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Story Notes:

WARNING: this story contains instances of extreme sexual violence. Steer clear if sensitive to the topic of forced sexual compliance. 

Author's Chapter Notes:

Bit of stuff that may be kind of graphic. Hope y'all like blood and cannabalism.

The Virgin felt them crawl all over her, like so many cockroaches crawling on a wall. Her bare hands, feet, and head were bound- how did they manage to do that? These tiny, miniscule people- dozens of them- that she had only discovered a week past, had her bound, naked, and terrified. What could she do? She pulled harder and harder, yanking the carefully woven strands of rope or hair or God knows what  that bound her, but it was no use- they held her tight, a captive, a slave. They had undressed her- she saw their tiny knives cut through her night clothes and pulled away, the brisk, winter air (thanks to broken heater in the apartment) flaring her nipples up to rock hard solidness. She shivered and felt the gooseflesh on her legs and arms, and she knew that it would soon turn to shivers. She tried to think, tried to gain her bearings, but all she could feel was their maddening, tiny footsteps along her body. She started to whimper, then and there, naked, her nipples hard and she scared.

            The movement finally seemed to subside, but the Virgin still had gooseflesh all over her- she was getting cold, and the sweat that broke out didn’t help. Shivering, she felt now only a single set of footsteps walking across her stomach, toward her face. A tiny woman, with a flowing white gown, a headdress made of feathers, and a staff, walking between her erect breasts and stood on her sternum. She made a few motions, and a pair of guards holding another woman, much younger than the priestess, came up to bear next to the elder. The tiny woman was naked as well, and looked as if she was as scared as the Virgin.

            The priestess coughed loudly, and everyone, the Virgin, the tiny woman, the guards, the workers all around the Virgin (currently trying to bind each of her toes- why were they doing that?). For a moment, she simply looked at everything- even the winter air seemed to still.

“And now,” she finally croaked out, a voice that had talked its way through many years, “We hath come to the end of our soujourn sacred. A goddess hath been obtained, all praise.”

“All praise,” a choir of tiny voices rang out all around the Virgin. Everyone, the workers, guards, and even the tiny woman, now crying, yelled aloud. The voices, though small, seemed to echo throughout the cold apartment, before subsiding and becoming eerily still once more.

“All,” the crone began again, “praise,” she finished with a sinister smile, raising her hands to the heavens. “All praise to ye, great goddess, thou who shalt be ours, blood, bone, and brain. Thy marrow sustain, thy liver warm and cradle, thy heart a home for hearth.”

A deranged chanting began all around her. Softly, it rose to her ears.

The Virgin could hardly speak. She began to tremble, a tear escaping her green eye.

“Thou shalt prolong us, ye maid, ye virgin. With thy death thou shalt give life.” She motioned to the young woman, who now began to wail and weep. “With life,” the priestess proclaimed, as the chants rose, “cometh death.”

From the folds of her robe, she produced a knife, a horrible, ugly thing, blackened and jagged. The guards, the wailing woman, and the priestess walked over to the platform that spanned the length of the Virgin’s neck, stabilized by rope. The Virgin realized that the guards held the wailing woman over her closed mouth. It suddenly dawned on her- did they expect her to eat the woman? In reflex, she pursed her lips even tighter.

“From yon world and people, for yon people the world,” the priestess continued, hovering over the wailing woman. “For the great, the small, for the quick, the dead. For that which shalt come, a similitude!”

The priestess shot the knife out and slashed the wailing woman’s throat- the screams gurgled, suddenly quenched and out of breath- blood came pouring out of the wound, more than might be expected. The Virgin gasped, involuntarily opening her mouth as the red, steaming blood came down- it entered her mouth, and the workers all round, the guards, and priestess included, cheered and roared.

“Cast thy similitude aside,” the priestess screamed, ecstatic in her religion, and the Virgin, nearly vomiting from a combination of blood and fear, watched as the guards threw the woman off of the platform down to the waiting crowd of men and woman near her neck.

“Cast it away, for thy goddess hath feasted! And now…” the priestess’ voice trailed off, and the Virgin looked over at the crowd- a circle had formed, and blood was spraying all over- the people, her neck, the long black hair. She realized, horrified, that the crowd was ripping the woman apart, and eating the remains.

Vomit welled in her throat, and some escaped her mouth. It mingled with the blood, dripping down her neck. Almost choking, she threw her head to the side and spat, getting as much discharge out of her mouth to breath.

The priestess was laughing on her platform- the Virgin looked back up at her, and could not have felt more small if she were ant-sized. The priestess eyes were glowing blood red. As were the guards. And everyone else, who had looked up from their feast.

“And now…” the priestess said, smiling, “The ritual complete, thou shalt house us. Guards, spread our divine’s legs, that we may enter and know her, and break her seal, and feast.”

Tried as she might, the Virgin could not resist, and the ropes that bound her legs, feet, and toes pulled and pulled and pulled, exposing her womanhood. She began to weep, and felt tiny rubs all along her.

 

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