The Decoration - First Draft

[This is a bit different. When I wrote "The Decoration" my coauthor commissioned me to expand and revise the original version significantly, including changing some scenes around. For those interested in my writing process, this is the polished first draft that was expanded into the final version.]

The Decoration

By Yu May and Jezebeth Noir

[Content warning: this story depicts scenes of physical torture.]

It was a cool evening in the northern fortress of Queen Deruela. Neviya, a brown-skinned elven beauty wearing the form fitting armor that marked her as the Captain of the Guard, led two maidens into the chamber by leashes attached to their collars, then unclipped the leather cords that bound them. As Neviya spun the maids around, she patted them both on the behinds, and the two maids silently bent forward and lifted their skirts. “This entire floor needs to be spotless before Queen Deruela arrives for the Council of War. And if I find so much as a speck of dust…”

Expertly, Neviya snapped the two cords like whips, aiming a lash across each at one of the maid’s backsides. “...then woe betide you!”

“Yes, Mistress Neviya!” squeaked both of the maids, still holding their position obediently.

Neviya snapped the cords taut between her hands, and yawned. “I must admit, you two have finally learned to be submissive housemaids. I had my doubts, but I suppose your training as demon hunters must have instilled you with some discipline.”

“Thank you, Mistress Neviya,” said the first maid, her long black hair bobbing as she nodded assent.

The second maid, with blue hair, twisted to look over her shoulder, bowing her head meekly. “We are grateful for the opportunity to serve Queen Deruela, even if only as lowly housemaids.”

“Then you may stand.”

As the two maids stood and turned, a woman’s shrill cry cut through the air. The two maids stiffened at the sight.

Attached to the throne by a chain and collar was a draconid maiden with smoke colored hair. With a snarl, the dragon-girl exhaled fire which rose to engulf an iron cage that hung above the throne room.

There was another scream, and when the fire dissipated, they saw a tall woman with long blond hair, flailing inside the cage.

The first maid’s eyes went wide. “Who is that woman?”

“Oh, just the draconid. She’s an amusing pet.”

The second maid shook her head. “No! The woman in the cage!”

Neviya glanced at the cage. The iron bars were now iron hot, and there was the distinct sizzling sound as the woman danced in place, unable to escape. “Oh, that’s merely a decoration. You needn’t concern yourself with it. Just give it a dusting once in a while.”

The second maid looked at the trapped woman with sympathy. “But, that woman is being roasted alive–yeeee!”

Neviya pinched both maids by their ears, and bent low to whisper. “That thing was a lesser vampire who served under Rusalka, before she defected to our side. Queen Deruela magnanimously forgave her. But at some point. I suppose the fool did something or other to displease Queen Deruela. You are forbidden to speak with it. If you don’t want to earn yourselves a whipping, try to think of that cage as a mere decoration. If Lady Carmilla catches you speaking to the decoration, it will be more than all our hides are worth. In fact…”

Neviya pulled out a stool and patted her lap. “...I’d better give you two a good drubbing, so you won’t forget. Each of you, get across one of my knees.”

“Yes, mistress!” The two maids bowed, and quickly settled themselves into position, bottoms up.

High above in the cage, the decoration, once known as the vampire Anastasia, blinked back tears to watch the scene unfold, as Neviya gave the two maids a sound spanking. “Why…why do they act like I don’t exist?” thought Anastasia.

…

Anastasia remembered lying on Queen Deruela’s bed, bound and gagged, as the Vampire Queen nipped her. “Hmmm, you taste nice, girl...How about another bite?”

Anastasia struggled to speak behind her gag, but her moan was an unmistakable yes. 

Deruela licked a trickle of blood from the bitemark on Anastasia’s flesh. “You've never shared a bed with someone else before? Such a sad life...Too bad most of our kind die without having known the true pleasure of life. The pleasure you shall enjoy from now on...if you renounce Rusalka and become my slave... "

Anastasia’s eyes shone bright. “Hmmmmph!”

“Hehe, good girl. Now, another bite at your boobs–Or do you want me to stop punishing you?"

Anastasia shivered with pleasure as she felt the next nip. 

Then, another woman’s whiny voice interrupted. Carmilla, the First Bride of Deruela, was restrained in a X-shaped cross, her dark rouge pink hair tumbling down, perfectly framing her bare torso. “Please! Master! Punish me as well!"

Deruela sighed. "I am punishing you, Carmilla. I'm still very, very annoyed at you. So, for quite a while, I shall bed someone else, while you shall be kept like that. Feel free to watch though."

Carmilla shook her head, wailing like a spoiled girl: "MASTER!!! AHHHH–"

For weeks, Anastasia had enjoyed Deruela’s company nightly, before finally daring to hope that she might be made a favored bride of the Queen. As a servant of Rusulka, Anastasia had already had a taste of rising in the ranks to achieve power. So she had prepared something to please Queen Deruela: a servant girl, whom she had given the gift of vampirism. The girl stared vacantly as Anastasia held her by the shoulders. “I have a surprise for you. This shall be our first child!”

But Deruela had slapped Anastasia across the face. “Foolish wench! I didn’t give you permission to create a thrall!”

“But…I created loyal servants for Lord Rusulka all the time! I thought–”

“I didn’t bring you to my bedchamber because I wanted you to think. Rusulka was a fool, making armies of lesser vampires. But vampirism is a gift. It’s not to be handed out to those who are not worthy of it!”

“I…I’m sorry, Mistress!”

Deruela’s eyes were empty. “No. You’re not sorry. Not yet.”

