The Queen: Desire is Enternal

The Queen: Desire is Eternal

He knew no keener seduction than her languorous beauty, wholly exquisite and infinitely exciting, she was-- he was certain-- the cause of many a restless boy's forbidden dreams

Her mature figure was fraught with a maddening luxuriousness of resplendent curves with the most beguiling being a set of significantly sized, highly curvaceous breasts. The lips of this ancient beauty were full, both half pouting, half smiling, adding a decadent touch to her otherwise rich Circean face.

Her perfectly glowing complexion, deficient of any visible defects, could be described as being light brown, the color of wheat maybe, while being darker than fair, but slightly lighter than dusk.

The figure possessed a mane of midnight black hair, flowing down and just past her perfectly sculpted shoulders adding only to the unhallowed regal beauty radiating from her flesh while weaving a spell about the heart of the poor boy . . . and his mother.

Who was she? That, indeed, was the burning question. The boy had no idea other than she must have been a big deal sometime in ancient history, otherwise she would not now be residing in the library of their large country estate just outside of London.

His mom, Dr. Matilda Breckenridge, was a professor of Ancient Archology and thus well versed in the study of ancient peoples, but yet when he asked his mom who this enchanting, perfectly mummified beauty might be his mom had no answer . . . as of yet anyways.

The perfectly preserved body of this apparently ageless wonder was found in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains near Kathmandu. Dr. Breckenridge, in charge of the expedition, supervised the careful excavation of the perfectly preserved body while marveling at it being in such a highly perfected state of preservation.

She guessed, based on the burial shroud covering the body and some of the other various artifacts uncovered next to it, the body must be many, many centuries old. How old, with any accuracy, she could not rightly say, but she meant to find out.

Matilda accompanied the body back to her country estate, just outside of London, where the body would be interned for a period of roughly seven days before being turned over to The British Museum for further study.

After securing the body in the library of her large estate, Matilda told her eighteen year old son, Malcolm, not to disturb the shrouded figure, but it was too late.

Malcolm, having already caught a fleeting glimpse of the shrouded figure while her mom's helpers were placing the body in the library, badgered his mother, non- stop, all through the afternoon to let him see her discovery up close. After she finally relented, and he was able to get his first real good look at her, he became instantly smitten.

Day One--Late Evening

Malcolm waited to the house was deathly quiet, it was just before midnight, before stealing downstairs to the library and sneaking inside. After carefully shutting the door, he turned on his small flashlight in the wholly dark library.

Panning the beam about the cozy library, he searched for the shrouded figure before discovering it stretched out on a blanket in the middle of the library floor in front of the old brick fireplace.

He crouched down on his knees next to the prone figure. She was covered up to her neck with a white burial shroud looking blanket of sorts. Concentrating the small beam of light on the shrouded woman's face, he sat there for a good ten minutes, memorized by her captivating beauty. To Malcolm's wide staring eyes, the beautiful blanketed figure did not at appear deceased, but instead simply appeared to be in a coma like state of slumber.

After stealing back out of the library and back upstairs to his room, young Malcolm's mind was full of questions, dreams, and desires.

Day Two Morning

When he came down for the breakfast in the morning his mom was pacing back and forth across the kitchen talking animatedly into her phone in a foreign language he did not at all understand.

While munching quietly on a muffin over at the table, he waited quietly for his mom's conversation to wind down. He just knew it was about her, about the shrouded figure in the library.

Finally, his mom clicked off her phone and turned to him.

"Good morning, Son. Did you sleep well? You want some breakfast?"

Holding up his muffin he said, "This is good for now. Was that about her?"

"Yes," Matilda answered. "Just boring stuff about your mom's work."

"There isn't anything boring about what is in the library, Mom. You know that. I mean she is so well preserved. How can someone dead that long, what hundreds of years, look so good?"

Matilda paused halfway across the kitchen before turning to her curious son. "If you want to hear what I was just told, let me make a cup of coffee first. It like really interesting, well, to me anyways but also really out there."

"I do. . . . More than ever now."

Matilda make her cup of coffee before plopping down across from her son in the small breakfast nook just off of the kitchen.

