La Dimora
La Dimora, or just an extravagantly pompous manor resided on the top of a barren cliff, where one could find nothing but bizarrely twisted dead trees, strangely formed rocks with sharp edges and, in rare cases, the shrill howling from, perhaps, ravens out of sight.
No one knows why and how to build such an unfathomably luxurious structure at such a secluded place. No one knew for how long it had been lurking in the untouched wildness. But any possible and logical answers were absolutely of the least importance for the maniac herd inside enjoying the feast. Why should they? Will you ever consider the price when soaking in boundless euphoria? No. At least they didn’t. The sensorial indulgence. The never-satisfied fetish. The unrepeated exotic dishes flew endlessly out from somewhere shrouded in darkness at the end of a crimson corridor without candle light. They always got served in time by lined-up veiled maidens, whose skin was in rosy colour, like that of a new born. They made sure the gastronomes could always get what they desired the most.
However, the feast was destined to end. The moment when any part of any food failed to provoke any satisfaction would surely came. No more tempting delicacy came out from the other side of the corridor. The blatantly burping guests laid back in satisfaction on their velvet armchairs stained by spilled sauce, sharing bawdy vulgarity with others akin, laughing and squealing. The unstable candlelight on the antique bronze chandelier was silenced, and the space turend to a much darker red like clotting blood. A mysterious figure, or just a shadow forgotton in the flow of time, quietly descended to the center of the long prepared stage. The time for the exclusive ritual had come, for what those filthy creatures came for. The twitched euphoria began its spiral ascension.
A sinister red light from nowhere, undulating like a levitating specter, lingered among the partially satisfied but still desirous herd. The ball rolled in the spinning roulette until the lucky number was chosen. A young man in his 20s. His burly corpse under finely decorated clothes showed an enviable vigour. And the shadow of flame in his clear eyes revealed a much stronger desire. A fiercer desire retained underneath that needed to be instantly released before the bearer of it carried out any self-destructive action.
The unrecognisable silhouette in the center tapped the ground two times with its ebony cane. A raucous male voice, an aggressive rosin smell, a decayed sarcophage.
La Sua Oferta.
It demanded a price. And a quick approval after the young man declared to offer all his heirlong. He was then sommoned, or, more precisely, dragged onto the center of the stage by a grandiose pull, like a lifeless marionette, as the figure on the center tapped again the wooden stage with the cane.
A procession consisted of veiled figures steadily came out from the suffusive darkness surronding the herd, each of them would provoke no less feeling of lust than those serving maidens. They barely had any clothes on. And you could clearly hear some beasts gulping hardly while fixing their greedy eyes on the bald voluptuousness, and doing shameless gestures whose description I would omit. Those figures came onto the stage and gather around the young man. No one saw or heared what happened to him in the middle of the circles of flesh. There came the scent of incense as the restless herd expressed their envy or made lewd jokes of the man. The circle of flesh began to move, and the young man, now naked, was lifted into the air by waving arms below. You could see, following the direction of the movement of that circle, a solemn chariot where stood a silent silhouette in the dark. It would probably take
The Redder Room 