped faster, lowering herself and teasing Claire’s nipples with her tongue, but the girl did not wake up.

Finally, the demon bit her. Laura bit the stiffened nipple, and Claire roared with pleasure, thrashing her hips to the side, trying to pump them into the air despite the demon sitting on her. She felt Laura’s smile as she moved her mouth up, biting along the way. She bit Claire’s collarbone. She bit Claire’s shoulder. She bit Claire’s neck.

The girl stirred.

“More,” moaned Claire.

Laura bit again.

Claire thrashed, knocking Laura off balance. Laura’s hand slipped from Claire’s pussy, but she caught herself.

“More.”

Laura climbed back on top and bit Claire’s neck again.

“Harder.”

Laura bit harder, letting the bite linger. Claire felt tears bubbling up from pleasure.

The girl stirred.

“Harder,” she commanded.

Laura obeyed. Biting harder. She slipped her hand between Claire’s legs again and fingered the girl while she bit harder and harder, pushing Claire deeper and deeper, stirring the sleeping girl, summoning her to their dance.

Finally, Laura bit and didn’t let go. Her fingers pumped as fast as they could, but the rest of Laura held still, latching herself to Claire and bracing herself. Claire tried to thrash, tried to escape. She cried out, but her cries moved from shrieks to moans to panic to pleasure to heaven to hell. Laura bit harder, pumped faster.

Teeth broke skin. Blood escaped. Claire saw white. She saw nothing. She saw everything. She saw her death. She saw her life. She saw Laura. She saw the demon. She saw the shadow. She saw it all.

It was beautiful.

She saw the Sleeping Girl. She rose from her bed and turned to join them, sinking to her knees between the demon’s leg and serving, blood dripping from two holes in her neck.

Camille

Camille smelled their lust before she heard their moans.

The house had been still. Quiet. Dead. For days, or weeks, maybe years, the house had been a corpse. Then Laura brought it to life. She stirred and everything followed, pulled in by the power of her voice. Or was it her eyes? Her breasts? No. She didn’t have impressive breasts. Or did she? Or was that Nikki?

Camille shook the question away from her mind like shaking cobwebs from a hand. It didn’t matter how Laura did it. She had become the heart of this manor. Angelica had warned her that Laura would be their destruction. But she could be their savior. That’s what Camille told her time and time again. Even after she sent her away, Camille would call a dead phone line and talk about how Laura was going to bring Laura K back. Life was a circle, a cycle, a story. Everything foreshadows everything else. One Laura would leave, and another Laura would bring her back. It had to be Laura. Nothing else made sense. Camille had written hundreds of stories. She knew their cadence, their rhythms One Laura breaks Marcilla, and Another Laura restores her. It was symmetry. All of life followed this symmetry.

Camille stopped and looked around. Where was she? She was going somewhere. That much was certain. She was in a tattered robe, but her shoes were on. Tennis shoes? Was she going to exercise? That can’t be right. It must be -

“Harder,” someone moaned.

The smell struck Camille again, and her body moved as her mind tried to understand how Claire was fucking and cleaning the kitchen all at the same time. She was quite impressive. Claire was Laura’s sister. No. That wasn’t right. Her cousin? Yes. They were cousins. Laura recommended her, and Nikki hired her. That’s right.

The walls tilted violently to the right. Camille stumbled, but caught herself before the whole manor crumbled around her. She held onto the walls, willing them to stay upright. She had to do this. She was keeping the manor intact despite the thousands of earthquakes erupting across the city. She crouched, her whole body shaking, and prayed.

“Please, Laura,” she whispered. “Not yet. Not until I see you one last time. I’m so sorry. Don’t take me yet. Don’t let the earth swallow me up. Let me see you one last time and tell you how sorry I am.”

The shaking stopped, and the familiar fog at the edge of Camille’s vision returned. She steadied herself and continued following her nose down the hallways of her crumbling manor. While she walked, she dreamt of Styria and her manor there. She dreamt of the first ball where she saw Laura Karnstein come with her husband. They danced together, but Marcilla swore that Laura kept her eyes on her. Whenever she would twirl, she’d find Marcilla’s eyes again.

Camille found herself in front of Laura’s room. The moaning was coming inside, and she opened the door. There, tangled in bed, were Claire and Laura and two other girls Camille didn’t recognize. All four of the women sat up as Camille approached, and upon closer inspection, she saw that the other women were all Laura’s sisters. That’s right. She was a triplet.

“Camille?” asked one of the Lauras. Or was it all three? Were they speaking in unison? Most impressive.

“Yesh,” said Camille. Her tongue was still thick and heavy from the earthquake.

