We all know the tragedy of Lescatie. Of how that magnificent city became a den of licentiousness and decadence that makes even the most God-fearing of us tremble at its wickedness. We all spit venom at the name of Wilmarina, the Traitor Heroine, who sold out that shining city in her lust for a man. We all shed tears for what was a center of piety and purity in these dark times and pray that one day, our Lord would redeem that land and pass judgment on those who defile creation.
While we all know of that story, few of us know of its genesis, of Druella, daughter of the Harlot Queen and instigator of that wretched day. Few of us know who she is or why she set her unholy eyes on that sacred city. Even fewer of us know of her before she entered the world’s stage as the paragon of her mother’s lascivious creed.
But I know of that story. I know of the days when Druella, feared as she is, was little more than a spoiled daughter of the Fallen Hero. I know what began that terrible day for dear Lescatie.
It all began many years ago beneath the Demon Lord’s palace, in the basement Druella had made her own. Even then her ambition could be seen by all because inside her sanctum, she had constructed a demon realm made of pillows. The walls of her cotton fortress stood taller than two men and extended the entire space. Behind them, soft towers surveyed her domain. A sign scrawled in demonic letters hung over the gate and declared to the world, “Druella’s Pleasure Palace.”
Inside, Druella busied herself primping and preening as women, even the demonic kind, are wont to do. She readied herself for a day that she had pined to come. On that day, a boy was coming to visit. She had high hopes. She had successfully talked to a local boy, who’s parents had undoubtedly sold him into slavery, at a nearby inn. She spun one last time in front of a mirror to check to see if she looked perfect in what monsters consider clothing. She was satisfied that it exposed enough of her cleavage and the entirety of her shoulders and back. Everything was going to be perfect.
Right then, a rapping was heard.”Lady Druella, your guest has arrived,” The servant girl spoke through the door.
“Coming!” Druella pranced out of the gate of her realm, but stopped short of the palace’s door.
With a deep sigh, the demon attempted to dispel her nervousness.
Standing beside the servant, some manner of wolf-harpy monstrosity, stood a youth cursed with handsomeness. How terrible it is to be desired by demons! Tall by any standard of measure, but also toned; the young man’s body had been trained by his daily labors. Worst of all, his eyes shone with the vigor of his age.
“H, hello, John,” Druella said.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” He took a knee and touched his lips to her wretched hand. A heinous act that reddened Druella’s cheeks as if she were a young maiden in love.
“Please, just Druella. Don’t think anything of the castle or my mother.”
Looking up from his knee, John returned her smile, “Druella it is.”
“Come on in.”
He followed her into her chamber and was struck still by the sight of her demon realm. His brown eyes traced over the fluffy spires that peered down above him and the soft walls that hid away the lewd acts within. The single thread of humanity in his poor soul quivered at the monument to wickedness before him.
“Oh? Don’t mind that,” Druella said, “ I like to build things.”
“It’s… great…” His awestruck words could barely leave his tongue.
“I thought it’d be neat to make a luxurious fortress,” She walked through the gate and motioned for him to follow, “Take a look.”
John labored to move his feet forward and the nightmares only continued. In the main room of her citadel, stuffed toys, like the kind a mother would give her newborn, looked down upon her luxurious bed. In between them though, when John looked carefully, he noticed a smooth lacquered phallus, tucked between a lion and a bear. The tool of her perversion sent chills down his spine.
“Here, let’s sit down,” She motioned for him to sit on her bed, “I’m really happy that you came today.”
For a moment, she thought wistfully over some of her plans and the offenses they would commit in the eyes of our Lord.
“Yeah… me too,” He sat beside her on as much of the edge as he could manage.
“I don’t have as many visitors as my sisters do, so I thought really hard about we should do.”
His eyes continued to dart from one corner of the pleasure palace to another, occasionally lingering on an out of place pillow brick or the main gate of her castle.
“Yep! First, I thought we should have a little tea. Serena is great at making it and always knows which one is best for the occasion.”
The young man focused his gaze on the small white tea table made of a wood as black as the demon capital is profane. Two chairs made of the same wood sat underneath. An expensive table cloth embroidered with pink hearts laid over it while a stuffed rabbit sat its center.
“Before that, do you mind if I used the bathroom?” John asked.
“Oh no, go ahead. That’ll be perfect actually. It’ll take Serena a few minutes to prepare everything.”
“Which way is it?”
“If you go out the door and take a left, it’s the 5th door on the right.”
“Thanks,” He answered while rising swiftly.
