Chapter 8 #2
He stood, making his way around the table and holding his hand out to her. She took it, rolling her eyes, though a flush burned her cheeks. Every conversation with the demons just brought more questions, not least of which was her curiosity about why Bellinor had been so interested in her.
Rul escorted her around the expansive home, which he affectionately called le Jardin des Délices, though it was neither a garden nor delightful.
At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.
They followed a single, ostensibly endless passage, dark paneled wood doors lining the walls, intermixed with elaborate sconces that never seemed to extinguish. It was stifling, like she was an animal pacing its enclosure, like she could walk forever and never reach the end.
There were normal rooms, of course, ones that a person might expect to find in a grand house.
Dining halls, both spacious and intimate, parlors filled with silken tapestries and intoxicating perfumes.
Elaborate baths with heated pools and marble columns, extensive libraries with shelves of books reaching to the high ceilings, bedrooms with luxurious couches and hearths aflame with light, though no one was there to tend them.
Rul pointed out Bellinor’s study, whispering about how much time he spent there as they walked by without looking inside.
But there was more, too. Spaces her mind couldn’t quite comprehend. Rooms that defied logic and gave her a strange feeling, like she was in some sort of empty, in-between place, a place that no human should see.
When they entered one such room, they were greeted by a vast chasm, a dark hole in the tiled floor with no visible bottom. Two rows of alcoves on either side displayed near identical copies of the same white vase, the room stretching on as far as she could see.
There were doors that opened to expansive deserts, the dry heat hitting her as she gazed upon the sand-covered mountains in the far distance.
The sky was black, a bright white moon hovering strangely on the horizon.
Some had fountains, the trickle of running water the only sound in the eerie space.
Others contained glimmering pools, marbled archways, and architecture that didn’t make sense.
Many of the spaces seemed frozen in time, pristine marble statues staring into the abyss with no loss of polish or deterioration.
Some were slightly over life-size, like the one back in Celeste’s temple in Marilet, and some were enormous, easily over fifteen feet tall and stretching to the high ceilings.
Most of them were lifelike images of beautiful humans, though others were distorted into eerie, misshapen figures that almost seemed to shift when she glanced away.
Another room held nothing more than an empty plinth, a bright light shining on it from an unknown source. Finally, they reached the end of the seemingly endless corridor–though they had skipped many rooms to do so–a great metal door inlaid with swirling panels. An exit?
“What is all this?” Isabelle asked, the initial awe subsiding and a million questions lying in its wake.
Rul gestured back toward where they had come from.
“Endless corridor,
the museum of mysteries,
esoteric wisdom
enclosed within its undiscovered walls.
Beckoning onward, onward,
as fecund ideologies observe from within.
Onward, onward.
No end in sight.
Vapor of melancholia and skepticism
inevitably retracing the past and
contemplating the obscurity of the fruitful figures.”
The lyrical words spoke to her soul, but she raised a brow in question.
“A poem I wrote about this place. It’s… difficult to explain, exactly. Bellinor created it all, and he doesn’t often elucidate his reasons. Le Jardin just… is. It’s made of le Voile, it is le Voile, it will always be le Voile.”
“He made all of this?”
Rul nodded, like the answer was obvious.
“Of course he did. How else would it have gotten here?”
Of course. The beast who stalked her and chased her through the woods had created a mansion filled with strange and wondrous rooms, rooms which sent a shiver down her spine and bent her mind.
“Why did he make all of this?”
Rul shrugged.
“What would you do if you had all the time in the universe?”
She didn’t have an answer for that, nodding along as she considered the question. What would she do if she was lucky enough to enter the Sanctum upon her passing? An idea which was becoming more and more preposterous as she sank deeper into this lustful Hell.
The Sanctum. The moon mother’s sacred heaven, reserved for her most faithful devotees. Could the people who went there create things like this?
“You write poetry?” she asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“It’s something to pass the time, especially when Bellinor is in one of his moods—which is often. Why? Would you like me to write one for you, my beautiful spring flower?”
Isabelle blushed, somehow enamored with the idea of someone writing a poem about her, despite the fact that the someone was an incubus who was complicit in dragging her to le Voile. When she didn’t answer, he took her hand, leaning down low and planting a kiss on it.
“The full moon reflects
a vision of a dancing girl.
The scent of heat in the air,
and just beyond reach,
a rose stands,
undaunted and resolute
atop a string of thorns
as a whisper of a breeze caresses her,
and the vacant arcade awaits.”
