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                               Sangrelysia

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

Unicorn

   The three of us chatted by the water's edge as the magic wok
   sliced and sizzled with fresh vegetables, and the wavering waves
   borrowed the deepening reds and oranges from the spectacular sky.

   The eight-year-old girl told us of events she remembered from
   thousands of years ago. "It all gets a bit vague after a couple
   of centuries or so."

   She sat with slender olive-skinned legs apart, with the innocent
   exposure of a child unaware the ogling ogre's eyes, or the
   lesbian ladies' stare. Of the invisible imagined tongues and
   fingers, licking and caressing her delicate soft tiny smooth
   folds, exploring the mysteries of the darkness inside that
   magical crease, the opening ready to eagerly accommodate
   throbbing desire.

   "I'll never forget meeting Socrates. That was before I came to
   Sangrelysia, of course. He was always full of these nutty little
   ideas but they would make you think, you know? Anyway, I thought
   he was just another crazy come down to the river -- you should
   have seen his eyes -- the classic madman, only with a sense of
   humor that could just kill you. There was a bunch of starry-eyed
   kids sort of following him around, and he was all saying how you
   could never set foot in the same river twice, and one of the kids
   kept saying yes you could because the concept of the river was
   just a form. . ."

   "That would be Plato."

   "Whatever. But the best time of my life I ever spent was in the
   Indus valley, way back when. I mean, nowadays it's just a mess,
   so sad. But back in the times of the dimensional merge, it was
   simply outlandish. Talking elephants, flying monkeys. You never
   knew when a flock of birds might coalesce into the form of some
   all-powerful deity who would grant any boon; or a gleaming golden
   castle studded with gems and mirrors might appear one day, only
   to vanish the next, without even a trace. And they really knew
   how to eat, let me tell you. Seven-course dinners that were like
   epic sagas in dramatic scope, from soaring Himalayan peaks of
   potatoes, to whisperingly subtle sweet desserts, fragile as a
   swallow's feather. . ."

   "Dinner's ready," I said.

   "Not that I mean to sound ungrateful," she said, lightly touching
   my forearm. "What you have to offer looks absolutely splendid,
   thank you."

   "You're welcome," I said. "But all I did was invoke the spell."

   "Still."

   Hunger beckoned. A table appeared, with cushions around it upon
   which we all sat. Steaming bowls filled with vegetables and rice
   floated over to set down before us. Hunger met with grease, salt,
   spices, and fresh vegetables as we set about devouring the
   plenitude of food.

   "Everything you know," said Sylvia, "the memories, all the
   wisdom."

   "Mostly disconnected memories, really. I don't know how much
   actual wisdom."

   "Still." Sylvia's bright eyes were open, intimate in the
   twilight. "The memories. They're so great. I mean, you know all
   this stuff."

   "Yeah?"

   "Why do you want to throw it away?"

   "Sylvia --" I began.

   "It's OK, I'm used to it," replied Clarissa. "Nobody understands.
   How could you? How could you possibly know what it's truly like
   to watch empires rise and crumble? To see sophisticated
   civilizations trampled by arrogant fools in fine armor? The best
   and brightest flowers of humankind snuffed by the mud of ignorant
   worthless trash? To watch blithering idiots set fire to books and
   art, lifetimes worth of hard work, great creations going up in
   flames to disintegrate into dust? Decades of suffering and
   struggle for justice rendered meaningless by some tyrant's whim?
   How can you possibly feel what I do?"

   "But when we restore the Kingdom --" began Sylvia.

   "Your Kingdom!" Clarissa laughed harshly with disgust. Her
   passion and complexity seemed incongruous coming from the body of
   such a young child. "And you can't possibly know what it is, to
   watch helplessly, someone you loved as a child, grow old and
   die." She choked back a sob.

   Without speaking, our thoughts immersed in the raucous din of a
   million bugs' voices chattering singing, the soulful chirp of
   tiny creatures whose time on the planet was so short.

   The autumnal hues of twilight turned to leaden grey, and
   pinpoints of brightness began peeking through the celestial
   sphere. Bats darted silently above us, dining on insects as we
   consumed the cornucopia of the magic wok.

