XIII

I am XIII, the thirteeth creation of the thirteenth breeding cycle. A specific order made for an Ubar, a product of genetic creativity, in some clique's it is phrased intelligent design. It is a concept reputed in most cases as explanation for the universe itself though upon this world it is not so grandiose an ideal. Bred slaves can be had for as little as a few coppers. Most though do not wish to know the inner workings of such experiments. 'Just see to the order and send for me when it is done.'
Grisch and Aestheta were in essence my mother and father although we are all from the seed of Racselis himself. Some have called him genious. My own thoughts are that they have no imagining of the man's true abilities. Some call him a mad man. Those would be closer to the truth but not atributed to his skills.
I remember the underground laboratories of my maker. I remenber Racselis. I remember the Isle of Acresius, the World's End. I remember the beakers of my siblings and the vats that contained those that still breathed. Perfection is often a labored result of many erroneous attempts. The eyes of One better known as Alka, had a depth to them that you could stumble into and never find your way home. The liquid effect of her anatomy keeps her limited to amniotic fluids and for all the gelatinous consistency of her skin, she is in fact all heart. She was and will always be Aestheta's favored. Two sleeps in a jar on the top shelf. The tiny body no larger than my own hand carved from our mother's womb remains in stasis not because of the engorged elongated penis matched by a barbed appendage extending from the end of his nobby spine but because he had the misfortune of being male. Five, so beautiful .. too beautiful for words was rendered mute when they cut out her tongue. Her siren's song crafting such despair that the weight of it urged half the staff to suicide before she was silenced. There were others, pallid aberrations, deviances, atrophies, vistigial creatures that the world does not wish to know of.
Myself? Nothing that is complete breathes.
I was made in the image of my creator. Not the design of my features, not the essence of my existence. Find what question Racselis answered in forming me in his likeness or rather what question he asked. Find why he stood back and proclaimed that I was exquisite and you will find my purpose.
I am said to be all that a man desires. In truth I am merely an uncalculating predator created to feast on lusts ... passions ... weaknesses, whatever they may be.

Imperfect Circle

Had it all come half circle once more to the bowels of Ar? It would stand to reason. Where else could you hide a stolen slave so brazenly in public and think to get away with it?
I knew it by its smell alone and with the sordid fragrances of urine, urt feces, spilled paga and the tang of cum was an odd sense that I'd come home.
The card the freewoman of many colors had long since been lost but as the guard herded me along the busy streets I looked for her. I remember the feel of the image that had been painted on the small announcement, the one of the laughing corpse. I could still feel the texture beneath my thumb.
From beneath the dark hood of the cloak I'd been allowed to wear I watched a face now and then. It wasn't so much expectancy to see the actress or the beautiful faced boy I had met outside the insula. It was simply seeking familiarity. My impassiveness otherwise kept my keeper's hand latched to my forearm. The not so gentle jerks to keep me closer to his side allowed a glimpse of the ivory flesh and the contrast of the golden sirik of my ankle to be seen. His growl was for his own benefit. I did not care.
What happens in the Anbar District stays in the Anbar District.

Silence Echoes

under skinned knees and the skid marksPast the places where you used to learnYou howl and listenListen and wait for theEchoes of angels who wont returneverything you wanteverything you needeverything inside of youThat you wish you could besay all the right thingsAt exactly the right timunder skinned knees and the skid marksPast the places where you used to learnYou howl and listenListen and wait for theEchoes of angels who wont returneverything you wanteverything you needeverything inside of youThat you wish you could besay all the right thingsAt exactly the right timeBut it all means nothing to youAnd you dont know whyeBut it all means nothing to youAnd you dont know why

Withered

Time was not a thing one could keep up with the recesses of the dungeons. The uncontrastable blackness gave no hint of the rise and fall of la torvis. How many moons had passed over the night sky was an unknown but the girl knew it had been quite a long while.
A brief respite came as the guards led her along the path to the waterfalls.Evidence of the length of her stay within the bowels of the slave house was in the warmth of the day's kiss along her cheeks. Seasons had passed and now it was almost time for the harvest. The sound of the streaming water was like thunder to the delicate ears and eyes unaccustomed to light had to be shielded. Each step set the chains of the sirik to slither along her skin. Modesty was provided only with a dark cape to protect the pale skin.
It seemed the instant of her unveiling brought interest. For a woman who was not a whore to her emotions, there was a flicker of anxiousness that the dismal darkness was to be banished. It seemed the torture of her fate was to travel from one emptiness into the brief delight of hope then be plunged into a new netherworld. Lights faded within the vivid mingling of blue and emerald in her eyes.

Forgiveness of Sins

Blessed were the feasts that I been allowed over the past few hands. My keeper's charity had become more tangible as I began to fill out once more. Effects of the hormones I'd been given by my previous Master had finally worn off. My breasts were no longer engorged, dripping with milk. Tor had found great pleasure in the nourishment that his herbs had produced from the tips of my nipples. Another would bear his heirs but she would not share his chamber. Instead he had relished the iniquitous feel of my body created to be ripe as if it had just born a child. Faded now was the sacrilegious vision of the virgin mother. The new rations filled in the concave of my belly and the hollows of my cheeks.
The chains had been removed so that I could exercise my limbs. The cramped quarters gave little room for much but still I danced. Graceful, sweeping, fluid.The dance of the Arian Harvest. I danced to a tune that could be heard only in my head. I danced as the sacrificial verr.

Virtues and Vices

Juices still clung to the sides of the vessel when I'd had all that my body could stand. I slid the bowl between the bars and down as far as I could against the outside wall of my cell. I could see the reflection in its stained surface of the grimy fingers straining to catch purchase of the rim. Then sat back with my head pressed tight against the wall. The scrapping of metal against stone told me that it had been won. The smile did not fade even as the sounds of wretching filled the dungeon corridor. It was good to share.

Within the shadow

The metal bowl that slid across the stone floor didn't hold the usual cuisine of gruel and dried crust of bread, both teeming with the movement of small white vermin. My nostrils flared finding the new aroma an assault. Meat. Meat and suls. I stared at it for a long before I gathered it in the crook of my arm possessively. I ate quickly before my keepers changed their mind or could finish their cruel joke.
My stomach protested vehemently the new faire. I choked on the bile that rose with the food then swallowed both.