Midvinterblot

"Not really." She took a sip of the alcohol. It burned going down, but it seemed to help her relax somewhat. "Tequila?" she asked, puzzled.

"Mezcal, from the Oaxaca region in Mexico," Nimue corrected, "Infamous for the larvae used in making it. But don't let that put you off; it adds to the flavour."

Tamora made a face, but dutifully took another drink regardless - wincing as she did so - which drew a giggle from the lady in red. She tried hard not to look at the girl, because all she could picture in her mind was those two men holding her down on all fours and sodomizing her; her asshole stretched to accommodate their cocks, their hands gripping her hair and ass as they used her for their own pleasure. In spite of herself, Tamora loved the mental image. But she tried to ignore it - though the warmth between her thighs made things increasingly difficult.

Nimue kicked off her heels so that she could comfortably bring her legs up, folding them beneath her on the seat. The way she sat wasn't nearly as classy as her outfit. "Strange, isn't it? How we take a living creature and use it for our own pleasure." Tamora raised an eyebrow in confusion, so the blonde woman elaborated on her thoughts. "The worms in the drink, I mean. Denied its true destiny, and made into something less than it could have been - but also, strangely, something more desirable."

Tamora carefully attempted to dissect the words. "It'd turn into a butterfly, right?" she asked, and Nimue smiled with delight, amused by her naivety.

"No, child. That's just it. Not everything that cocoons and undergoes the process of chrysalis come out radiant and beautiful. Some creatures - like the squiggly little bastards used in these drinks - would merely turn into moths. Better we use them to satisfy our urges, hmm?" Tamora chose to ignore the 'child' comment, despite being the same age or even older than Nimue herself, whom closed her eyes and took a sip the mezcal. When she opened them again, she looked straight at Tamora with a much more serious gaze. "I have to repeat my earlier warning, darling," she said with her lisp, the girl in red's eyes burning into hers. "I've been doing some.. Recon work. And I really do fear that you're the most innocent woman here, and possibly the only virgin. You have to do something about that, and soon." She swirled her drink around a little in the glass. "You'll not get a second chance at this. If you're smart, you'll go choke on a cock or stick your face between my legs sooner rather than later," she said with a grin.

Tamora stared at Nimue for a long moment. There was no telling if she was serious about what she said. There was an intensity in her tone - a deep and primal desire that Tamora couldn't quite grasp. The girl just didn't know how to react. "Assuming that you're right, why are you helping me? Wouldn't that just put someone else in danger instead?" She was confused. "If there are no virgins present, the.." she tried to find the right word, "the cost for the séance still needs to be paid somehow. Why are you trying to protect me?"

Nimue finished what was left in her glass before shrugging her shoulders, leaning back in the chair - suddenly spreading her arms along the backrest and draping her legs over Tamora's lap, her painted toenails on full display. "Maybe I have a soft spot for you, missy," she replied with a smirk. "But you are likely right. Someone else might be sacrificed. More than one person, perhaps, if there are no virgins present. But they'd go for the pure and innocent ones, which is why I have been making sure that I've been up to little else than naughty things this past week." Her wicked smile made Tamora swallow hard; it was unnerving how this woman could look at her with such wanton eyes - as if Tamora's purity itself turned her on like a light switch.

But suddenly, the girl in red looked serious once more - her eyes trying to convey something beyond words. Something hidden beneath the veil. "You're young and attractive, Tamora von Bornheim. And the daughter of a respectable man. But ambitious men will go to great lengths to reach their goals. It would be a shame if such a pretty thing would end up a ritual sacrifice. Besides," she continued, pausing for a moment to gander around the room, "There's people here with darkened hearts, darling. Let one of them pay the blood price." Her eyes held a dangerous glint in them as she said that.

Tamora's fingers dug into the soft cushions of the armchair. Was the girl trying to help her so that someone else would become the sacrifice instead? Her face told part of the story, while the rest was hidden beneath layers of mystery, darkness and lust. There was something the golden-haired woman did not seem willing to share. Or was it all an act just to get Tamora naked and under the mercy of her sexual whims?

"But you're certain that there'll be a human sacrifice, and that it'll be a woman?" Tamora tried, sounding unsure even to herself.

