"Once," said Cecilia, wide-eyed over the top of her glass, bare legs tucked under on a still folded towel, her hair piled recklessly on the top of her head, "once, he thumb-fucked me in the elevator, the elevator to the ninth floor. It was full at the time." She'd come home a little late and … Continue reading Filthy, Too
There's filthy glory in this kneeling And the sense of prayer it gives The worship of each other Taste of him on my lips And I can feel my blossom blooming As its heat spreads on my heels As I take complete charge of him Even though it's me that kneels. The store-room floor is … Continue reading Filthy Work
3 A CAVE, IN A WATERFALL, in a wood, and Cecilia Echo Markham, clad in a long diaphanous shift embroidered with fanciful creatures, abed on a tomb. She lies on a mesh of evergreen branches among which are woven lavender, rosemary and mint, an aromatic mattress which separates her from the ancient stone. Two knights, … Continue reading The Yellow Sign, Part 3: The Portrait
2 A LONG NARROW BOOK-CORRIDOR in the outer edges of the Orpheus House library. Quiet, musty and unfrequented and at the far end of the Western Asia department. Dark mahogany shelves fill one wall, the other is one of serried ranks of floor to ceiling stacks, which march away into the distance, half-seen through the … Continue reading The Yellow Sign, Part 2: Hecate.