   "Pass the rice?" said Sylvia, breaking the silence.

   But then our silence continued, a kind of dignified reverence for
   time itself. Cool breezes blew fresh water scent essences across
   inhaled breath, and I watched Sylvia light a fire, not that one
   was needed in this embracing tropical warmth.

   For me to watch her performing magic, it caused something
   profound to move inside of me, to writhe and stir. Pride and love
   swelled into passion and desire, but the well of swirling
   emotions inside met with a stone wall of locked-up stillness as I
   studied Clarissa, motionless as a statue, sitting cross-legged on
   the bedding we had spread out.

   Our ancient child sat in perfect calm, unfathomable, hunched
   forward slightly, her shadow dancing behind her from the nascent
   flickering firelight.

   I scrunched in beside her. "Can I hold you?" I asked. It sounded
   silly, but I could not think of how else to say it. She looked
   back at me with a faint smile, mixed with her ever-present
   complexity which I could not hope to comprehend, but most of all
   I sensed her loneliness.

   Shrugging, she acquiesced, leaning back into my arms. Gently, I
   surrounded her with my comfort.

   Having built the fire, Sylvia joined us as we lay there, on
   Clarissa's other side, so we ensconced her with our loving.
   Gentle softness, the feel of human skin, bare or through thin
   fabric. The living coziness of another body touching.

   Smoke scent joined the water's freshness on the breeze. "Who?"
   asked an owl nearby, then a few minutes later, "Who?" again.

   Sylvia and Clarissa were lying curled up, forehead to forehead,
   holding hands, Sylvia's dark strands entwined with Clarissa's
   gold-flecked dark blonde. I could see the moment approaching in
   the fullness of Sylvia's lips as the nymph gazed absently up at
   the starlight.

   Sylvia touched Clarissa's chin lightly with her tiny thumb,
   coiling her legs behind the other girl's calves, and before I
   knew it they were kissing, Clarissa's warm springy buttocks
   bouncing in slow motion against my lap, as the two girls twisted
   and turned, pushing and pulling with adagio tension, savoring
   every thrust and caress, both lost in the intoxicating delirium
   of repressed lust poured out slowly, delicately.

   Clarissa reached behind her. She whispered desperately,
   longingly. "Take it away. Take my immortality." She had found me
   with her hand, grasping my surging desire in her soft tiny palm,
   mercilessly tracing the sensitive crease of the ready tip with
   her little-girl fingers.

   "No," I said, with difficulty. "Be patient."

   "PATIENT?!" She sat up suddenly, snarling. "And what would you
   know of patience? You're telling me I haven't waited long
   enough?"

   All action had come to a jagged halt, as anger pumped adrenaline,
   making reality flicker with confusion.

   "Clarissa, please," I said.

   "And you of all people," she struck the center of my chest with
   her open palm. "You've known the blissful taste of the afterlife,
   but you still won't let me join your club."

   "Both wrong," I said. "Would you just calm down and listen for a
   minute?" The sound of heavy breathing. "How do you know that what
   I experienced was truly the afterlife? Look. I'm still alive,
   aren't I?"

   "Yes, it was the afterlife," she contradicted.

   "Sure, maybe. Probably even. But nobody truly knows for sure.
   It's impossible to prove one way or the other, until you actually
   get there. How can you be positive it's not something completely
   different?"

   She spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable: "I want to end this
   infernal go-nowhere existence."

   "You will," I whispered. "Just, don't make me do it right now,
   please? I'm not ready to take responsibility for such a huge
   decision. Besides, I'm already in a relationship with Sylvia.
   Wouldn't you rather have somebody that's all yours?"

   "But I love both of you!" I noticed she still had one hand on my
   sex, which was (if anything) increasing infuriatingly in
   stiffness as we argued.

   "You barely know us," I murmured.

   Clarissa smiled. "Intuition. I know." She bent over and kissed my
   desire, tantalizingly tickling the tip with a flick of her
   tongue. "Then can't I at least taste it? Taste the seed of
   death?"

