Eldritch Enrichment

By VivettaVenray

(WARNING: Contains a lot of 'out-there' stuff including tentacles/vines, plant-horror, and flesh-morphing/body-horror.

The main character also has plant-like powers and qualities, so keep that in mind.

In addition this story also contains vore [including hard] soul-vore, soul-play/torture, terra-scales, omni-stuff, powers-play, sadism, horror, gore, internals, transformation, digestion, absorption and eldritch themes among other stuff.)

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Chapter 1: The Ball

186X, London, England

It was a most splendid ball room. Not many windows filled the room, but what few was there were magnificent. The squarish outlooks caught the sun in their stained glass and warped it into a most splendid colorful luminescence. Most of the light came from the candle sconces spaced only a couple feet away from one another: that and the crystal chandeliers dangling from the high ceiling. On that ceiling, a mural above depicted all sorts of angelic figures frolicking about greenery. The floor was wide and smooth and alight with the dancing feet of London’s young elite.

Oliver was perhaps the richest and most handsome young man in the country. Naturally, this meant his 23rd birthday had to be the most splendid affair of the year. No expense was spared. Scalloped tables were festooned with the flowers interspersed between decadent deserts and appetizers. Casks of the finest wines were set in the room’s corner.

It was rather scandalous to have the liquor out in the open as opposed to in the kitchen, but Oliver always had a mild scandal like that at all his festivities. Besides, it’s not as though the servants weren’t the ones still carting it to and fro. No one here would sully their hands serving themselves after all.

A young party guest, scarcely older than 21 herself, stood by the casks. Her black-laced gloves were lightly torn at the tip of one digit by a pointed fingernail. She dragged that slender finger across a cask’s surface. She scraped at the wood a bit with the nail before moving to the next one.

Aside from Oliver, no person here carried more rumors about them. Her lissom build, pale skin, asociality, and blood-red hair had many joking she was a witch. It was very curious that she was here at all, in fact. This was the first ball anyone has seen her at since... forever really.

She did dress the part at least. Like the other women, she wore a hooped skirt with ruffle like petals at the hem. The fashion of the moment was to have these wide flower-like dresses, and she fit it well.

Her dress had a curious red to it. The blouse matched the shade, though her bodice was a bone white in contrast. Black dancing slippers adorned her feet.

As she continued tapping the casks, thoughts ran through her mind.

“I wish I was at home with my books and garden.”
“The performers play a bit too loud.”

“These shoes hurt my feet.”

So lost in her trance was she that she didn’t notice the gaggle of gossiping meanies till they were upon her.

“Well well if it isn’t Clover Marigold” came a shrill voice that was unmistakably...

“Angelica” said Clover turning around. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

Angelica put a lot of effort into her appearance. Her goal was to woo Oliver into marriage. She loved the man’s handsome face almost as much as his prestige and money. Her blonde hair was styled into a bun, and she had the widest dress with the most flounces and ruffles. A corset squeezed her waist so thin that Clover wondered if her organs were claustrophobic in there...

At the blonde woman’s side, as always, were her two minions: Peggy and Megan. Peggy had brown hair, Megan black. Their dresses were the second and third best at the ball, respectively.

To Clover, it seemed they existed to support Angelica’s every word, all the while secretly relishing each embarrassment their queen bee did. Those gaffs were few and far between, but each one from their superior was a most delicious nectar to their egos. Clover’s green eyes caught the corners of their lips twitch as Angelica found a bit of dust on her skirt and blushed it off all flustered.

Angelica spoke.

“We just noticed you hanging out by the wine casks was all. A bit strange if you ask me. You know the servants won’t be serving it till later.”

“Of course” said Clover with a smile. “I was just inspecting the fine wood of the containers. Oliver spared no expense.”

“It’s so good to see you out and about you know!” said Angelica in a most saccharine tone. “They said you had thin blood, you know. How is that?”

“Hemophilia you mean.” said Clover. “It is a struggle at times, but I’ve found some good treatments in my studies.”

Angelica grabbed Clover’s hand, ostensibly as a friend would. Then, she curled her pointed fingernails at the lace of Clover’s glove. If she pressed a bit further, her poking nails might pierce the frail woman’s skin.

The blonde woman leaned in. “Just how did you get an invite anyway?”

Clover seemed unphased as she answered.

“His family owes mine a great deal.”

“Your family is dead.” said Angelica, her blue eyes locked onto Clover’s green.

“Yes, but before they died they helped Oliver with some investments. Investments I now own a stake in as the sole heiress. Now, if you’d kindly get your nails off me, I have a feeling he’ll be out shortly for his birthday toast.”

“They say you’re a witch. It’d make since to me, no one can have skin that pale naturally. I’ve tried.”

Angelica pressed tighter on Clover’s arm.

“I assure you my complexion reflects a sensitivity to the sun and a dearth of vigor. Nothing more.” said Clover.

A pause.

“Relax, I’m not after his affections if that’s your concern.” said Clover again to address Angelica’s real question.

The answer seemed to quell the blonde socialite, who let go and smiled smugly.

Before Angelica could open her chattering mouth again, Oliver stepped into the hall. All eyes were on him, and Angelica ditched her tormenting to rush into the center of the dance floor with the others. Her two minions followed dutifully after.

Everyone wanted to get a look at their host. Oliver wandered up on the stage with the band. His suit was slim, trim and fine. Pants legs stripped a thin gold on black. His suit coat was a pure black. He had a top-hat with a red band on it which gave the otherwise bland outfit a bit of tasteful flare. He waltzed onto the stage and raised his hand to stop the band from playing.