"So it's all a myth, or a legend maybe, what I was told . . . I mean you gotta take it with a grain of salt . . . or maybe a whole bag full of salt actually."

Leaning forward, his curiosity piqued, Malcolm said, using his much practiced German accent of authority on her, "Tell me everything . . . omit nothing."

"OK, officer . . . I tell," Matilda giggled. "But remember . . . it's all a myth."

"Of course," Malcolm replied.

Matilda spent the next few minutes giving a brief explanation of what she was told by the positively ancient shaman of the small village within walking distance of where her amazing discovery was unearthed.

The shaman, Amit Ammur, he was exactly ninety-nine years old, and a virtual walking history book, told Matilda in half English, half Hindi everything he knew about Matilda's discovery. In other words, he told her the myth/legend of the Moon Goddess Zora, passed down to him from his father, and his father's father before that and so on.

The year was 1763, a bare six years after the British established their hold over the country when, in some small unnamed village, a local woman, her name was Zora the Wicked, was accused of being a powerful witch by the local British magistrate.

The pious magistrate sentenced the thirty something year old Zora to be hung until dead in the center of the village, but just as the sentence was about to be carried out, a good dozen or so women on horseback swept down on the village.

Armed to the teeth, this women, loyal disciples of Zora, freed the moon goddess from the clutches of the local hangman.

After Zora's followers whisked her away to safety, a vigorous "manhunt" was undertaken to catch the wayward witch. Although Zora managed to elude capture for a good three weeks or so, eventually the British authorities surrounded the witch in the small village of Jakhane. With British soldiers closing in, and vowing not be taken alive, Zora performed one last great feat of magic, ingesting a powerful potion of her own making.

The potion, among other more important things, rendered her unconscious, and for all practical purposes as near to death as one can be without actually dying.

After having ingested the potion Zora immediately keeled over into a coma like state of apparent death.

Her well-armed followers now sought to parlay with the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers. After the parlay was granted Zora followers all agreed to lay down the arms and to surrender without a fight if only they could bury their leader in an unmarked grave of their choosing, after, of course, she was confirmed dead by the local doctor.

The British officer in charge of her capture, wanting to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed to his men, agreed to the terms, allowing Zora to be buried in secret, after being confirmed deceased by a local doctor of dubious ability.

The plan was for some of Zora followers, they had been promised leniency by the lieutenant, to go back within a short period of time to dig up the "body" and free Zora from the clutches of her death like state.

Unfortunately, all of her most loyal followers were quickly rounded up and tossed in jail or executed when the British went back on their word about showing mercy to Zora's wicked followers.

Thus according to the myth, Zora lay, undisturbed in her unmarked and well-hidden grave until Matilda's expedition unearthed her body some hundreds of years later.

Matilda then went on to tell her son of the real meat of the legend of Zora the Moon Goddess or Zora the Wicked. Of how there were numerous reports, over the years, over the decades, over the centuries even, of a beautiful glowing witch named Zora, who wandered the country side near her unknown gravesite causing periodic mischief from time to time.

All the reports had two things in common: the first being all of said sightings occurred during new moons and the second being said mischief was of a naughty, i.e. sexual kind.

More the old shaman could not, or would not say when a curious Matilda pressed him for more details . . . especially about what kind of sexual hijinks the wicked Zora was accused of performing.

"So . . . wait . . . even if that was true, about her taking the potion to fake death it doesn't explain how she is so perfectly preserved now after she must have really died so long ago?"

"Well I brought those exact points up to the shaman and he patiently explained how, and he was dead serious about this, how Zora is, in fact, not dead, but only resting still in her coma like state . . . waiting to be brought back to full life."

"That's impossible," Malcolm blurted out.

"That is what I told Amit but he kindly deferred while explaining how 'an outsider such as myself could not know of Zora's potions and how mighty powerful they really were'. Yeah, according him the potion she took, especially if she lay undisturbed, would be able to sustain life, while perfectly preserving her, for much longer than a few mere centuries . . . I think indefinitely was what he was trying to get at, Malcolm."

"What do you think, Mom?"