Claire tried to cover herself or hide or change her skin, but Camille didn’t care. She was trying to figure out which Laura was her Laura, the one that was going to save them. Her eyes moved slowly from Laura to Laura, trying to figure out the difference between them.

“Which of you ish real?” asked Camille.

“I am,” said the one on the left. Camille moved her head slowly—it was like she was underwater—and looked that Laura in the eye.

“Laura?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s me, Camille. I’m Laura.”

“You’re real?”

“Yes. Very real. What do you need?”

“Have you seen Miss Blancaster?”

“Lancaster?” asked Laura. She spoke slowly, almost too slow for Camille to keep up. “Miss Lancaster?”

“Right.”

“She’s not here now. I think you sent her away.”

“I shent Angelica away.” Tears bubbled at the corners of Camille’s vision. She’d been too reckless. Too foolish.

“Yes. You did.”

“And I killed Abby.”

“I know.”

“I drank her dry.” Tears streamed down Camille’s face. “Abby was so sweet. She tasted like peaches.”

“It’s okay,” said Laura. She stepped forward and stroked Camille’s shoulder. “Don’t cry.”

“Everyone is gone.”

“I’m still here,” whispered Laura.

That broke Camille. She wept harder, feeling the whole room collapse around her. This was it. The earthquake was coming, and she wasn’t there to hold it up. She couldn’t anymore. She was too tired. Everything was so heavy. Why did she need to hold it up all the time?

“Yesh,” cried Camille. “You’re the only one left.” She covered her hands with her face. “But I’ve shent you away too.”

“No you didn’t. I’m right here.” Laura reached up and pulled Camille’s hands away, looking intently into the vampire’s eyes. “I’m right here. I never left. You’ll never lose me.”

Camille’s face wrinkled and cracked. Her whole body cracked. It was too much. It was all too much. Everyone she loved disappeared. Everyone went away. It was her fault. It was all her fault.

Laura said something, but Camille couldn’t hear over the sound of bones snapping.

“What?” she asked.

“You need me back?”

Camille looked at the small brunette. Did she need her back? Or did she never lose her? It was impossible to say. She was here, but of course she would leave. They all left. But then, of course, they would return. They all returned. That was the cycle.

“You need me back,” said Laura. A strange breeze washed over Camille. Her skin tingled, and then relaxed. The tears dried, and she found herself smiling.

“I need you back,” she whispered. It was the truest thing she’d ever said. She was a fool to send Laura away. Laura was the only one that could help Camille bring Laura K back. She knew how to channel Camille’s power.

“I’m the only one who understands,” said Laura. Again, the same mist crept over Camille’s skin. Her heart rate slowed down. Two of the Lauras in the room disappeared. There was only one Laura. Her Laura.

“You’re the only one who understands.” Laura was the only one who got it, who understood what Camille was trying to do. From the beginning, she knew what Camille was and wasn’t afraid. Others caged her beast. Laura wanted to let the beast come out to play.

“You need me.”

“I need you.”

Laura rose on her tiptoes and kissed Camille on the cheek. Camille turned and kissed her on the lips. Her hunger flared. She picked Laura up and pressed herself into the smaller woman. She wanted to taste her, to know every inch of her. She needed her like blood.

Camille broke the kiss. “Let’s do a Muse Session. Claire can come. I need to write.”

“Not tonight,” said Laura. “Soon, but not tonight.”

Camille’s face twisted. She needed Laura. She couldn’t be denied what she needed. She refused to be denied.

“Not tonight,” repeated Laura. Her breath washed over Camille, calming and cooling her. Her rage died out, but the desperation remained.

“Pleashe,” she said. “Pleashe. I need one.”

“I can’t tonight. I have plans.”

“Pleashe. I’ll do anything. I’ll shire you. Ish that what you want?” Camille bared her fangs. “Right now. I’ll do it. Pleashe. I need thish.”

“Not tonight.”

Camille fell to her knees. The room spun, but she held onto the floor. She couldn’t be stopped, not now. She was so close. So close.

“Pleashe.”

Laura smiled, and Camille thought she was going to yield. She’d have pity on Camille. They could all go back to Camille’s room and enjoy each other. She was close to finishing her book. She only needed a few more Muse Sessions. Just a few more. She couldn’t write without them. She needed them back. She needed them almost as badly as she needed Laura.

“Go,” said Laura.

“No. Pleashe. I’ll do anything. Pleashe.”

“Go,” snapped Laura. The crystals of her cold breath washed over Camille. Without a word, she rose to her feet, turned and went through the door.

They couldn’t do a Muse Session tonight. They’d do one soon, when Laura was ready.