“I was around when Jesus Christ
Had His moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands, and sealed His fate”
-The Rolling Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil”

To borrow the common phrase, Ranavalona strolled into Starling like she owned the place. Of course, for all intents and purposes, she did. Her name wasn’t on any documentation, naturally, but real power was rarely contained within legal parameters. On a certain level, Rana knew there was a hypothetical limit to her power. But she hadn’t met it, yet, and didn’t foresee it happening anytime soon.

So she’d continue to do as she liked, which brought her to the Starling tavern in the late evening. To be honest, she was slightly disgusted to even be approaching this pathetic little hovel, but it was a necessary step for her game to move forward. First, obviously, the board had to be properly set up.

She used a slight bit of magic to put the doors open, not deigning to touch them herself. (She may have been willing to go slumming for a bit, but she still had standards.) Just as before, the assembled crowd looked up in fear. Unlike before, the fear never left.

The barkeep briefly flinched, as if considering whether or not he should dive behind the counter, but as this was his establishment, that wasn’t a viable option. “…what can we do for you, ma’am?” he asked quietly.

Rana didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to look around at the unwashed masses before her. Animals. Finally, she spoke, maintaining the same calm, casual tone that irritated Marcella so.

“I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of trouble, everyone,” she said. “A madwoman attacked our principality, today. She invaded the castle, and tried to kill me, personally.”

“I…yeah, yeah,” the barkeep replied. “She stopped in here, an’ we showed her the door, my lady! Didn’t want anything she was sellin’!”

“So, no one offered her any aid? At all?”

“Hells no! I, uh, pardon my language, but of course not.”

Rana smiled slightly. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she replied. “After I went through the trouble to free you all from that beastly prince, I’d thought we were all on good terms.”

“Absolutely. The best.”

Rana had to work to hide her immense enjoyment of their groveling. Normally, she wouldn’t bother, (especially not for these apes), but for her game to work out in her favor, they couldn’t become too aware of her manipulations. At least, not until it was too late for them to alter the outcome.

“So, we’re in agreement that this woman needs to be dealt with. Obviously, I survived her attempt on my life. But she still lives. I need a team of five men to accompany me back to the castle and ensure the situation is resolved.”

There was a cold silence in the room. No one at all thought that the royal court was still alive, and they didn’t have high hopes for whoever was fool enough to volunteer for this…disturbingly vague mission.

Rana spread her hands in a gesture of openness. “I’m not a fool, you know,” she said. “I can tell you all fear me. And I know I was a bit…extreme with my response to Benito’s little shenanigans. But I have no quarrel with any of you. All I want is to leave Starling in a better condition than I found it.”

Leave. That was the magic word, and Rana knew it would be. These small-minded people couldn’t conceive that she would ever get bored of toying with their sad little town, and the thought that she would move on was enough to motivate some of their more reckless denizens to action. One by one, a half-dozen men slowly stood, offering their services to…whatever she needed.

Ranavalona smiled with a warmth that many of her previous victims would immediately identify as signaling trouble. “Wonderful! Gather some weapons and armor; we’ve work to do.”

§

Marcella was back in the dining hall, completely oblivious to the dead and mutilated victims of Ranavalona’s wicked passions, whose bodies littered the room. No, all she could focus on was the mage in front of her, still clad in an elegant violet and black dress, and…those boots. Those damnable, dominating boots, one of which was currently braced on the front of Marcella’s chair, rocking back and forth in a teasing motion.

Marcella thought she was still strapped in place, but it probably didn’t matter; she didn’t think she wanted to move, at least not without Ranavalona’s consent.

The younger girl was staring down at her with those endlessly deep brown eyes, a flicker of amusement playing upon them as she continued to rock her foot.

“Oh, my dear little Marcy,” Rana purred, licking her lips ever so slightly. “You’ve been such a bad girl. Did you think you could just barge in here and bully me around? Well…”

She suddenly pushed her foot forward, letting the chair, and Marcella, tumble back. With slow, alluring strides, Rana walked around to where the paladin lay prone, and lifting a booted foot above her face, pausing to allow her fallen foe a titillating glimpse of black velvet underthings beneath her skirt.