That only made her blush more furiously as she tried to jerk her hand away, though Rul refused to let go.
“What? You prefer something more… sensual?”
He smiled, then pressed a kiss to her inner wrist.
“The rapturous delight
of lingering touches,
longing breaths.”
Another kiss to her forearm.
“Your lips,
they sin.
Your cunt,
it beckons.”
Another at her collarbone.
“Sweet temptation
of an earthbound soul.”
There was one last kiss against her neck, the anticipation coming to fruition and tingling the space between her legs.
Rul released her, his grin beaming through the dark hallway, making it difficult to stop her own smile from forming.
“Well? What did you think?”
“Impressive,” she said, with only a hint of sarcasm, and he chuckled.
In truth, the first poem was abstract, but delightful, the bawdy one even more so.
“What would you like to do next?” he asked.
“What’s through the door?”
“Would you like to see, sweetheart? Le Voile is beautiful.”
Isabelle nodded, and he led her up to one of the large windows flanking the door, a heavy black curtain blocking any light from entering. With a grin, he pulled back the fabric, and le Voile was revealed.
A vast cosmic chasm lay before her, eternal blackness stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a singular path winding into the nothingness, coiling and twisting into the heart of le Voile, a jagged bridge of shiny obsidian.
It was beautiful–and horrible–like a great power was tugging at her chest and trying to swallow her whole.
Isabelle couldn’t look away, drawn to le Voile, le Jardin des Délices fading away and nothing but eternal misery taking over.
There were wisps of light floating through the void like specters, beckoning her as she placed her palms to the window.
The glass was hot to the touch, the only thing protecting them from le Voile’s black flames.
A vision entered her mind, a skeleton rotting in the forest, overtaken by ivy and moss and all manner of green things, becoming one with the endless cycle of existence.
Was it her? Her father? Her mother? Was that all there was?
No Veil, no Sanctum, just infinite rotting, the soul decomposing along with the body.
Despair consumed her, a deep melancholy that penetrated into her bones, and she longed to end it all, to cease to exist, to become nothing.
“Isabelle?”
There was a voice calling her name, though it was fuzzy. She tried to reach for it, but her arms were like lead, her body unable to heed her instructions.
Suddenly, the curtains were shut, and she heaved in a great breath, her body struggling for air after getting sucked into le Voile.
“Are you alright?” Rul asked, turning her toward him with his hands on her shoulders.
Isabelle nodded, though it was far from the truth.
She’d considered it, of course, after the death of her father.
After finding him in their cottage one day upon returning from work with a rope around his neck.
That vacant expression haunted her dreams long before Bellinor did, made it difficult to sleep without the fear of seeing him that way once more.
It wasn’t how she wanted to remember him, and on more than one occasion she’d wondered what it would be like to cease existing.
She was alone, grieving, with no will to go on.
But it was a sin, one her father could never be absolved of.
Was he out there in le Voile somewhere, being punished for what he’d done? Or was he the skull in the forest, decaying for all eternity?
Unbearable thoughts, both of them, ones she tried to push deep down, fighting the tears burning in the corners of her eyes.
Rul’s brows were furrowed with concern, and he cupped her face with his palm, running his thumb along her cheek. He didn’t press her further, which she was thankful for, just took her hand and led her down the hallway.
“Le Voile has a powerful pull. It’s why we keep the curtains closed.”
“What happens to people out there?”
A question she needed to know the answer to, no matter how much her stomach roiled at the thought.
“They feed le Voile. It’s a living entity which requires… sustenance.”
Souls. The Veil was feeding on the souls of the people who were banished here.
“Is that what happened to Bellinor?”
Rul glanced at her as he dragged her into a parlor, getting her settled on a plush red couch. He pulled her into his arms, and she was comforted by the embrace, even as icy dread filled her veins.
“That’s something you will have to ask him.”
Isabelle wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his hands resting on her waist. It was all so horrible, the thought of someone being out there, in the dark void that had tugged at her soul, threatening to pull her in. She laid her head on his shoulder, feeling like a child in need of comfort.
It was a long while before he spoke again, his fingers brushing through her hair, almost lulling her to sleep.
“There is another room I’d like to show you. It might help get your mind off things.”
She saw the mischief sparkling in his eyes, certain this was another one of his tricks, but was desperate enough to nod, eager to think about anything else.