Midvinterblot

Attempting to reclaim control over herself, Tamora knew she had to mingle with the other guests. Not because the idea of that was even remotely appealing, but simply to find out if the peculiar rumour about the séance's sacrifice was a well-known phenomenon with some truth to it, or if Nimue was just a crazy, obscene lady that got off on manipulating strangers. Maybe she just wanted Tamora to undress and act out of character to get a laugh out of it all? It was hard to tell.

Feeling hot and bothered, the young lady returned to the ballroom to find Mister Calamax waiting for her with a worried expression on his face, that eased up slightly when he laid eyes upon her. His suit was a size or two too small, Tamora realized, looking him over. "Oh, there you are! Where were you, child?" He seemed concerned, though that didn't come as a surprise. Ever since her father had passed, Mister Calamax had done everything in his power to check in with her frequently and make sure she was alright. Nevertheless, Tamora was not prepared to share with him what she had just witnessed. And being referred to as 'child' seemed incredibly inappropriate considering what was going on in her head.

"I had to.. Gather my thoughts," she lied, taking a small sip of wine that she snatched from a servant's tray nearby. "Something even more troubling is going on here than we realized, I believe." The words felt heavy on her tongue, yet that part was the truth. She just omitted the details.

"Such as?"

Tamora frowned. "There is a... ritual, that takes place during the séance, according to some of the guests. What do you know of the Midv.. Midwint.. Mi-"

"The Midvinterblot?" Mister Calamax interjected, and Tamora nodded her head, listening intently. "It's a very ancient ritual - something that the Vikings did, and likely the men that predated them as well. As far as I know, it's done in the middle of winter - as the name suggests. Midvinterblot roughly translates to Mid Winter Blood Sacrifice, or something along those lines. Is that why the séance is set on the night of the winter solstice?"

"I suppose it must be," Tamora replied, still trying to figure out what exactly she had gotten herself into. Mister Calamax looked concerned. "You don't think Vincent de la Rose would sacrifice a human, do you?" The young woman's voice was thick with worry.

Mister Calamax thought about this for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I can't see how he'd manage to get away with that. Probably an animal of some kind. Still, it's a bit concerning. Do you want us to leave, dear? The roads will not be ploughed again until tomorrow and if we don't want to get stuck here over night we'd have to depart right away, before we get snowed in."

But the young woman found herself subconsciously licking her lips, enjoying the naughty flavour. "We're going through with the séance," Tamora said, as firmly as possible. "I can't let my father's passing go unanswered. I owe him that much. I need to find out what happened."

Mister Calamax opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then closed it again, and simply nodded. He took a sip of his own drink - whisky, if Tamora had to guess - before he spoke again. "Very well, dear. I shall try to snoop around and see if I can find out more information about this peculiar event. I'll try to report back with something of substance as soon as I can." He gave her a short bow, and before he walked away, he added. "I know this has been difficult, for both you and I, but you needn't shoulder all the grief by yourself. It's okay to rely on others from time to time."

"Thank you," Tamora replied with a faint smile. As she looked around at the other guests, most were strangers, yet there was a few exceptions. Some whom she knew of by reputation, while others she had met only briefly; yet the very idea of socializing with these people frightened her. Still, her father was gone. She couldn't let him down in life, and she certainly wouldn't be doing so now that he was dead. Just as she had gathered her courage, and finished most of her wine, she scanned the room - and her eyes fell onto one particular young lady, walking towards the bathrooms holding the hands of two gentlemen - one on each side. Just like on Tamora's gown, the lady had a fastened brooch onto her chest, though her feather's were viridian rather than indigo. Tamora swallowed hard. Was this other woman also going to engage in sex with men just to protect herself from being sacrificed? They certainly seemed.. Friendly, the way they sauntered about together - so close that their bodies bumped into one another as they walked, the woman appearing both nervous and giddy.