“You need to be reminded of who’s truly in control, pet. You’re nothing. My toy. And to you, I’m God…”

The boot lowered onto Marcella’s face until it completely obscured her vision, drowning her in an abyss of infinite blackness. With a startled cry, she awoke, the intense eroticism of her dream dissipating as her full consciousness returned.

Marcella reflexively tried to sit up, but was stopped short before she could complete her arc of motion. Confused, she tried again, only to feel the same weight upon her wrists. Squinting in the low light, Marcella realized that a pair of shackles was clamped around her wrists, securing her to the wall of her cell with a three-foot chain.

The cell itself appeared to be nothing more than an empty stone room, about ten foot by ten, barely enough room for a single occupant. There was no window, and the only source of light was from a lantern outside the thick wooden door.

The door had a six by twelve opening at about eye-level, perfect for any sentries on the outside to get a good look at the prisoner within.

Taking stock of the situation, Marcella was simultaneously relieved and terrified.

On the one hand, she hadn’t been killed by the insane sorceress. On the other…what possible reason could Ranavalona have for keeping her alive, particularly when she’d kept no other prisoners that Marcella could see? She highly doubted the girl was going to bargain with the Order for Marcella’s release, so what was she still here for?

Because of the low light, it took several moments for the captive warrior to realize that she wasn’t quite alone. There was a figure standing outside the door, not paying her any heed. Her jailer, perhaps? Whoever it was, he clearly didn’t realize she was now awake.

“You, there!” Marcella called, with a tone of command that surprised even her. “Where am I?”

The startled man turned, allowing more light to flood into the room. Marcella estimated him to be in his late twenties, and what she could see of his face suggested a farmer or laborer. “’M not at liberty ta’ say,” he allowed, eyeing her cautiously.

“You serve Ranavalona, then?” she demanded.

“In a sort, yeah,” he replied curtly.

“Whatever that witch has told you or offered you, you certainly know you can’t trust her. You’ll end up dead like her other peons. She doesn’t care for human life in the slightest.”

“Says you,” the guard snapped. “She’s offered me a share of this here estate if I helps her hold you.”

Marcella frowned. Idiot. And what’s worse, an idiot with banally mercenary pursuits. “So, you’d be a party to murder, for a share of the spoils of a different murder?”

“What’re you on about?”

“Prince Benito and his court may have been foul people, but even they didn’t deserve the torment your supposed benefactor dealt them. I’ve seen her murder with her magic. Do you really think someone so dangerous is trustworthy?”

“Listen,” the guard snapped. “I don’t have to explain myself to a stuck-up tart that got her arse handed to her by a wee girl half her size. No one asked for your ‘help’, an’ we’d just as soon see ya dead than to get involved in this mess.”

He paused, as if seeing her for the first time. Back in the tavern, he hadn’t gotten a good look at Marcella, and certainly hadn’t noticed the truly luscious dimensions of her figure. He adjusted the lantern to shine more light into the cell.

“’Course, you might have other uses,” he leered.

Marcella shot him a glare that could shatter glass. “I’d sooner die, you wretch,” she hissed.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, turning away. “You coulda’ had a bit of fun before Lady Ranavalona puts ya’ to death.”

“So,” Marcella allowed. “She’s going to kill me, after all.”

“Near as we can figure. Don’t know what she’s waiting for.”

“She wants me to beg,” the prisoner deduced calmly. “Like her other prey. She’s a fool. I won’t break, and certainly not for the likes of her.”

§

Those were, of course, truly brave and heartfelt sentiments. But Time has a way of changing things, and Marcella soon began to deal with a great deal more Time than she could have imagined. She was left in that cell for a period that had to have been at least two, possibly three days. With no windows, it was very difficult for her to accurately judge the passage of time, a problem made worse by the seemingly-random periods wherein her jailer would leave her. If there was a pattern or schedule to his comings or goings, Marcella couldn’t sense it.

