Sapphira

An old queen had borne Sapphira – a child of her heart’s desire – and then perished, leaving a distraught King who sought another Queen. Though exquisite in appearance, the new queen soon displayed the ugliness that lay beneath her silken skin – a malignant loathing of her new stepdaughter’s precociousness and beauty. Her treatment of the unfortunate lass became the corner stone of many a fairytale, but none ever came close to describing the true horror the child’s life became.1

The wicked queen used none of the mysterious artefacts embellished in the popular tales – there was no magic mirror, no poisoned comb nor the laughable apple. The true accounting of the events needed no hyperbole or metaphor. Her deviousness was neither elegant nor poetic; her revenge came with facinorous swiftness – a simple apothecary preparation forced into an unwilling throat.2

At the tender age of fifteen, Sapphira fell into an interminable coma; though the poison denied her a life, it refused to allow the skeletal claws of Death snatch her away. With vicious pleasure, the queen bound her waning body and placed it in a casket.3

Deprived of oxygen and sustenance, Sapphira should have died. 4

A fortuitous event occurred – an enterprising servant of the King, and an apprentice to an eccentric Mage, found the discarded casket hidden in the cavernous catacombs beneath the chateau. Smuggled under the cover of moonless night, he delivered the casket to his Master. The enterprising Mage proceeded to use an ancient and forgotten necromancy ritual – endeavouring to return her to life. 5

The attempt appeared a failure – her consciousness failed to return. Disheartened, and presuming her death, the Mage returned her pallid body to the coffin. The servant then buried her in an unmarked grave deep within an untouched forest.6

As the edges of the forest rolled back, and the world advanced with leaden footfalls, centuries passed unnoticed by Sapphira in her earthen prison. She continued to exist, neither dead nor alive; her soul held captive in a desiccating body.7

Close to a millennium after the entombing of Sapphira’s coffin in the frozen ground, curious men excavated the area in the name of archaeology, and her mummified remains revealed. The scientists and researchers gave her the respect none in her era ever had. They treated her apparent lifeless body with meticulous care, tenderly stroking her ebony hair as they marvelled at her body’s near-perfect preservation.8

Beneath her shrivelled skin, an entity stirred: a daemon, summoned from another realm by the ritual. It possessed her soul, secreted it away – a precious gem gleaming forebodingly in its grasp. Its sleep disturbed by the inquisitive humans, it caressed its prize fondly before returning to a state of blissful slumber. 9

Sapphira’s body travelled over the following hundred years – traded as chattel between men of various fame. Flawlessly preserved, she fell into the possession of a museum early in the 21st century. 10

At this point, the daemon within awoke completely – conveying tendrils of consciousness throughout Sapphira’s body, infusing her cells with life. It finally released its hold on her soul; that jewel of existence blossoming with tenuous brilliance as it finally reunited her with her awareness.11

Though complete in body and soul, the passage of the years and the possessive caress of the daemon had destroyed Sapphira’s sanity. As the daemon exited her and kissed her a fond goodbye, Sapphira awoke. Her azure eyes opened to view the world through a haze of malicious spite, her mouth creasing into a horrific grin as she breathed once again.12

Released on this new world, she would have her revenge. It would be neither sweet nor swift in its execution, but it would come to those that so richly deserved it.13

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After freeing herself from the upright glass display case she awoke in, Sapphira had acquired appropriate clothes in which to garb herself, and she now, once more, smoothed her hand appreciatively over fine velvet brocade; rich crimson embroidered with fine golden thread. 17

Though she had only been conscious for a week, she adapted quickly to this vastly different world. 18

She now examined a dark apartment located in an abandoned neighbourhood away from curious eyes, and found it suitable for her needs. All she required were some closed-lipped servants to tend to her every desire. She determined that at least half a dozen would satisfy her – she was, after all, nobility.19

She ate a simple meal; a concoction of meat and salad leaves in strange wrappings, which she had removed by force from a peasant in the street. She rested briefly; after all, she had slept for centuries, and then set out to locate her despicable stepmother’s descendants, and some desirable servants.20

Though she received the occasional odd glance, Sapphira continued regally on her way, her stature set in the stiff formal posture of which she was accustomed. After strolling some distance, she entered an establishment offering libation and entertainment. Raucous laughter greeted her as she strode through the door.21

