She felt like she was being watched in the darkness. Her legs shook as she walked. Cum dripped down her thighs and onto her calves. She held the torch out in front of her, more blinded by it that anything. Water fell from the ceiling, but it wasn't the sensuous oil from the pool. This was the juices of the dead of the dying.
Dani turned another corner and saw three stone steps leading up to a row of decaying caskets. As she walked by them, she was only half surprised to see the female caskets pried open, the leg bones at angles that clearly indicated being spread posthumously. She held back her disgust, and walked onward.
The torchlight caused a faint glimmer on the wall. She moved closer to see an old brass doorknob. Cautiously, she opened it. Inside, it was dry, and strangely warm. She found an old oil lamp and dry matches. She couldn't believe her luck when it took, and filled the room with golden light. She set the torch down, and saw that a desk sat in the corner with a single book on it.
"The True History of Irish Myth and Legends" by Jacob Reilly, probably an ancestor. She glanced around, and saw an old blanket laying in the corner. She shook it, but it was dust free and dry. Thankful for the warmth, she wrapped it around herself and began to read.
The story it told was a little different than the one she had read as a girl. In it, Ireland was inhabited by many different tribes. The first invaders were the Fomorians, giant, deformed sea dwelling Gods that waged war. In later times, no king of Ireland could bear a deformity for fear that they may be tainted with Fomormian blood. She wasn't surprised by the illustrations. They were eventually defeated by another tribe, the Tuatha De Danaan, children of the Goddess Danu, a water goddess.
Unlike most of the mythology books, however, this one didn't end there.
It felt like Deja Vu to her, reading the history. The Fomorians were cast out of Ireland, and being "sailors", they traveled North and South, and yes, West. Eventually, the Tuatha De Danaan were also defeated. Most of them stayed in Ireland, but a few fled with their worshippers. Dani knew what was happening now. She read on, reading how her family drew up the spirit of their sacred well, the well that sat in a grove dedicated to to the Tuatha De Danaan, and came to the New World. It was weakened greatly by the voyage, and as in times of old, they offered it "sacrifices." They offered it blood and sweat and cum and sex juices, tears and moans and meat and wine. It drank it all. Finally, when they arrived, the shipwrecked on the cliffs. The Sidhe, as they called it, was flung into the cave, and took root.
It wasn't alone, however. Smelling its old enemy, a Fomorian who had fled Ireland long ago drew close, terrorizing the worshippers. By its nature, it was a Fertility spirit, but now twisted and full of nothing but lust. Soon, its monstrous children were taking women in the woods, and giving birth to new monsters. It wasn't until Moira Reilly, the female head of the clan, was taken did the Sidhe rise up in anger, and killed the monstrous children and sealed the gravely woulded Fomorian creature in the catacombs. So weakened was it from the battle, that the book, written 100 years after the events, claims that it must have "dried up and died at the doors to the catacombs."
Dani leaned back in the old chair and shivered. Her instinct was right, but something was bothering her. How did the Fomorian get out? How did the pool get refilled? She felt eyes on her again, peaking from the darkness outside the doorway. She refueled and relit her torch, shrugged off her blanket, and continued on, her legs strong in their stride. She caught a reflection: an old mirror. She smiled and glanced at herself in it. "Flawless." she thought. She felt her cunt moisten and a low "mmmm" escaped her lips.
She took a breath, and left the room. |