The cage had been fashioned for Anastasia that evening. After she was stuffed inside, it had been sealed shut, without a door. Then the cage was raised by a chain to dangle over a fire pit and Anastasia’s ordeal began. As a Vampire, she was immortal. No humble fire could kill her, but as the bars grew hot, she had just enough room to dance.

Anastasia wailed, and forced herself to reach through the iron bars, desperately waving to Deruella. “Please! I won’t do it again!”

But Deruella didn’t even look at her.

…

Days turned into weeks. Then weeks turned into months. Court painters and artisans who visited the castle of Deruella often noted the strange decoration that overhung her throne room, and the eternally dancing woman trapped within. Anastasia was even depicted in the woven tapestry that decorated one of the castle walls. The artist had emphasized the dancer’s agony, and given a prominent place in the composition. Today, Anastasia was lying slumped in her burning cage, her buttocks sizzling beneath her. Even vampires needed to sleep. 

The first few sleepless weeks in the cage had come closer to killing her than the heat ever could, but when exhaustion from her endless dance finally overtook her, she collapsed and entered her first, fitful sleep. Fortunately, when Vampires sleep, they enter a state like death, without dreams, or any feeling. So whenever Anastasia ever managed to fall asleep, she could at least stay asleep for weeks. But by the time she woke up, her back and buttocks, and whatever flesh was touching the iron cage, was always charred black. Then she would leap to her feet, and begin her dance again, and her vampiric gift would slowly heal the burned flesh.

Two slave girls prodded at the coals beneath the cage, the first a curvy brunette, the second a lithe red-head. 

The brunette looked up, with pity in her eyes. “The poor thing. No one should have to suffer that fate. Do you think she’s thirsty?”

She pulled a water pouch from her side and raised it, before the red-head slapped her hand. “Stop! You’ll get us both flogged. Remember, it’s a decoration, not a person…and even if it were a person…” 

The red-head stared at Anastasia with narrow eyes. “...that thing worked for Rusulka. Their army razed my homeland, during my grandfather’s time.”

The brunette put her water pouch away, hesitantly. “But plenty of Queen Deruela’s playthings are conquered enemies from old wars.”

The red-head sniffed, and pulled a lash free from her belt. “Maybe…but they didn’t attack my family’s home.”

Expertly, the red-head  snapped her whip, aiming the lash through the narrow bars, so that it flicked across Anastasia’s bottom. With a whoop, Anastasia jumped up, and began her foolish dance. It wasn’t so much a proper dance as a futile effort to avoid touching any of the hot metal bars for too long. Sometimes, when the fire was low, Anastasia could manage to get a few seconds of relief. But then the slaves would kindle a stronger fire, and there would be no escape.

Anastasia felt tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry! I never wanted to work for Rusulka! She turned me against my will!”

The red-head slave stiffened, before putting her whip away. “Come on, we have other prisoners to prepare for display.”

Tears spilled down Anastasia’s face. She had never exactly grown used to the pain, but after the first year of continual burning, it had started to become more like an annoying itch. 

Anastasia wasn’t crying because of the fresh scars that had been branded into her. She was crying because she wished she could acknowledge her words. Even a rejection of her apology would have been better than ignoring her.

Two tamed demonesses were escorted into the chamber, and placed in pillories made of solid ice. They hissed with fury, as the slaves stripped them of their loincloths, and laid out a line of birch bundles for guests to use to chastise the two trapped she-devils.

As Anastasia overheard the guests milling beneath her, she smiled. Plenty of guests paused to flog the two demonesses, but all eyes in the room were on her.

…

Months turned into years. Years turned into decades. A second tapestry had been woven, to complement the first. But in the second, later tapestry, Anastasia was only depicted in a crumpled, exhausted heap. The entire cage was only given a small place in the background, as an afterthought. Clearly, after a century or so, Queen Deruela’s infamous decoration had lost some of its lustre. 

Anastasia started awake as one of the handmaidens prodded her with the end of a feather duster. As Anastasia blinked, she noticed that the maids had nearly allowed the fire to go out. Her backside only felt slightly toasty.

With a soft sigh, she allowed herself to be dusted. The maid kept her mouth tight shut, clearly not wanting to break the Queen’s rule by mistake. Perhaps they were also nervous about being punished for not tending the fire properly.

As the maids stoked the fire beneath her, Anastasia stood, and cradled herself. For the past few decades, she had heard herself being referred to only as “The Decoration” or else “The Dancer.”

That name had always been a cruel irony. Anastasia’s “dance” had only been hopping in place, kicking her knees in a desperate effort to relieve the pain. The cage barely allowed her enough range of motion to spin in a circle. But as the door opened and Queen Deruella entered, Anastasia began to dance. Not the absurd jerking and kicking of a tortured soul. But a real dance. 

Carmilla strode behind Queen Deruella. “We’ve finished annexing the last of Rusulka’s strongholds, Your Majesty.”

“Did you capture Rusulka alive?”

“Yes, Rusulka is now yours to do with as you will.”

“We’ll have to devise something special for her…something…poetic.”

Anastasia spun on her feet, ignoring the rising heat, and flourished her hands with grace that had come from decades of practice. Then the bars beneath her began to glow red, and Anastasia gave herself over, fully, to the dance. By that point, it was not as if she had a choice.

But for a moment, something caught Queen Deruella’s eye, and she glanced up, to watch Anastasia’s dance.

Carmilla blinked, not even registering the sight of the dancing woman in the cage. “Your Majesty? Is something the matter?”

Queen Deruella shook her head, and took her place on the throne. “Just admiring the decoration.”

As tears flew from Anastasia’s eyes, she continued to perform the most elegant dance of her life, every motion fluid and precise. But though the gathering crowd might occasionally glance at the decoration, no one watched for long.

The End