Golden Girl Ch. 01

"Use the bucket under the bench if you need to relieve yourself. Then you may want to lie down for a bit."

Dorée felt a rush of gratitude at the unexpected gesture of kindness. It was indeed kind of him to let her take care of her bodily needs and rest before taking on duties that would likely carry them late into the night. Though there was little enough privacy for the first task, she accomplished it discreetly enough by squatting over the bucket in the corner behind the bench. Now she could rest for a spell. She wished someone would give her a blanket -even a horse-blanket would do- but perhaps they didn't have enough for all thirteen. It was fairer not to privilege a few at the expense of the others. So thinking, she lay down on her side on the bench, which was worn silky-smooth and felt warm to the touch, as old wood will.

After a few moments of rest, a strange feeling began to creep over Dorée. Her limbs grew heavy and her head began to spin. The warmth in her belly became a suffusing heat, like the heat of a summer's day that saps all will to move and makes the muscles weak. It spread down from her belly to her thighs and calves, and at the same time up into her breast and arms. She tried to sit up and call someone, but succeeded only in turning from her side to her back. Moving made her so dizzy that even though she felt exposed and vulnerable on her back, she could not bear to turn over again. To her dawning horror, she realized that the stablehand had bid her lie down not out of kindness, but because he knew that this would happen. Something in the porridge...that sweet aniseed taste...what could it be? Spirits? Spanish fly? Or something even worse?

Dorée's mind grew hazy as her body softened into stillness. She was still awake, though, and so she was fully aware of the footsteps that entered her stall, and of a heat and hissing sound that accompanied them. There was a smell in the air like hot iron. Dorée thought of a crucible. What would they want with a crucible in here?

"Pull back her hair," said a low, rough voice.

For a moment, the stablehand's face appeared in her view, and his thin, cold hands pulled her hair from under her neck, drawing it back behind her head. He took her wrists as well and placed her hands around the chains at the top of the bench.

"Hold on if you can," he said quietly. "It will hurt, but it's not permanent. You won't be scarred, the Duc wouldn't allow it."

Dorée had no idea what he could mean until the first burning leaf of gold hit her skin on the inner side of her left breast. In her pacified state she couldn't spasm or jerk with pain, but her skin seemed all the more super-sensitive for it. An intense, stinging heat seared through every nerve. A sound shook in the back of her throat, vibrating with her breath. That was the best she could manage for a scream. She couldn't see the face of the man -a blacksmith, a farrier?- who did this to her through her tears, but she heard him snort at her faint sound of protest.

The next flake to fall was almost worse because she was expecting it. This time it hit on the inner side of her right breast, mirroring the first. Again, the searing sting of heat blossomed from that spot to imbue her entire body with pain. Her muscles, unable to clench, provided no barrier to stop it from moving through her like molten lava. Dorée weakly shook her head, but the dizziness made her stop again. She had to lie still and endure it. Now she could find no more rational reasons as to why this gilding might be done to her. It was truly beyond the pale.

Flake after flake of heated gold-leaf dropped onto her skin like a burning snowfall. Mercifully (or so she thought then) it did not fall on her most sensitive areas. Though her breasts were encircled, her nipples were spared. Some flakes dropped onto her face, accenting her cheekbones, but none touched her lips. More fell onto the hair tossed above her head and the downy hair between her legs, but her golden fleece protected her skin from all but a faint sensation of warmth. Right at the end, though, a wide stripe of gold leaf was laid down her belly from just under her breasts to just above her crotch, and the sensation of this last stroke overwhelmed Dorée. The sting was almost itchy, irritating, and yet...it was also somehow stimulating. Suddenly she imagined the stablehand running his cool fingers over her there, soothing away the itch. The heat between her legs picked up a throbbing pulse. Her head began to spin again. What was this feeling? What was happening to her?

The Farrier (if that's who he was) picked up his crucible (if that's what it was) to go. As he left, he said to the stablehand,

"Don't let her move too much when she comes to. The gilding needs to cool completely. Completely, this time! Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," the stablehand said equitably. Then, to Dorée, he added in a stern tone, "You heard him now. Don't move. Be a good girl for me."

Dorée could have cried to hear that phrase repeated so coldly. From seeming kindness to abject cruelty...it only highlighted how little she had known about what to expect. And for that matter, how little she knew about what would happen to her next. In that moment, her good faith cracked for the first time, though not the last. She could not help but ask herself,

'Golden Girl, what have you fallen into now?'