Whore of the Dark Lord

By RaistlinofMetallica

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Blanket disclaimer: Anything you recognize, except for my OCs and the plot, I don't own. I do this for fun and absolutely no profit.

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The woman is pale, smooth-skinned and petite. She is slender and willowy, and where her neck meets her shoulders is a no-man's land of cream-coloured temptation. Her reddish gold hair is pulled up into a messy bun on her head and her brown eyes glow with an odd warmth. She sits in a large bathtub filled with blood, larger than most she has ever seen. It is a bath meant for two, and she awaits her companion with a vague expression.

She and I are very different people. Where she is coy and alluring, I am naïve and lost. Where she is sexy and wanton, I am plain and reserved.

Fortunately, he only sees her. For that, I am grateful.

She never minds when he enters, but I do. I don't like him and I turn away. She has no such compunction. She doesn't even mind that the bath is filled with blood, warmed with magic.

It is a revolting thing that sits in the bath with her. A capricious monster who fears death and old age, bathing in the blood of the people his followers have murdered for his pleasure. He is an unnaturally white thing with a snake-like face, but only from the front. To the side, he appears more human. But I know better.

She smiles flirtatiously and raises her eyes. "You look like a vampire when you do that."

"But you know I am not," he replied, absently. He looked away, towards the screen walls of the room.

He is distracted today, I note. That is unusual.

She raises a white, shapely leg from the bath and runs her hands over it. "I know," she purrs, hoping to bring his attention to her. "It's because you're so pale, my lord."

"A side effect of the youth spells," he murmured.

I hope she wins his attention soon. If he is distracted from her, he might notice me.

She slides through the red liquid as though it were only water and cuddles up to him. He knows she wears no clothing and she knows he is naked as well. She is a concubine, make no mistake, and she is here for his pleasure. She traces her finger over his opalescent skin, kissing his shoulder. "Let me put colour back in your cheeks, my lord," she breathed in between kisses.

I really hate the whore.

"You must have missed me," he said, tilting her chin up and toward his face.

She kissed him again, sliding her arms around his neck. "I always miss you, my lord. Your conquests take you away from me."

I can't watch, though I know he is now kissing her neck and drawing her closer. She is his favorite and how I despise her for it!

"They say the Boy Who Lived is dead," he said between kisses, tugging her closer. "They bury him today."

That can't be! All that I have done to save him and he dares to die?

She stiffens in his arms.

I relax.

She pouts. Such a strumpet, she is. "My lord, do not mix business with pleasure. It makes the bath ineffective. Talk not of the child and give your attention to me a while."

Of course, he could be faking death. The boy is resourceful and wily, after all.

"How I hate business," he murmured, kissing her again.

She catches a glimpse of me in the blood and sighs as I stare back at her, accusingly. She and I are one body after all.

I am merely what is left of who she used to be.

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AN: I leave it up to you to decide who she is.