Three times, he slid open the door, took a generous view of her body, and slid in a tray with a cup of water, and some gray, paste-like substance that Marcella couldn’t identify. It had no taste to speak of, but it wasn’t as if she had many options. She suspected it was an unnatural substance, considering she’d not had the urge to relieve herself since her imprisonment. At least one part of her dignity was intact.

She didn’t sleep willfully, and only drifted off twice in the course of her confinement. Both times, she dreamed of her encounter with Ranavalona, and both times, she awoke covered in sweat. She absolutely despised her body’s rebellion against her better judgment. For what was her training or discipline, if she couldn’t maintain composure in the face of some spoiled witch girl?

The solution to the problem was obvious: she must complete her mission. She must break free, and slay the sorceress, thus regaining her honor and banishing this unsightly and sinful temptation from her mind, forever. And if Ranavalona was too preoccupied with other matters to give Marcella any attention, then the warrior woman would take advantage of that distraction.

Matching skills against the witch would be a challenge. But outwitting this guard? Simplicity itself.

She waited until she was certain he was just outside the door, in his usual post. Then, in a low, shamed whisper, asked, “…were you sincere, before?”

The man hesitated, not certain he’d heard anything, at first. “Sincere? Towards what?”

Marcella looked aside, as if embarrassed. “About…fun,” she allowed.

Her guard raised an eyebrow. “You’ve changed your mind on the subject?” he asked, obviously pleased.

“…it’s been days,” she said. “And...a woman has needs.”

There were no words to describe how much she hated this deception. Not only was requiring deception at all an unaccountable admission of weakness, but this particular ruse made her skin crawl. ‘A woman has needs’, indeed! What sort of half-witted mongrel would fall for such tripe?

This kind, apparently. The lock on her cell door began to turn, and the heavy wooden barrier swung open. “See, now, was that so hard, poppet?” he asked, in a supremely self-satisfied voice. “Who knows how long you got till the Lady decides to take yer head? Why not enjoy yourself?”

Marcella forced herself up as he approached. “I will,” she whispered in a clumsy imitation of sultriness. “Believe me, sir…”

The guard moved to embrace her lustfully, and at first, it seemed she was reciprocating. But with a deftness born from years of intense training, Marcella quickly slipped out of his grasp, using the chains on her manacles to form a makeshift noose with which to encircle his neck. The man, shocked and appalled, struggled mightily, but it was no use; the chains were too tight to his throat, pressing on his jugular and cutting off blood flow. His motions began to slow as his vision blurred.

Marcella smiled grimly with satisfaction. In a few moments, her jailer would be unconscious, and she’d be free. She’d take his keys, imprison him in her place, and find and kill that viciously evil girl. Just as planned.

However, as her captive’s movements slowed, Marcella thought of the humiliating, disrespectful leering she’d endured from this man, and her heart burned with rage. She was alone here, with him. No one knew the circumstances of their struggle. No one ever would…

Without any further hesitation, she pulled sharply on the chains, until the telltale crack echoed through the small space. Taking a moment to fetch the keys from his belt, the warrior let the dead body fall to the ground, and undid her bonds. As she rubbed her sore wrists in relief, she decided that the slain man before her was actually quite a dangerous opponent, despite how obviously stupid and easily overpowered he’d been. He simply had to be, because while killing a powerful foe in the heat of combat was a (sometimes) regrettable necessity, killing a man you’d already subdued and rendered harmless was pure murder.

She was Marcella, High Paladin of the Order of the Radiant Warriors. She was no murderer.

Besides, any compromise was worthwhile to put that sneering witch girl in her place. Marcella would make Ranavalona deeply regret what she’d done to the paladin’s body, infecting it with such…feelings.

Cravings. Urges.

Deep, dark, desires.