"I think it all a silly myth but then . . . Jesus, I mean, she is so well preserved, like she is merely sleeping and honestly . . ." Matilda leaned in close to her son before dropping her voice to a low whisper, "Now don't laugh . . . when I look at her, I don't get the sense she is dead. I get the sense she is, like I said, sleeping or resting . . . or even waiting."

Malcolm felt his heart hitch inside his chest as he absolutely possessed the exact same feeling. Finally, after a long pause, he made his confession. "You know Mom, I sense the same thing but was afraid to tell you."

"I am supposed to talk with the shaman's great granddaughter tomorrow so maybe she can tell me more . . . especially about her alleged wanderings around the time of new moons."

"Only on new moons huh? So . . . one night a month she comes alive."

"That is what Amit purported to me while also, alleging, the day before and on the day of the new moon she has been known to become more . . . active . . . whatever that means, I don't know."

"Mom, I am eighteen I can hear about stuff, even if it is about sex you know."

Matilda sighed. "Of course you can, hon, so if you want to hear about it I will just come out and say it . . . I just didn't want to scare you is all."

"I don't scare easily, Mom," Malcolm quickly snapped.

"Fine. Here it is then . . . Amit did tell me one thing about the queen's nocturnal wanderings. Legend has it they involve her alleged seductions of young teenage boys . . . virgins I mean . . . oh and apparently she also has a penchant for the mothers of the teenage boys too. The boys she went after were not actually boys but young men between the ages of eighteen and twenty or twenty one, when they are at their most fertile that is . . . as long as they were virgins . . . or so goes the myth."

Malcolm shifted in his seat uneasily. He was a virgin and the thought of Zora seducing him was causing him to sport a major woody. Said woody was then fueled to epic proportions when he thought of Zora seducing his attractive mother.

Leaning over, Matilda ruffled her son's hair a bit before saying happily, "Well we have nothing to worry about anyways, as you are, doubtlessly, considering how adorably handsome you are, not a virgin still, and furthermore, I doubt someone as pretty as our Ms. Zora would be interested in a plain Jane like your mother. "

Malcolm immediately went to his mother's defense. "Mom you are only a 'plain Jane' coz you chose to be that way. Hell, I have seen you all dressed up looking super nice when you are attending one of those fancy fund raising dinners at the museum and you look fucking awesome . . . pardon my language."

She blushed at her son's over the top praise but it was actually well deserved as Matilda was the true definition of mature beauty with an angelic face, exuding motherly beauty, framed by dark tresses of obsidian black hair toppling down to her shoulders.

Her pleasing Slavic face was highlighted by a pair of effervescent champagne brown eyes and a smile that managed to be both alluring and mischievous all at once.

Thrice weekly trips to the gym and a sensible diet ensured Matilda, even as she approached the age of forty, maintained a slender figure highlighted by a pair of nice, supple medium sized breasts.

Mainly, she kept her sculpted figure under wraps—unless she had a bit too much wine. Indeed, wine combined with the right company, served to loosen up the generally reserved doctor quite nicely.

"Thanks for saying that honey. Anyways, while it may be somewhat exciting to think about I'm sure it's all, like I said, nothing more than a silly fairytale and once I take her to the museum they will figure out how and why she is so well preserved."

"Wait . . . you are taking her to the museum? When?"

Matilda, noting the near panic in her son's voice, was more than a little amused by his reaction. "Yes but not for about another few days anyways. They are in the middle of remodeling and they have to move some stuff around to create additional space as they really don't have a proper room for her now and I told them, very forcefully, I would not turn her over so she could be stuffed in some dusty closet or musty old back room. The truth is I sort of sprung my find on them without warning. Anyways, you must know she can't stay in our library permanently."

"Yeah, of course," Malcolm said while trying to hide his disappointment before adding casually, "Yeah, well . . . anyways if the great granddaughter tells you anything . . . you know . . . interesting let me know."

Day Two Late Evening

Malcolm found himself again slipping quietly into the library shortly before midnight just as the day before. Armed once more with his small flashlight, he went straight over to the shrouded figure of Zora.

Just like the night before, Malcolm concentrated the small beam of light directly on her face.