A diminutive man soon approached and lecherously touched her leg. She snatched her skirts away from his grasp and haughtily addressed him, her lip curling with disgust. “Remove yourself from my presence, dwarf – or I shall compel you into servitude.”22

The little man leered at her and winked. “What sort of ‘servitude’, love?”23

“The sort where you attend to my every whim and fancy,” she said with an icy sneer. She leaned down and spoke the next with a quiet maliciousness. “And where questioning my authority will assuredly lead to pain and humiliation.”24

Sapphina acquired that man and three others from the shadowy confines of the establishment, all four willingly submitting to her authority; without question and on pain of suffering should they ever disobey her. She immediately set them to toil, giving them strict instructions to scrutinize the annals of history in an effort to discover the whereabouts of her stepmother’s progeny.25

Over the next few weeks, she spurred them night and day; three of them toiling with increased diligence after they witnessed her sadistic assault upon one of their peers. A rusted stain remained on the living room floor; all three averted their eyes from the reminder of terrified screams and tortured whimpers. 26

She replaced the errant slave with another: a tall, stringy youth with pallid complexion and a facial tic. He professed knowledge of a great repository of information termed the ‘internet’ – and possessed the skills to trawl that sea. He brought bizarre contraptions into her apartment, the likes of which she never imagined humanity could conceive.27

Six months after her miraculous awakening, Sapphira gained enough insight to determine that only one descendant of her stepmother remained – a James McVey. To celebrate, she immediately added three more slaves to her employ; two to take care of her dress and grooming, and one particularly magnificent youth to gratify her recent carnal cravings.28

After a particularly athletic session – one which left the chained man unconscious and bleeding in her boudoir – she stalked triumphantly into her centre of operations to discover the stringy youth hunched over a computer monitor; his face contorted with pasty revulsion. 29

Sapphira strutted to where he sat and laid a glacial hand on his shoulder. He jumped violently, a startled yelp torn unbidden from his throat. She peered at the computer screen.30

“Is that my sleeping chamber?” she inquired rhetorically – the fact the screen contained an exact replica of the room she had just vacated a sure affirmation. Tightening her hold on his shoulder, she inclined her head until her lips brushed his neck. “You disobeyed me, slave,” she breathed, her whisper inducing tremors.31

“I… I…” he mumbled, his terror apparent.32

“There is no excuse for contravening my commands,” she said as she ground her nails against his skin. She reached her other hand out and trailed a finger from his shoulder and up to his face. “I believe your usefulness has come to an end,” she purred dangerously. 33

He whimpered in reply.34

Sapphira abruptly relinquished her hold on him, stretching a hand out for a small silver bell sitting on a nearby shelf. A delicate shake of the device, and the resultant resonating tinkle, brought the five other slaves bustling into the room. Even though her mouth quirked into the shape of a smile her eyes belied a more sinister nature in her greeting. The original three slaves recognised its nature immediately, and her grin widened as fear registered on their faces.35

“A lesson in subservience needs to be demonstrated. Matthew unexpectedly volunteered to participate,” she said gleefully as she tugged him forward. Still on a swivel chair, he rolled unrestricted across the ancient floorboards. She seized the back of the chair, twirled it and presented the quivering youth to his peers. 36

“The Holy Word commands that if thy eye betrays thee, thee must tear it out and cast it aside. My slave’s eyes have betrayed both he, and I,” she articulated with slow deliberateness as she traced a fingernail up the youth’s neck. She dug the tip of her nail into the delicate skin at the corner of his mouth, eliciting a cry of pain.37

“What say you slave – will you tear out your eye to save your soul?”38

“P-P-Pleaase…” he stuttered.39

She tilted her head and moistened her ruby lips in eager expectation. “Or shall I do it for you?” she breathed as she scratched a thin line from his jaw to the corner of one eye with the fingernail. Using her other hand, she pried his eyelids apart, her thumb tacking the upper eyelid to the bone, and her forefinger pushing the lower eyelid down. 40

His veined-streaked eye bulged from its socket and twitched as she brought her sharp nail closer. “It shall be my pleasure to rid you of your traitorous member,” she said as she wormed her nail between his eye and the bony socket. Once her finger had plunged behind the eye, she hooked her finger around the optic nerve and jerked her hand outwards. The eye ripped from his face, followed by bright gouts of blood that splashed onto his lap and spattered the floor.41