Marcella took hold of the lantern, close enough to the lit flame to allow the heat to sear her skin. She focused on the pain, driving everything else out of her mind until she was certain it was her own, again. She wouldn’t let the mage win.

She’d complete the mission, and bring Ranavalona’s head back to the Order as a trophy.

With extreme caution, Marcella slid along the walls of the dungeon hallway, eventually making her way up a curving staircase. Once she reached the ground floor, she began to look for any point by which to orient herself. It was actually somewhat irritating; she couldn’t find a single window in the walkway. She hadn’t expected any in the dungeon, obviously, but now that she’d returned to the castle proper, why wasn’t she finding any exit? What sort of deranged architecture was this?

Just before a sense of desperation could set in, Marcella finally found a door in a desolate corner of the castle, with light peering from beneath its seal. The warrior had thought it to be night time, but clearly, she’d been mistaken. It was a pleasant surprise, however. Looking forward to seeing the sun after her time in her stone-covered pit, she pushed it open with a bit more force than stealth should have allowed.

And she had to suppress a scream.

The light source, which she’d presumed to be the sun, was in actuality a single candle. A candle that was well over five times Marcella’s height, atop a sparkling candelabra that could have crushed the terrified warrior under its weight. Rather than cobblestones, or soft soil, or even manicured grass, she found herself standing on a surface of polished wood, extending what seemed to be hundreds of yards in every direction. And rather than a blue sky above her, she saw an impossibly high vaulted ceiling, with an elaborate mural painted into it.

Marcella hadn’t escaped Starling’s only castle. She’d escaped a perversely elaborate toy, sitting atop a table. The further implications of this startling fact being, she herself was perversely small.

“And what do we have here, hmm?”

The voice should have been soft, but to Marcella’s scale, it echoed like a sensual thunder, shaking her to the very core of her being. She didn’t want to turn around, because she knew what she would see. At the same time, she very desperately wanted to turn around, because she knew what she would see.
She didn’t have to wait for the internal conflict to resolve itself; the unimaginable titan was already moving towards her. Soft footfalls were still incredibly loud at Marcella’s scale, and she could easily tell her captor was rounding the table, and getting closer.

“I knew you were a naughty one, Marcy. Spying on a poor girl in her nightgown; what has the world come to, I ask you?” the cruel giantess giggled as she completed her one-eighty around the table. Marcella could barely grasp the significance of the words before they became overwhelming reality before her eyes.

Ranavalona stood before her, a goddess made flesh. To Marcella, the girl was a titan of unimaginable proportions, with the ability to snuff the pint-sized paladin with a single motion of her gigantic, perfect form. But the situation was worse than that. She wasn’t wearing the elaborate dress as before, or anything similar. Rather, she was wearing a bright red, flowing silk robe, which hung lazily over her form. Complimentary lace black undergarments peeked out and disappeared as the robe moved along with her motions.

The sorceress supreme placed her hand atop the table, rhythmically drumming her fingers. The vibrations, insignificant to Rana herself, almost threw Marcella off of her feet. The warrior struggled to keep her balance, thankful for the distraction from the enormous enemy before her. She simply couldn’t see any way out of this trap, now. She’d fought dragons, assassins, ogres, and even a lich upon one occasion, and none of them were even remotely as overwhelming as the woman before her.

“So…” Rana drawled, smiling darkly at the tiny woman before her. “You escaped. In a manner of speaking. Tell me, what of your jailer?”

“I…I…” Marcella managed, not quite up to the task of having a conversation with the monolith before her.

“Speak up, Marcy,” the witch sneered. “You don’t want to make me impatient.” She increased her rhythmic tempo against the table, moving slightly closer to her shrunken guest.

“I was forced to kill him,” she managed, fearing this might anger the witch. But Rana seemed completely unimpressed.

“Really?” she asked. “’Forced’ to kill him? I’d have thought he was no match for a High Paladin of the Order of the Radiant Warriors. But I’m entirely certain you acted up to your own standards.”