“Thank you all for coming to my birthday ball! Some of you I know from business, others from my college days, but I truly want to express my gratitude to you all. Why I can remember my first-”

And he went on and on and enamored just about everyone in the grand hall: everyone but Clover. She was busy tapping at those casks. Once she touched each and every one with her fingernail, she moved to the dance floor with the others. They cleared a path for her: the rumors of witchcraft had some benefits, such as not having to shove her way through a crowd.

She caught the end of the speech.

“...Without further ado, let’s have some drinks!” he shouted.

The crowd cheered and clapped. Oliver was a young man, and they too were young. No one here was over 30 sans the staff, and not a soul was under 20. The prospect of imported inebriants could excite any of them.

Any save Clover at least, who just clasped her hands quietly. Wait staff filled the room. They took to the casks and poured the liquid into fine glasses on their platters. Each one dressed the same: men in plain black suits and black bow ties with stuffy mustaches and stuffier accents. They were professional, yet very persistent. They made sure everyone at least sampled the wines.

Everyone except for Clover.

There was some chatter and gossip. Lips were looser now at the wine’s touch. Ladies and gentlemen stuffed their faces around scalloped tables freshly stocked with hors d'oeuvres. When it came down to indulgence vs decorum, the former always won out even among the ‘refined’ class.

Clover simply kept to the edges of the hall. No one had tried to talk to her since Angelica’s interrogation earlier. ‘Perfect’, she thought. She preferred it this way. It made things easier.

Within half an hour it was time to dance again. The band played a slow waltz. The red-dressed redhead hugged the wall, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to dance by some curiosity or dare from one of the men.

No such luck. Oliver himself approached her. The young man and extended his hand.

“Care for a dance, milady.”, he said.

Clover did not, but over Oliver’s bent shoulders she saw Angelica glaring daggers her way. The blonde was stuck dancing with one of Oliver’s lackeys for now; a fine fellow he was, but not the best. The notion of making that awful woman seethe prompted Clover’s answer.

“Of course.”

And Clover grasped his hand and the two made their way to the center of the dance floor.

She wasn’t a fool. The primary reason Oliver asked her for a dance had to be to make another one of his adored scandals. She knew these games, even if she didn’t play them herself. She imagined the rumors now.

‘He danced with the witch.’

‘Does he fancy her?’

‘Did she enchant him perhaps?’

Seems he had some curiosity to satisfy as well.

“I heard you are good with plants.” he said, jerking his body to the side in movements she begrudgingly followed.

“It’s true I have something of a garden in the building I own.”

Clover looked past his grinning face to one of the bouquets on a tabled vase. She hated to see flowers cut of their roots. Beautiful as they were, they’d wither soon. She’d vastly prefer the company of any flower to that of a gross, hypocritical human.

“Garden.” he chuckled. “That’s one way to put it. Don’t you have a greenhouse and everything.”

She smiled. “One must be a little modest after all, especially since it’s your birthday Oliver.”

The pair twirled as the violin solo part of the piece kicked in.

“Well, is it true, that you practice magic or something? Some say you use the herbs you grow for potions.”

Clover laughed.

“Come now, you’ve made a small fortune by now, surely you’re smart enough not to heed such rumors.”

“Right right, of course” he said. “You know I must thank you again for your initial investment.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Another twirl and Clover noticed Angelica was steering her dance partner towards her and Oliver. She likely intended to accidentally ‘bump’ into them so as to have an excuse to join the conversation. The redhead shot a smirk towards the woman before staring back to Oliver.

The man asked more questions.

“So why do you keep to yourself so much? I’ve invited you to every ball I’ve thrown these past three years. Why come now?”

“Did you really ask me to dance just to dig into my life like this?~” She asked her question in a teasing tone, but they both knew the answer was yes.

“I figured I’d get out more, starting today. Why, I have much I want to see. I recently uncovered a good treatment for my conditions as well.” said Clover.

“Hemophilia?” he said.

Clover raised an eyebrow. “That’s the big one yes. Also very good, you got the name right and everything.”

“Most people mess it up?”

“Quite. Anyways I’m even working on a cure towards it.”

“A cure? I had no idea you studied medicine?”

“I study many things in my free time.”

The violin solo ended and the waltz went back to a slower pace. Amid the seas of wide dresses, Angelica drew even closer. She had been stymied by the faster movements of the others, till now.

“I like your dress. It’s a very interesting shade of red. What’s the dye?” Oliver asked.

“I stepped the outfit in a mixture of my own design.”

“You made a dye with your plants?”

“Oh no, this was... animal based.”

“Ah, like those red beetles?”

Clover smirked. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m sure their sacrifice was worth it.” he chuckled.

“I’m inclined to agree.”, she said.

The music slowed down, the waltz drew to an end. All the dancing party goers slowed with it. Feet misstepped. Angelica fell over, and whatever petty little scheme she was planning tumbled with her..

Oliver started to go limp in Clover’s arms. She gave him a small shove so as to not have his bulk collapse on her.

All the other nobles followed suit. Their heads clanged against the floor. Clover watched to make sure none of them had cracked their head open. She needed them alive. The band, however, not so much.

The waiting staff hopped onto the stage and drew daggers, quickly taking care of the musicians Oliver had hired.

Clover grinned.

“Finally I can take these awful shoes off.” She kicked her legs and set the footwear flying. Pale naked feet set themselves down by Oliver’s head. He turned and grabbed at her ankles with his right hand.

“W-what’s going on. I feel so tired.”

Clover slid her foot from his feeble, limp grip. She kicked the side of his head to have him look up towards the frescoed ceiling and its stunning chandeliers.

“Quiet now, you’ll see soon enough.”

His eyelids drew to a close.