Tamora felt that she had to find out what was going on, and so - with subtlety and discretion guiding her steps - she followed them. The trio went into a secluded bathroom that was otherwise unoccupied, on the floor above the ballroom. There were two large windows in the hallway that provided a view of the gardens, and the snowy landscape already looked impregnable, with winter's wrath coming down hard from the skies. Tamora waited a good thirty seconds before she approached the overly decorated bathroom door - every inch of the outside gilded in gold-leaf and elaborate carvings. It seemed a tad excessive for an average bathroom, but Tamora thought little of it, and opened it ever-so-slightly, peeking inside. She didn't even stop and question why the door was kept unlocked.

The woman's ocean-blue dress that contrasted against the dark stone of the building was already removed and thrown aside, and she was kneeling on the floor - naked, looking like an obedient puppy, the two men both having their hands in her hair and their cocks out already. Tamora froze, and considered quickly moving away and back downstairs. Her suspicions had been all but confirmed; either there was a rumour going around - either truthful or unfounded - that a virgin, or the most innocent person present, would end up sacrificed. Or, alternatively, this manor was filled with the horniest guests imaginable. Tamora was just about to let go of the door handle and sneak away when she heard the woman utter something that she would never have expected to hear.

"Go one at a time. I can't swallow fast enough if you both pee at once. Let me enjoy the feeling of warm urine filling my mouth." The woman's voice sounded posh but full of excitement.

Tamora stared wide-eyed through the barely-opened crack in the door at the spectacle unfolding before her - though not only because she was caught off-guard by the odd request, but also because she didn't know how to react, or how to feel about it. How could anyone ENJOY such perversion? Yet there was clear and wanton lust in the woman's eyes, kneeling on the floor, looking at the two men - both of which seemed to be happy to oblige. Tamora herself had been aroused by the little show Nimue had put on for her, and she couldn't quite explain how, nor why - but now, hearing this other young woman express her perverted desires in detail, her shameful words echoing in the tiled bathroom, made Tamora's blood turn to ice in her veins. Yet she couldn't look away. Some primal part of her subconscious insisted that she had to see this unconventional curiosity.

One of the men began to release a golden yellow stream, aiming right at the brunette's open mouth - her lips stretched into a large 'O', and her cheeks puffed out a little. As soon as the liquid hit the woman's tongue, Tamora could clearly see the pleasure in her eyes - but when the woman began drinking it, her expression turned even more lecherous than before. She was loving it! The young woman closed her eyes and sighed with satisfaction as she swallowed down a huge mouthful, then opened her mouth again wanting more. "Mmm... Delicious." she murmured, and then the yellow liquid flowed anew.

Tamora could not believe what she was witnessing. Just what kind of gathering was this!? She couldn't imagine people would be going to such extreme lengths to conduct a ritual. Why even be a part of the séance if the level of debauchery you'd have to stoop down to was so deprived it almost disgusted you? It certainly didn't seem worth it to Tamora; she was conflicted and unsure of how to feel about the entire situation. Unless they all had something at stake of equal importance as her own reason for being there?

But the young brunette on the bathroom floor certainly didn't seem to have anything else on her mind besides indulging herself. In fact, she seemed to relish each drop of urine that landed in her mouth - and swallowed it down eagerly, gasping for breath as she took another large gulp with the biggest of smiles on her face. The golden liquid was beginning to run down her chin, staining her cheeks with droplets of amber colour - and her hand found its way down below, touching herself vigorously. It made her even more entranced, the glow of her arousal palpable. Her lustful expression as she drank men's piss, looking so eager and thirsty that Tamora couldn't believe her eyes. There was no denying the desire written all over the woman's features, the way her fingers danced between her pussy lips in pursuit of perverted pleasure.

Tamora couldn't watch any longer. She was beginning to feel lightheaded, and she walked away silently - her heart drumming up a storm. Inside, she felt torn and confused. Weirded out and strangely warm. And she was still very much aroused, despite the extreme level of revulsion she should have felt upon watching such an obscene display. Why was it affecting her so much? She returned downstairs and set course for the courtyard behind the manor, where the snow-coated garden awaited her, and fresh winter air filled her lungs. It was freezing outside without her coat on, but that's exactly what she preferred in that moment, the winter's kiss waking her up from the lustful daze she found herself in. Her silky hair was coated in snowflakes within seconds.