Marcella was beginning to acclimate herself to the situation; even though she was obviously in terrible danger, she was starting to assess the situation from a tactical perspective. Clearly, the witch was playing some sort of terrible game, and was unlikely to kill Marcella, yet. If Rana had wanted Marcella dead, she’d be dead, and that’s all there was to it.

Ranavalona’s complete control of the situation didn’t sit well with Marcella, but it clearly delighted Rana herself.

“…what was the point of all this?” Marcella finally demanded.

Rana smiled. “Why, my dear little Marcy, I just wanted to give you an opportunity to calm down, and get past all that ‘trying to kill me’ nonsense. Clearly you see how useless all that is. Now that you’re feeling more level-headed, we can talk rationally. Girl to girl, and all that.”

She paused, as if considering something. This was a farce, of course; Rana had already planned every move of this conversation days ago. Acting as if it was spontaneous was just another part of her game. “But this is no way to have a conversation. Let’s get someplace more comfortable.”

For a brief moment, Marcella turned as if to race back into the model castle. But the experience with Carlisle reminded her that it was useless; she was far too small to escape Rana, and only risked angering her, or injuring herself, in the process. Assenting to the inevitable, she allowed the mage to gingerly lift her from the table, being surprisingly gentle for…well, Ranavalona.

Marcella had to close her eyes to avoid being completely disoriented by the extreme vertigo she was experiencing by Rana’s casual movements. At least the motion sickness was allowing her to suppress the intense feelings coursing through her from the moment she was caught in Rana’s grasp. Marcella was totally at her mercy, and the thought made her feel completely powerless, but…this was attractive, in a way.

She finally opened her eyes when she felt herself start to descend, realizing she was being placed on a soft, cream-colored surface. Looking around, she saw that Rana was setting her on a large, king-sized bed. This must have been the Prince’s bedchambers, before his untimely deposition. Once she was fully released from Rana’s grasp, it was very difficult for Marcella to gain her footing on the soft, yielding surface. This problem was raised to nearly catastrophic proportions when Rana climbed onto the bed herself.

The surface of the bed where Marcella unsteadily stood seemed to rotate almost forty-five degrees to accommodate the girl’s weight, which sent the small soldier entirely off of her feet. Indeed, she was careening to the center of the displacement, which happened to be where Rana’s rear met the bed. To Marcella’s great relief, the giantess casually caught her before she could slide further, and moved her a safe distance away.

“There we go,” Rana noted. “Much better, don’t you think?”

Marcella was on her hands and knees, looking unsteadily at the bed/ground. She was shaking slightly, just glad not to be in motion anymore. “I…yes,” she gasped. “…better.”

“Excellent,” Rana went on, pausing for a moment to allow her audience to catch her breath. “Now, Marcy, as I was saying, I hope you’ve come to understand that you won’t be killing me any time soon. Or ever, frankly. It’s just too far beyond you, and I don’t know why you’d want to try, in the first place. To avenge a vile and corrupt court of aristocrats? To protect the brutish citizens of Starling? To please your Order, which only gave you the mission for political reasons? Perhaps I’m missing something, but what, exactly, possessed you to do this?”

Marcella finally stood up, her vertigo having passed. Ranavalona sat before her, legs crossed and pulled up to her chin, a living, breathing mountain of femininity and power. At thatmoment, Marcella fully comprehended exactly how small she was, and how useless it would be to fight this woman.

Ignoring the other feelings once again stirring within her, she decided to answer the giant girl’s question. “Your actions are evil,” she allowed. “They must be stopped.”

“Oh, yes,” Rana sighed, rolling her eyes. “This, again. You just love to throw that word around, as if it has some sort of value.”

“It does,” Marcella objected, with more force than she thought she possessed. “You act only for yourself, regardless of the consequences to others. You treat human lives as if they’re nothing. It cannot be allowed to continue.”

The mage smiled, still impressed by her new toy’s level of will and determination. Even now, completely at Rana’s mercy, this woman was still defiant. Horribly, horribly misguided and deluded, but certainly admirable in her dedication.