"You can never be certain, but as I said before, I wouldn't recommend tempting fate," Nimue replied, laughing softly, as she brushed away some strands of hair from her face. The woman's voice was sultry, teasing. The way she jumped between seeming so relaxed and so intense was unnerving, and Nimue did not seem at all serious enough if she truly believed a human being was going to become an innocent victim in such a horrendous ceremony in just a couple of hours. The girl was a complete enigma. "And it ought to be a woman, because men lose their innocence far younger, wouldn't you agree?"

Tamora wasn't sure that was true. At the very least, there must be exceptions to the rule. She took another sip of her drink, and looked up to the chandelier above her head as she suddenly noticed that something was hanging off of it in the dimmed-down light. Charms of some kind, it seemed, etched into small pieces of wood - yet what they were exactly, or what purpose they served, she had no idea. With a deep sigh, she decided that she'd ask Vincent about the matter straight out during dinner, and force a less cryptic answer out of him somehow. No beating around the bush. Despite the colourful cast at the party, something else was going on - she could sense it. And she wanted answers.

Nimue de Montague got up. "Reckon I could squeeze in another quick fuck before dinner begins, if I hurry. Do enjoy yourself," she said, giggling as she walked off. If Tamora was honest with herself, there was a part of her that wanted to follow the young woman, to observe whatever debauchery might ensue once more. Her sexual curiosity stirred within her, but battled it out with a nervous energy that prevented her from acting upon anything; and so she remained seated, taking another long sip of her drink, and trying to see if she could spot Mister Calamax somewhere in the ornate room.

No joy. After a minute, she was certain he wasn't present, so she stood up and decided to go roam the halls of the grand estate looking for him. That's what she told herself, at least. Part of her was curious if she'd happen across Nimue, or someone else getting involved with indecent things. Watching others was.. Strangely exhilarating, though she couldn't explain why.

She wandered through the narrow corridors for a few minutes, peeking into rooms where the door was left open. Other than a few servants whom all gave her polite smiles, Tamora didn't run into anyone. But as she walked through an archway that led into some sort of parlour-room, she heard something. A moan. Distinct and unabashed; female. Tamora stopped and listened to the melody of pleasure, her hands trembling slightly. The internal struggle made her mouth feel dry. Did she ought to briskly walk away, or seek out its source?

One quick look couldn't hurt, she told herself, and subconsciously held her breath as she silently crept closer to the sound - the moans now being paired with the distinct sound of flesh slapping against flesh. The door to the room had been left slightly ajar, enough so that the faint glow of light from the corridor could shine into the darker room within, just as the sounds of sexual passion wafted out into the empty hallway. Licking her lips, she grabbed onto the door frame and pushed it open another inch, so that she could peek inside, hoping the people within wouldn't notice a bit more light seeping in.

The man was in his 20's, and the woman old enough to be his mother - though he clearly didn't care. His chestnut hair was slicked back in a fancy style, and his black suit clung to him tightly - every muscle rippling underneath the fabric. Neither of them had bothered to undress; the man's cock protruding proudly through his flyers, and finding its way into the curvaceous woman's nether region right on top of an elmwood desk, her dress bunched up around her waist. A pair of silky looking panties dangled off of one of her legs, and the look of sheer bliss on her face told Tamora everything she needed to know about their liaison. The mature lady clearly enjoyed the younger man's virility.

Tamora tried to take everything in without getting caught - her body trembling with excitement, though she wasn't sure what part of the spectacle had caused it exactly. Was it the forbidden nature of spying on someone else's private moment, or was it the raw lust in both their eyes? They were strangers - people she had never seen before that eve, and likely never would see again - and yet she felt almost connected to them. A part of her couldn't help but feel envious as she watched the woman buck her hips upwards and moan loudly. And it also made Tamora acutely aware of her own desire for physical contact; being held close to another, lips upon hers, warmth and affection, pleasure shared by mutual touch and tender embrace. Maybe what she wanted was not quite as animalistic as what the two people were experiencing, but it boiled down to the same core desire.

The sound of a chair scraping against hardwood made her jump. It took her a moment to notice that there was a third person in the room, observing quietly from an armchair in the darkest corner, like a wraith skulking in the shadows. And when that man turned his head, and locked eyes with Tamora, it became more than obvious that he didn't mind her watching, as he only smirked. He didn't speak a word.