She ran her fingertips across the cold iron railings as she wandered aimlessly around the gardens, trying to cool down before returning inside. As she approached the gazebo in the centre, adorned with wreaths and lit candles, she stopped short - noticing someone already there. A tall figure, silhouetted against the flickering flame of a lit brazier that stood atop a small pedestal. Vincent de la Rose. Tamora felt immediately comfortable. He hadn't noticed her, having his eyes on a letter of some kind that he held in his hand- but something about his presence seemed oddly dark and threatening. And despite it being over ten years since Tamora has last seen him, he looked exactly the same. He must be well over 50 yet didn't look like he was a day over 20 - a miracle, or sorcery?

The medium sighed to himself before tossing the paper into the flames, watching the letter get devoured by the blaze. It took him a few moments before he noticed the young girl standing there, in her night-kissed dress - Tamora frozen in place, unable to move. His expression changed instantly from that of weary exasperation to mild surprise, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint smile.

"Tamora von Bornheim," he breathed. "You came. How delightful. But where is your coat, girl?" Vincent spoke with a strange cadence, as always - his words seemingly calculated, and almost came out like the purr of a wild cat, ready to turn into a growl at any second. He was tall and lean - yet muscular beneath his smart suit and stylish frock coat. His hair was black as a crow's feather, and he wore it long and free-flowing, draping all the way down to the middle of his back. He seemed to have a mystical aura about him - like some sort of ancient force had taken control of him, controlling every move he made, no matter how small. His blue eyes were intense, piercing right into her core and making Tamora feel all the more vulnerable than she already was. He had never looked anything less than regal to her as a child - though she also saw something else now, hiding beneath the surface. A fresh, red rose was fastened upon his lapel. "If you walk around outdoors in nothing but an evening gown you risk hypothermia. And it would be a shame if anything were to happen to such a delicate beauty."

The flirtatious compliment caught her by surprise. Even though he didn't look the part, he was so much older than her that it felt particularly indecent. "I.. I just decided to grab some fresh air.." Tamora explained in a soft tone, finding it hard to look Vincent in the eye. There was an air of intimidation about him, like an animal ready to pounce on its prey. And even though her father had trusted the man, she was far less certain that putting faith in his hands was a clever choice. But these were desperate times.

Vincent chuckled, looking amused. "Not enjoying the party? Dinner will be served soon." He approached her slowly - moving with such grace and fluidity that it seemed almost unnatural. As he wrapped his arms around the girl, he pulled her in closer to himself, holding her close. The warmth of his body engulfed hers and Tamora felt like running away - yet something about it also felt strangely comforting. She tensed up as his breath tickled the nape of her neck, and the faint scent of some kind of exotic spice emanated from beneath his coat - but at the same time, there was something else about it that was... Masculine. Earthy. Powerful. His touch felt heavy on her skin, almost too much, yet she didn't feel inclined to push him away. "But you didn't come here for the roast beef, I'm sure. A true tragedy, the loss of your father. Otto was a brilliant man." He released her, and smiled down at Tamora. The girl couldn't help but blush - whether from being hugged by a stranger, or the intense way he looked at her, she couldn't quite tell.

"Can I ask you something? About the séance?" Tamora wondered, tilting her head upwards a little as he let go of her. She was slightly overwhelmed by the presence of this strange man; standing only a few inches away from him she couldn't help but feel tiny and fragile. He merely nodded, another smile creeping across his face, so she continued. "Is it.. Dangerous, in any way?" Her eyes flickered between his. She could see that he knew exactly what she was asking.

Vincent de la Rose did not blink for the longest time; he just kept gazing at her with his blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. "Contacting the spirit world always have consequences, whether it be good or bad. And nothing in life is free, I'm afraid. The séance tonight is bound to be one of the most majestic and intense ever held. Nearly a hundred guests, and almost just as many questions to answer, requests to fulfil.." He paused for a moment, looking at the snow-covered statues in the garden with a faint look of satisfaction, "I'd be surprised if everything went flawlessly, truth be told. But my expertise is unparalleled and I ask for no coin for my services. Quite the opposite; I provide my special guests with free drink, food, and lodging. The way I see it, I am quite the generous host, even if there has to be a few sacrifices to cover the.. expenses of the ceremony."