"God you are so beautiful," he whispered before finally finding the courage, after a good minute or two of languorously staring at her, to reach one finger out. Carefully, he touched her right cheek. The skin was soft and warm, feeling utterly alive.

"Oh my God," Malcolm uttered breathlessly at the possible meaning of her warm skin and what it hinted at. Dead bodies are cold bodies, and she doesn't feel cold at all, his inner voice whispered excitedly to him

He quickly pulled his finger back but continued to stare for another good minute or so while his mind whirled with thoughts of quiet ardor over the Moon Goddess.

As he slipped out of the library and back upstairs, Malcolm chided himself for the way he hastily pulled his finger back from the warm cheek of hers.

Tomorrow night I shall be a bit braver in my explorations Malcolm promised himself before slipping off into a fitful sleep for the night.

Day Three

It was around three in the afternoon before Malcolm finally got a chance to ask his mother how the conversation went with Amir's great-granddaughter.

His mother was in the kitchen, staring off into space, sipping on a cup of tea, when he approached her.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hey yourself," Matilda responded after a brief pause.

"What are you doing? You kind of look lost in deep thought there."

"Oh I was just thinking about my conversation with Baanu."

"Ba- who?"

"Oh, Baanu, that's her name, Amir's granddaughter. It was quite interesting."

Leaning against the island counter, Malcolm, again not wanting to appear too eager, casually asked. "I will listen if you wanna tell me about it."

Matilda smiled at her son. "Maybe it would be good for me to confide in someone like yourself."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well if I tell one of my learned colleagues at the museum they will simply laugh it off and while dismissing what I'm saying out of hand. While you, on the other hand, being both young and curious, maybe won't dismiss what the great granddaughter told me so easily, especially since you are not the cynical type to the point where you can't believe in a world that still might have a bit of magic left in it."

"I agree," he said with a proud smile. "I am young and curious and open to magical things still happening in this overly logical world of ours."

"In that case, this is what Baanu told me more or less. Now listen closely and save your questions for the end."

"Sure, Mom," he replied as they settled themselves down in the living room's small loveseat.

"First of all, the Moon Goddess Zora has several other monikers she has been known by over the last couple centuries. Zora, Queen of the Forest, Zora, Stalker of Virgins, and my favorite, Zora, Dark Mistress of Debauchery. Also, according to the legends she is much more than a simple witch. She has been called, over the years, a she-demon, a devil, a succubus even. Baanu thinks Zora is nothing less than a Raksasi, which is the female version of a Rakshasa."

Despite her admonishment not to ask any questions, Malcolm simply could not help himself. "What the hell is a Rakshasa?"

"I asked the same question of Baanu and was told in Hindu mythology a Rakshasa is a type of demon that has the power to change their shape at will and appear as animals or monsters if they are male while the female versions are called Raksasi and can appear as beautiful women. Baanu told me, most interestingly, how they are most powerful in the evening, particularly during the dark period of the new moon, but they are dispelled by the rising sun."

"Better keep the curtains drawn during the day then, Mom, so we don't disturb are resident Raksasi," Malcolm chimed in with a nervous twitter.

Matilda smiled at her son's comment before continuing. "It gets better, Son. Listen. Baanu told me if one wanted to summon Zora they can do so by worshipping her with small gifts and acts of kindness while praising her with pleasant words of endearment. But most importantly, as she lay in her state of repose, awaiting the next new moon if conditions are right, Zora should be physically pampered. This is especially so, Baanu told me, on the night of the new moon."

"Physically pampered?" he asked curiously.

"Those were Baanu's exact words, as to what that means she would only tell me it was up to one's imagination the meaning. Anyways, if one was to do all this, Zora would first become more animated as she lay resting before finally rising on this special night of the new moon to seek out and reward her admirer . . . that is to return the kindness given to her . . . in a most wicked fashion and no Baanu would not, or could not, give me any further details on what that meant."

Matilda sighed before taking a sip of her tea. Looking at her son, she noted the serious look on his intensely curious face, causing her to surmise he was not at all being dismissive to the bizarre things his mother was conveying to him.