Blood Stained Porcelin

February 12, 2007

 This was originally going to be the prolouge to a novel I was writing that has been put on hold due to the fact that it almost turned into an Erotica.

The Cell

It was quiet. I was always quiet where she was. It had been nearly seventy years since her sentence had been passed. They had stopped giving her food after four years. They came to look in her private bricked chamber and saw her sleeping the sleep of the dead as the morning sun shone. They thought she was dead, so they reported it and they stopped feeding her.

She had expected that after being declared dead they would have removed her body from her bricked up chambers. Perhaps, they would even want her to rest in peace in the cemetery where her husband and family were laid to rest. She was disappointedly wrong in that assessment of her jailors. Instead they declared her private chambers to be “cursed” and that no man should ever enter it again. A rather smart move for all of them as it saved them from her awakening that evening, but rather poor luck for her, as she remained trapped.

With no blood to sustain her unholy powers, and no food to keep her going from day to day, Erzsébet Báthory had to spend most of her time sleeping and resting her body. She found it rather ironic that she seemed incapable of dying from starvation but could still feel the hunger gnawing at her insides. Making her wish that some morsel of food, either blood or regular, would find itself to her once again.

She glanced at the mirror that stood on her dressing area, she could see it well even in the pitch black that her chambers had existed in for decades. She looked so old, so much older than the fifty years old that was sentenced to this imprisonment. She looked nothing like the eighteen-year-old woman that was found slaughtering virgins to keep her youthful façade. Instead she looked like a hag, actually even older than the one hundred twenty years she had actually been alive.

Her skin was old, gray and leathery, giving her an appearance like a boot that had been neglected in the sun and allowed to crack and break. Her eyes were bloodshot, the irises had faded to nothing decades ago. He body itself no longer fit in the nightgown she wore, it had grown withered and thin, her once firm breasts had become flat, flaccid, hanging bags of flesh. She tried to cry but had no strength or tears to weep.

She could hardly believe that she was once the most beautiful one in the land. She once had, had skin like porcelain, hair like golden silk, and eyes that could bewitch man or woman. Her body was a thing of beauty and perfection, and she never let it become sullied by the seed of a man. She had wrapped her husband around her finger so that he knew his place was not the place between her thighs.

Everyone knew that she was the true power in her husband’s court. They knew that she made all the decisions. She was the one who decided who lived and who died, who was ignored and who was heard. She was believed to be as cruel as she was beautiful, and as a result of both cruelty and beauty, none would dare question her orders or commands. She was the dominant leader of her homelands.

Unfortunately, like all good things, it did indeed come to an end. When her husband died she lost her face among the nobles. Very few would hear the ideas of a woman, even if she were well known and feared. In fact, many began to resent her rule by proxy, and how easily she had maintained it. Her temperament and rumored “hobbies” proved to be the ammunition required to remove her power from her.

She had always thought of her trial as a farce. Or she should say the trial she never received. Instead they locked her in bedchamber, all the windows bricked up, then her door was bricked up, save for a small slot to feed her from. She had to defend herself though letters and through the boy she claimed was her son. The nobility was supposed to be above reproach, but Erzsébet seemed to think that only truly applied to those who the king liked.

And so without trial she was sentenced to the slow cruel death in her bedchamber. She was to be mourned by none, and to rot in her bed for all her days. Fate proved cruel as she lie there, unable to die. She realized that she was, indeed, going to rot for the rest of her days. Just she was going to be completely conscious through the whole thing.

Erzsébet’s introspective thoughts were interrupted by a sound. She had not heard sound of any kind in half a century so she struggled to hear it, her hearing still as keen as her eyesight. It sounded to her like the scurrying of a mouse or a rat. Seemingly haven snuck through the hole that they used to feed her from. And thus, it meant only one thing to her, blood! She needed blood! After hearing the noise, it was the only thought she could muster, she needed blood

She rolled herself to off her bed, breaking her legs and her hips in the processes. The mummification that had begun its work on her had made her bones brittle. Still though her need for the blood of living things pushed her forward. She crawled with broken fingers on broken arms, each pull of her body causing sickening pain and suffering as she crawled her way to the rat.

It looked at her it’s nose twitching, it’s small brain trying to comprehend the damned creature that had crawled towards her. It was instinctively fearful of the creature, though it could not run, it’s legs would not move. The terror instilled in the creature was beyond comprehension for it. Broken hands lunged forward with a last dart of speed and the rat was in her grasp.

She brought it to her mouth; her canines had become sharpened points capable of piercing flesh easily. She dug her teeth into the creatures head and neck literally tearing it off it’s body. The small amount of blood it had in it’s body being sucked out of it. It’s head swallowed out of instinct. She continued to squeeze as much blood as she could out of it’s body before she began to chew it and tear at it, devouring it’s flesh as surely as she devoured it’s blood. Her senses were swimming in the first nourishment of any kind in decades. Her mind slowed and her reason returned to her and she considered this boon.

With the pathetic creatures blood she could escape her prison. She could empower herself with strength beyond anything a mere mortal could possibly know. When she was out she could find more prey. Stronger prey. Human prey. With human blood within her again she could regain what she had lost and had missed the most. With the strength of human blood she could begin the sacrifices anew and restore her wonderful beauty.

With this the only goal in her mind she pounded the bricked up doorway. She would be free soon; the brick had already begun to give way to her new strength. She would be beautiful again. Erzsébet Báthory, the so-called blood countess, would be forever beautiful and forever powerful.

She would see to that.


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