“Do you remember what I told you, at our dinner the other day? Nobody is ‘innocent’, Marcy. All people meet the definition of what you call ‘evil’, ‘selfish’, and all those other words that you say having important meaning. What you call ‘evil’, I call natural. And I don’t apologize for being more skillful at this natural law than others. Survival of the fittest wins out, dear.”

This was a complete rejection of everything Marcella stood for, and she wouldn’t even deign to acknowledge it. This entire conversation was deeply unsettling. “Just…what do you want from me?”

Rana’s eyes lit up. “And here we come to the heart of the matter. As I’ve said before, I admire your strength of will. It seems such a waste to just kill someone so extraordinarily driven, and I meet so few interesting people nowadays. So, I’m going to let you go.”

The statement hung in the air for a few moments, until Marcella offered a hesitant, “You’re going to let me go? Just…just like that?”

“Well, not just like that,” Ranavalona admitted, giggling slightly. “There’s still the matter of your incredibly disrespectful display at dinner. I do require some sort of contrition on your part.”

“You…you want an apology?”

“Not even that. Just a simple acknowledgment of my superiority will suffice. And then I’ll return you to normal and let you on your way. You’ve already proven you’re not a threat to me, so I’ve nothing to fear in the way of retaliation.”

Marcella still didn’t understand what she was driving at. “What sort of acknowledgment?”

Ranavalona couldn’t suppress an absolutely chilling grin. “My feet, dear. Kiss them.”

The simplicity of this request both shocked and horrified Marcella. She didn’t want to lower herself to such a level, nor did she want to risk getting so close to the mountainous mage. She didn’t trust Ranavalona, and more importantly, she didn’t trust herself.

Seeing Marcella’s indecision, Rana went on. “No one but the two of us will ever know, dear. And it’s the only logical thing to do. Your alternative is to go back to my little dollhouse, and spend the rest of your days as a completely insignificant insect.”

There was logic to this… “And…you aren’t going to step on me?”

The witch sighed. “If I wanted that, you’d already be under my boots with the rest of the maggots. Now, the clock is ticking, because I have other matters to attend to. If you’re not going to accept my supremely generous offer-“

“Wait!” Marcella insisted, starting to move forward. Rana seemed to loom higher in the air as the shrunken paladin moved to her. She felt warmer as she moved closer, both from Rana’s body heat, and her own apprehension. A great deal of the mage’s smooth, pale flesh was visible between the folds of her robe, and it took every ounce of Marcella’s self-control to keep her eyes averted.

Instead, she focused on her goal, the matching protrusions of the girl’s well-manicured feet. Ranavalona obviously took very good care of them, as they played such a prominent role in her favorite pastimes. The skin was smooth and flawless, and the glossy polish on the nails was the same bright red as her sleepwear. As Marcella drew close enough to touch them, she stole a glance up the twin pillars of Rana’s calves. Her peep wasn’t quick enough, and Rana caught her gaze, smiling seductively with what had to be, by definition, bedroom eyes. She curled her toes slightly in anticipation of Marcella’s prostrations.

“Go ahead, Marcy,” she whispered.

Marcella knelt, in front of a big toe half the size of her own body. With far less hesitation than she’d have expected, she kissed the top of the toe, eliciting a low moan of approval from its enormous owner. “Again,” Rana purred.

Marcella repeated the motion, a bit more eager this time. Thankfully for her pride, Rana was satisfied with the second offering, and pulled away suddenly. Marcella felt a violent retching motion, as she was ungracefully and unceremoniously returned to her full size. She convulsed a bit, while Rana moved off the bed, seemingly done with her. Marcella rolled over, once more disoriented. She looked up slowly, seeing Rana in front of a large wardrobe.

“You’re free to leave now, sweetie,” Rana noted casually, beginning to slip the robe off. “…if you want.”

Marcella didn’t answer her. Rather, she moved unsteadily to her feet, before bolting from the room.