The young woman gasped - too soft for anyone else in the manor to have heard it - and hurried away as fast as possible, sneaking back to the ballroom to try and calm her pounding heart. She couldn't help but to feel that the man - sitting there, watching two people have sex - was incredibly creepy. But was she any better? At least that man's presence was obvious, and in a way therefore honest, whilst she was sneaking around with no regard for these strangers privacy. The guilt rattled her - yet also caused an aroused flush to spread over her skin; something within her whispered that she could only keep up her facade of innocence for so long before it would crumble, and the beast beneath would make its hunger known. Her cheeks burned bright red, but she wasn't entirely sure if it was from lust or shame. Maybe both. If she'd have run into Nimue there and then, perhaps she would have considered skipping dinner and eating out the blonde woman's warm sex instead. That thought alone made Tamora feel dizzy. She shook her head, desperate to regain her focus.

She made her way back to the ballroom just in time for a servant to enter, ringing a bell - its sound cutting through the hum of conversations like a sharp knife. The death knell had rung. "Dinner is now served," he announced in a distinctly British accent. "Those of you with special brooches, please sit at the table up on the dais. The rest of you, feel free to sit down wherever you wish."

Tamora waited around for a moment to look for Mister Calamax as people began to stream towards the entrance to the dining room, but soon gave up. Where had that man gone? She spotted Nimue de Montague, at least - was her hair looking more disheveled than before? - and the lady in red acknowledged her presence. "Let's go get stuffed, hmm?" She nodded towards the dining hall, but there was a cheeky expression on her face, and she did have that 'freshly fucked' aura about her. "Hope there's lots of meat on the menu." And then she sauntered off, though Tamora followed not far behind.

The dining hall was nothing short of opulent and breath-taking in both its architecture and interior design. A series of oil lamps upon each of the many tables pierced through the otherwise rather dark room, illuminating the elegant cutlery and beautiful centrepieces that decorated the white marble table tops. An ice sculpture stood at one end, and a huge, stone fireplace at the other end. The hot-and-cold theme seemed to be reflected in the colour of the tablecloths, with half being a subtle hue of blue, the other half red. White porcelain dishes lined the tables, while crystal glasses reflected the miniscule light coming from above, the lamps dimmed almost all the way down. Up on a raised platform, the VIP table was clearly visible; nine chairs - four on either side of the rectangular table - and one crowning chair at the head of the table. Right by it stood Vincent de la Rose, looking at his guests with a mysterious expression on his face as he waited for them to take their seats.

He smiled as he saw Tamora approach him, and gestured towards the closest chair on one of his flanks, but said nothing. There was a bit of hustle and bustle as the guests got seated, a few awkward gentlemen not seeming too sure of whom they wanted to sit down next to. And a few others, all wearing brooches in the shape of the same feather plume that Tamora wore - though in varying colours - joined them up on the dais. She wished that she could be seated by Mister Calamax, but perhaps there was a tactical advantage to them being spread out. Whatever he'd be able to find out regarding the Midvinterblot, he'd most likely share with her later on - and this way, they could mingle with more people. He was one of the last people to be seated, but at least he was present, which helped calm Tamora's nerves somewhat. They shared a look and a smile from across the majestic dining hall.

A servant rang another bell, the chime echoing between the walls, and everyone turned towards him expectantly - but it was Vincent that spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, twice now the bell has tolled. On the third toll, the séance will commence. I welcome you all to this magnificent winter equinox, were we have gathered to feast, to bond, and to commune with spirits. Allow me to introduce our special guests, all of whom have been given the honorary task of assisting with the ceremony tonight. On my left, Madame Boisclaire, Mister Cromwell, Mister Hartfield, and Lord Labranche. On my right, Miss von Bornheim, Miss Foxglove, Mister Bacheret, and - of course - Madame Greta Vieux, the famous fortune-teller." He gestured towards them as he said their names, and Greta stood out. She was the oldest, if Tamora had to guess - a rotund lady with short and silverspun hair and bushy eyebrows above eyes that seemed too sharp for her face. And Tamora knew Hayden Cromwell as well, looking as gallantly charming as ever. The two of them had played together when they were kids, and although they had not seen each other for many years, it was nice to know that a familiar face was present.