"Sacrifices?" Tamora reiterated, frowning slightly. Did that confirm it? Was this what Nimue had been talking about?

He looked at her with inquisitive eyes. "Of course. Every séance or magic ritual requires an offering, and tonight will be no exception. But do not be alarmed, Miss von Bornheim. Your father and I always treated each other with respect, and I hold great admiration for his legacy, even though I always proclaim never to trust a man with a palindrome for a name. How can you ever be certain that you're not looking at things backwards, hmm?" Tamora tilted her head, unsure if he was making a joke or if he was somehow insulting her father, but Vincent merely continued. "I was going to have you assist me with the ceremony tonight, so I am thrilled that you are here. And.. You brought Gerald with you, did you not?"

Tamora nodded reluctantly. "Mister Calamax is enjoying your hospitality in the ballroom." She shivered from the cold, and suddenly Vincent wrapped his arms around her once more. The way he pulled her against him with such confidence, as if he knew with outmost certainty that she would not refuse, caused Tamora to find herself blushing profusely. How did he manage to get her riled up despite her obvious mistrust for the man? Her nipples hardened beneath the confines of her dress; something about being held like that, so close - so intimately - caused her to feel incredibly warm all over despite the freezing winter chill. His hand began caressing her hair, running his fingers through it softly, soothingly. It was an oddly comforting gesture - strangely seductive, and not at all appropriate for someone she didn't know all that well. He chuckled, seemingly pleased with himself, as if he already knew what effect he had on her. That she found him both dangerous and alluring in the worst way.

"It gladdens me that you chose to join me for a quiet moment out here, Miss von Bornheim."

"I.. I just came outside for fresh air, sir. I didn't know you were out here too," she stammered, her tone defensive. It was the truth, after all. But Vincent only laughed again.

"It's not always what we know that guides our actions, peachy one. We know so little of life; of ourselves, of others. Our minds are powerful, yet flawed - even our most honest, and deepest wishes rarely manifest into reality. We are so focused on the outcome and desires that we often forget to ask the right questions on how to get there. And sometimes, even if we cannot see it, we're but puppets on strings, being guided by forces above and beyond us. Perhaps it's fate, or perhaps it's magic. Yet I do not think it wise to shy away from it."

"My father used to say much the same thing, sir," Tamora murmured softly. The words resonated with her - almost as if they came from someplace within her that she had not known existed until that very moment. They felt familiar. Nostalgic, in a way. She began to tremble and shake - her teeth clattering from the cold, yet also from something else. Her breathing grew shallow, and she was sure Vincent noticed, because he picked her up as if she was weightless - carried her in arms that seemed far too strong for a man of his slender build - and took her inside. Tamora just remained silent and let it happen, her eyes locked on him the entire time, and he placed her down in one of the cushioned armchairs in the ballroom, in front of the warming fireplace. Tamora was unsure why she had let him carry her all this way - even as people watched the two of them curiously as they went through the crowd.

"Dinner's in twenty minutes," he said softly after a quick glance at his pocket watch. "I'll save you a seat right next to mine." And with those words, he walked away, leaving Tamora alone. She stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace for several minutes, trying to calm herself and figure out what exactly had come over her, and if his words had a deeper meaning. They had, hadn't they? Was she already going down the path her father had warned her of? The path of spiritualism and occultism was treacherous and full of temptations - her father had explained as much to her countless of times; it could bring about many strange encounters with beings that were not of this world. Some could be good, others less so, yet she had always been warned of how quickly they might influence her. Was Vincent de la Rose one of those beings? Suddenly she found herself regretting that she had not been paying more attention when her father had taught her that protection ward way back when she was but a mere child, so many years ago. But there wasn't much she could do about that now.

It didn't take long before Nimue de Montague approached her, a glass of spirits in each hand. "I figured you could do with another drink," she said, looking at Tamora with those big eyes. She had cleaned up nicely, and it was no longer evident that the woman had been ravaged not that long ago. "Did you make any progress on your little.. Dilemma?" The blonde lady gave Tamora a sly smirk as she sat down next to the young girl, handing her one of the liquid intoxicants. Tamora frowned.