Druella lifted a device of black magicks from her nightstand and relayed her orders to her favorite maidservant and then waited.
As she did, she went over the salacious plan she had concocted. She revealed in the pleasures they would share together and the boundaries they would break. Her heart swooned when she imagined how they would feel when they held each other close in the afterglow of their sins. As she imagined, time passed, and Serena placed a tea pot and a few small cakes on the table.
Even after that, Druella waited and dreamed of everything that was in store for her and that young man damned for the wickedness he committed and commits even to this day. Her crimson eyes closed as imagined how that day was going to be perfect for her and what may become her husband. She thought of how happy their lives would be together and love they would feel.
When she woke from her reverie, John had still not returned.
“Maybe I should check on him.” She mused.
Moments later she knocked on the bathroom door, “John, is everything okay?”
But there was no answer.
“John!” She called out louder, “Are you all right?”
Still there was only silence and panic seized her heart. She found it strange that the door opened so readily but that too was answered by an empty room.
“Where is he?”
Without bothering to close the door, a terrible show of manners, she dashed through the palace calling out his name.
Curious heads turned to see the Harlot Princess causing such a scene, but paid no more mind. It was Druella after all.
“John! Where are you? Say something! I’ll find you!”
Her voice echoed through the vaulted ceilings and the stained glass windows of that decadent palace. She looked high and low, behind lewd tapestries and around statues depicting man and monster in gut wrenching copulation.
It was not until she was in the east wing of the palace, a spot favored by one of her sisters, did her search come to an end. From a cracked bedroom door, she heard the voice of that young man. She accelerated forward, excited that she finally found him, until she saw what was happening inside.
One of her sisters and at the time, a better example to whorish nature of their ilk, was in the midst of laying with John. They moaned in pleasure and thrust their bodies together like dogs in heat.
“Ah, Frei! Frei!” John yelled out as he thrust himself against her.
“Yes, yes, more John! More!”
Druella’s hand limply fell from the door it was about to push open. Without a word, she turned and left her date in the embrace of her sister. Tears fell, but know that this betrayal is the nature of monsters. They are beings of lust and will turn on their kin in order to sate their passions.
She returned to her fortress of solitude in her mother’s basement. The tea sitting on the table had grown as cold as her bed and Druella examined herself in the mirror.
She was tall and seemingly given the perfect form. Her fingers ran through her alabaster hair and she caressed her own cheek, imaging it were John’s. That image was fleeting but as it slipped away, the blackness of her nature was revealed.
Rage, wild as the fires that burn through the northern forests in summer poured through her veins. Her irises flickered like hellfire over black sclera as she remembered the passion John shared with her sister. The passion that was meant for her.
“Why am I the only one!? Why!? She screamed, “Even my crazy older sister who looks like a little girl gets more dick than me! Why!?”
She turned from the mirror and slammed her fist into a pillowed wall of her chamber. A gaping hole was left in its aftermath.
“I was going to do everything he could’ve ever wanted! I was going to give him so much pleasure that he’d never want to leave me! I was going to make him the happiest man in the world! Why did it turn out this way!?” She stamped her foot on the ground as if she were further breaking apart her own excuse for a heart.
And then, all of the strength left her body and she collapsed into a pile on the floor. Now, the tears flowed liked a river and she reexamined her domain.
“This isn’t a demon realm,” She whimpered.
As she sobbed, something inside her changed again. Her heart hardened and a terrible resolve overcame her. She spoke once more, “I’ll make a real one. I’ll have a realm so lewd that screams of pleasure will be like owls hooting at night. My citizens will live in such ecstasy that they’ll worship me, beg for my love and attention! I won’t be ignored in this basement anymore. Everyone will look to me on my throne. No one, not even my sisters, will steal boys from me.”
She picked up herself onto unsteady feet. She wiped the tears and snot from her face as a child would after a tantrum.
And thus is the origin of Druella, of how there is no honor among whores. Slaves to their passions, they steal from their own kin and revel in debauchery. Their twisted hearts care only for themselves. Instead of pursuing virtue, they plot the fall of cities, of poor Lescatie, to numb their own pains.
I still mourn for how that gem in our Lord’s eye was sacrificed to appease that demon’s heart. Of how its citizens flock to bend their knees and plead to their mistress, Druella, for more of her vile affections and blasphemies. She grants such curses so readily that at night, the wind’s howl is salacious melody.
I fear her grip on that fair city will not be loosened until every every pain that she felt that day has been repaid in pleasure.30392 Views