   "Of life," corrected Sylvia.

   Clarissa shrugged. "To have life, you must have death. Can't have
   one without the other. Birth, death, passion. All the same, in a
   way. Pain, pleasure."

   She gave another agonizingly delightful turn with the tip of her
   tongue, looked up at me with a coy smile. "Do you want me to call
   you `Daddy?'"

   Sylvia rolled her eyes, and rolled up the bottom of Clarissa's
   borrowed dress, poking and prodding with knowing finesse. She
   bent over to whisper in the nymph's ear: "Would you like to
   orgasm at the same time?"

   Clarissa whimpered with astonishment, in response to Sylvia's
   touch. "Yes, please," she managed weakly, then "Oh God!" as
   Sylvia bent over to apply her tongue to the task.

   Theism was at an all-time high that night, and many invocations
   of the supreme deity would soon follow, accompanied by
   supplications to the Holy Mother of Life, the Queen of Mysterious
   Night, as well as a diverse array of icons and spirits who might
   have formed quite a sell-out crowd had they all shown up in
   person.

   A burst of feminine aroma blasted me into euphoria, as Clarissa
   parted her legs, arching her lower back, and Sylvia laid down
   face-up, to attend fully to her charged duties.

   In our climb to climax each reflected the inspiration of the
   other. Watching Clarissa eagerly plunge my dirty secret desire
   between her tiny red little-girl lips, I felt her worrying my
   sensitive opening with her tongue, coaxing and cajoling.

   "Oh, that feels so good!" she gasped to Sylvia. "Oh please, let
   me taste you!" she slurped hoarsely to me. So Sylvia and I made
   love to the beautiful little girl, the aged sage of newfound
   innocence, ever alight with childish play, smooth-skinned yet
   disconcertingly wise.

   Yes, Sylvia and I joined in opening our union, in sharing another
   girl's passion together.

   As I watched Clarissa's buttocks tremble with the raw saw-toothed
   edge of mounting climax, she found another nerve underneath my
   archway of entanglement, burning delightfully with her wicked
   fingers, digging through the roots of my soul-felt symbiosis,
   twisting the thorns of sharp pleasure as she lapped innocently
   with fragile lips, luminescent with the mysteriously shaded
   chiaroscuro of sexual beauty.

   Glowing, afire with angelic evil. Her mouth full of me, I felt
   the vibrations of her voice as she reached her goal against
   Sylvia's lips, her snorting breaths around my burning sword as
   her tongue relentlessly probed, as her fingers dexterously played
   the notes and chords of my soul-fire.

   It was her release that pushed me over the edge, and I felt my
   body respond. Like Apollo, I stood motionless on my chariot while
   around me the wheels of existence churned, and the horses of
   sensory perception charged ahead on their reins.

   With that rare thrill of electric oneness, I could see her
   awareness that she was witnessing the special moment, partaking,
   influencing the course of events, the merging of heavens and
   earth, as together we shared the ephemeral intimate glow of
   sacred delight.

   In that stillness, with a feather-touch, I gently imparted the
   gift of my spicy sweetness, the seed of life or inversely, the
   elixir of long-sought mortality. Gently, lovingly, I placed the
   pearls of salvation to coat with sticky fluid the delightfully
   harsh roughness of her waiting tongue.
     ____________________________________________________________

   Afterwards, we hoisted the Princess up Rapunzel's ladder to join
   us in the palace of delight, I lightly kissing her lips while
   Clarissa plied her skillful trade in the lower realms between
   spread legs.

   From there we drifted apart together into dreamland in the
   darkness of the flame's fading flicker.
     ____________________________________________________________

   In some unknown hour of darkness, I awoke to see a white unicorn
   standing over me, eyes curiously gazing into mine. For a long
   moment, we remained frozen in statuesque rapture.

   Then, as I thought to waken the others, it leapt up with a
   whimsical snort an trotted away, horn pointed skyward, opalescent
   against the night sky, soon to vanish amid the forest shadows.

                                                          Chapter 26

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