"Now, drink deeply and engorge yourselves with food - and may the night prove to be one that none of us shall ever forget!" Vincent clapped his hands together loudly, signalling to the servants to bring out the first course. With a deep bow, he sat down in the centre chair on the dais, smiling at Tamora warmly. She tactically looked away, blushing a little, so as to not fall into his hypnotic trap.

It took her a second to recognize Miss Foxglove without her mouth full of urine - but when Tamora's mind made the connection, she reeled back from her shock. "Something the matter?" the lady in the blue gown asked her, and Tamora could have sworn she could still faintly make out the scent of pee on her breath.

"No, I just.. Remembered something." And then she took her glass of wine from the table before her and drank from it, trying to put the image of the lady's lustful expression as she swallowed the men's piss down out of her mind. There was a lot about this entire evening that seemed bizarre beyond explanation, and there were so many questions she didn't even know where to start. She wondered how much her father truly knew about these people, and just what kind of things he had been involved with. Had he also attended parties full of sex-crazed lunatics? He didn't seem like the type. "What can you tell me about the séance tonight, Miss Foxglove?" she continued, trying to save face, meanwhile putting some roast beef and duck with the fat rendered down perfectly onto her plate.

The brunette pushed some food into her mouth before looking back up at Tamora again. "Oh, dear.. Well, I certainly can't speak for the magic part of it all - but this ritual is most unquestionably a big deal. It has roots that go far back in history - no doubt from the times when our ancestors still worshipped Gods and powers that they understood little about. I've dabbled in piercing beyond the veil of the mortal realm in the past - Von Bornheim was it? - but I am not spiritually gifted and I attend these gatherings primarily for the company and excitement. Since I learned what goes on behind these doors of exclusivity, I do my best to attend every party - if only to have a little taste of this secret world and its practitioners." She laughed softly, and placed another piece of meat in her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully, and almost dreamy look on her face.

When Tamora was able to do so, she caught Vincent's attention. She needed her questions answered. Even though she still suspected Nimue might be playing with her mind, Miss Foxglove's behaviour and the other sexual escapade she had witnessed did cast long shadows over her. What would keep her safe in a place where magic was the norm and perversion was an art form? "Mister de la Rose," she said with confidence as she raised her voice a little, trying not to sound timid this time around. Vincent turned towards her immediately. There was a curious look on his face. "You must tell me more about the sacrifice tonight," she began, looking for an appropriate reaction - but none came. "Rumours are floating around regarding the.. Safety of some of the guests, in particular those of innocent nature."

He cocked one of his thin black eyebrows. His blue eyes seemed to look right through her again, and he leaned back against the chair, folding his arms behind his head - that infuriating half-smile upon his lips once more. It took him several moments before he answered. "The truth is, Miss von Bornheim, all rumours are born out of some kernel of truth. And tonight's events will surely turn into many more stories to tell. But you needn't worry. I can assure you, any rumour you might have heard has been greatly exaggerated." His eyes looked as if they might be laughing at her expense, yet his overall expression did not change at all. "On this night, we take the souls of the dead and bring them back to us with the aid of spirits from other realms. Put simply, it's a magical transaction of sorts."

"So it won't kill anyone?" Tamora pressed on, desperate for answers, and looking around herself cautiously. Hayden Cromwell was watching both of them intently as he ate. A calm exterior, but he looked a little rattled underneath. Did he know something about what was going on?

Vincent sighed deeply, running his slender fingers through his hair before leaning forward across the table, fixing her with that strange gaze again. He seemed to regard her with equal parts curiosity and contempt. "Your life will not end tonight, Miss von Bornheim," he replied in a somewhat dark voice. "You need to relax. Your paranoia is bothering my other guests. Please do not make me regret offering you a priceless seat at my table." She couldn't discern if there was an unspoken threat in the man's words, or if her suspicions was showing outwardly in a manner more forward than intended. Vincent paused, then laughed to himself. "Though I suppose the good thing about being paranoid is that you never have to feel lonely. Always someone watching, hmm?"