Her remaining servants gazed aghast at the fellow as he thrashed and howled in the chair. She then turned her attention to his second eye, repeating her previous actions. Sapphira finally held the eyes up – two gory trophies hanging from her hand in a bizarre display of viciousness – and sniggered with morbid satisfaction. 42

She pulled out a small silver knife and, as he convulsed in the chair, slit his throat. “Get rid of it,” she commanded as she kicked the chair towards her remaining servants. Except for a viscous wetness on her gown that glistened under the fluorescent lights in the apartment, the blood that drenched her chest was indistinguishable from the colour of the fabric.43

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Days later, she set out to exact her vengeance on the last remaining descendant of her stepmother; the revenge prepared as frosty as a mammoth steak carved from glacial permafrost. 47

Checking the address, she entered the property from the street, the soles of her court shoes crunching on the gravel of the winding drive. With each sinuous step she took, her tight-laced bodice creaked and the long velvet skirt she wore whispered against her skin.48

Soon, she reached a house. Raising her hand, she grasped an ornate brass knocker and rapped thrice on the door. No sooner did the echoes diminish, the door opened to reveal her prey. 49

“James McVey?” She held her right hand out. “Sapphira – I phoned yesterday concerning the genealogical research...”50

James took her hand and politely shook it. “Yes, yes – of course. Do come in Sapphira.” He glanced down at her hand. “I must say – that is an exquisite example of finger armour. Pewter is it?”51

She removed her hand from his, and caressed the recent addition, enraptured by how the morning light glinted off its surface. A demure smile creased her lips as she flexed her fingers and nodded. 52

He ushered her into the expansive hallway. “You mentioned that your family is related to mine – on what side?”53

She followed, tapping the sharp point of the armour against her palm, impatient to begin. “My mother died – your family married into the royal line.”54

He turned toward her, a frown creasing his forehead. 55

She ran the tip of the finger armour up his crisp linen shirt. “Don’t think James,” she whispered as she tilted her head up.56

James glanced down, unsure at the sudden change in events. “What are you doing? This isn’t…” 57

Sapphira’s passionate kiss cut off whatever he might have said next. She felt him relax as he relented, and she deftly swivelled him toward a carpeted staircase. As he tripped and fell against the treads, she sprawled across him, her left hand crawling to the waistband of his pants.58

He appeared to get the message; Sapphira watched as his face flushed with excitement, and his own hand dropped to assist hers. He broke the kiss only to ask with hoarse exhilaration, “Did Peter… the cheeky devil… put you up to this?”59

Sapphira only nodded – she had no idea what the man meant – but it worked in her favour nonetheless. She ripped his shirt from him as he freed his cock. Lifting her skirt, she straddled him and ground herself against his already engorged member. “You want it?” she purred as she pushed against him again.60

Fumbling, he reached under her skirt and pushed her panties aside. With his other hand, he pulled her down to impale her. “I love an assertive woman.”61

Sapphira smirked as she rocked against him. As his eyes closed in ecstasy, she clawed her armour-encased finger across his exposed belly, the sharp tip ripping his skin. Blood drawn, she moaned as she leant down and licked it from where it blossomed.62

His eyes flew open; he struggled, panicked, a tiny moan of terror replacing the gasps of pleasure. Sapphira shoved him back against the stairs as she wiggled the finger in the open wound, digging further into his flesh. As he squirmed, she continued to fuck him, grinding her body against his.63

Blood oozing from him, Sapphira finally thrust her hand into him, using brutal force to brush past muscles and organs. He quivered in agony beneath her – screaming, flailing, hands pushing but failing to find purchase; each attempt foiled by his own slick blood. 64

Finally, as she rode him with an urgency that bordered on maniacal, her hand clenched around what it sought: James’ heart, which fluttered against her hand, trapped. “Mine,” she said as she attempted to rip it from its safe haven beneath his ribs.65

James’ guttural yell of terror soothed the ferocious beast her blackened soul had become. As the tip of her finger armour pierced his heart, she screamed in orgasm, arching back from James, pleasure and victory coursing through her veins.66

Her triumph lasted only seconds. A shotgun blast tore her skull open, painting the balustrade beside her with flecks of creamy white, pale grey and vibrant red. 67

As she slumped against her victim, and the daemon eagerly reclaimed her soul, her enslaved dwarf stood behind her, a smoking gun in his grasp.68

He turned and, with nary a glace back, left the infernal bitch to rot where she fell.69