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Darkness’s seeping jaws clamped down on the last free thoughts within my mind, and I suddenly found myself possessed of a fight I’d thought long since fled. Surrender had been all but assumed, even before brass tubes pierced my skull, pumping the fleshy brainmass within full of the Holy One’s roiling black tar. It had been all but assumed from the very first moment I’d come into contact with the Handlers.
All citizens of the Imperium knew to obey those demonic outlines, clad in leathers polished with shadow itself, imitating their otherworldly patron. A gloved palm pressed into the small of my back was all that was necessary to quell resistance, taking me from the life of a humble Imperial pilot into a hell I couldn’t have imagined. It had carried me through trials increasingly blurry and blotted, all the way to the Grand Audience Chamber, where my body was now strapped to an operating table of glistening gold as rows upon rows of privileged Imperials encircled me from the comfort of their cushioned seats. Resistance had always seemed a distant concept for me, one for daring radicals and those with fire beating from their hearts, not a meek impoverished girl who’d always obeyed the wishes of those around her. That is, until now.
I reached out to those glimmers of hope inside me as if my fingers were still my own to wield and not rubbed raw from uncaring bindings. I grasped with everything left to me, despite the indelible, indescribable press of the Holy One on my system. Memory unfolded around me in panels of vibrant color that contrasted the currents of blackness surrounding it, endlessly dripping and gorging on its own ooze.
Mercifully, I saw sunlight shining through a stained glass window, rays of countless colors falling over my youthful fingers as they rested on the keys of a church organ. “Go on, play!” A warm, giggling voice brushed my left ear. The organ loomed over me, carved from rich redwood into sharp lines and curved flourishes. Trembles traced down my fingers as a firm yet not unkind voice spoke from my right.
“Are you the one explaining this to the Minister then, Em?”
Dad spoke to reason, my anxiety. I didn’t know the first thing about playing organ, only the beautiful, haunting melodies the Chapel musician would conjure like magic. It was my favorite part of going to service. Nothing I could do would even come close, so why bother? Not to mention all the trouble I’d get into for playing without permission.
“That crabapple’s out of the building. I checked. Go on, Dotty!”
My fingers hovered over the keys now, imitating the posture I’d attentively watched the Chapel musician assume as they played. I hesitated, lacking the force to press down, scared of what I would create. There was motion to my left, and as I turned my head I was met with the beaming smile of my mom. Her round eyes lacked any judgement, focused solely on me. Excitement perked her cheeks, growing rosy the further my fingers inched. Glancing back to the organ, feeling my heart bump against the walls of my chest, I pressed my curled fingers down to the keys. As the first note rang clear, as my happiness overflowed, as a smile grew to mirror my mother’s, the church organ burst with tar, frothing out of a hole punched straight through reality. Darkness seeped out, gnawing in all directions at once as the colors, the emotion, collapsed in on itself. Then, the memory was gone.
What had I been reaching for? I couldn’t find an answer, thought racing through the ever-growing, ever-hungry tide of tar towards the last source of light cutting through the darkness. Waves growing like tentacles darted out possessively, curling around it and drawing what remained of me into a tug of war as soon as I felt the memory’s touch.
Touch was indeed what overwhelmed me as the scene unfolded, warmth spreading through bare skin as coarse palms pressed into my back. “Dotty…” Tye’s gruff voice murmured into my ear, repeating my name over and over as he fucked me. His hips were gentle, but eager as I melted into the cheap sheets of my Imperial bunk, sounds slipping from my mouth less and less coherent. It was still hard to understand why he wanted me of all people, why he’d come over to talk more and more after each mission we returned from. We shared a background, an appearance, and perhaps that was enough. The attention was intoxicating. In those quiet moments he’d lean close, not to mention this, it felt like I could do anything. That the Dotty who’d been beaten down by the world was an idiot for not getting back up again.
Yet the tar was pulling the memory away from me, bit by bit. My experiences, my resolve, were only a resource to be used up. Prepared on a platter for the darkness to swallow. With each spill of black upon the picture, the colors grew dull, the sensation fainter and my grip weaker. The Holy One wanted me and nothing would make it let go.
As the excitement of the memory faded into night and I was left only with the waning candlelight of my own thoughts, I used it to swear an oath. Too much of my life, of Isadora, had been given freely. Paralyzed by fears both within me and of the world outside, I had not dared to reach for something within my grasp the whole time. If this entity were to take me, I would claw back with every ounce of what I hadn’t spent. The moments of joy, of music I couldn’t recite and sex I couldn’t recall. I would never stop fighting.
Then, the light went out.
***
It awoke.
The first sensation it felt was a thick, grimy liquid tracing down the side of its face from one of the freshly used holes in its skull. A warm shiver followed as the trace of tar hung from its chin, then fell to splatter against the operating table.
It next became aware of the massive audience of eyes enraptured by it. There was no sound at all echoing down from the rows of seats in the operating chamber. It was hard to even discern any movement. They were all frozen in awe, breath held lest they spoil the grand moment.
Its legs hung limp from the golden table at the center of it all, body locked in a sitting position with back straight and palms placed in its lap. A perfect vessel. Its body was not its own to move, and the Vessel would never dare to even try.
Slowly, muscle in its neck tightened and fingertips bent, pressing into the Vessel’s thighs through the thin material of the hospital gown it wore. Excitement bloomed within the Vessel, a buzz traveling down its spine and warmth pooling in its stomach. The Holy One was using it. She allowed the Vessel to experience the sensation, feel it grow, as its head craned stiffly to view the room.
Murmurs spread throughout the chamber now, the crowd eagerly watching the Holy One’s movements. The Vessel’s eyes narrowed, peering into the dim seats packed upwards and upwards, then to the ornate marble of the ceiling. A small stained glass window had been carved into its center, light casting down to illuminate the golden operating table in an unnatural glow. Suddenly, the Vessel’s arms swung out from its lap, dangling awkwardly while stretched out to each side in a grand display. Clenching its fists, the Vessel’s elbows bent as both balled hands were brought thudding to its chest, landing right between its breasts.
The Imperial audience roared into reverent applause. Traveling through chiseled channels in the chamber’s construction, the sound converged at its center, becoming deafening to the Vessel. At once, an image flashed to the forefront of its mind. It saw a kind, maternal woman with rosy cheeks clapping with bouncing excitement within the emptied pews of a small Chapel. The Vessel was struck by confusion. The Holy One held all its memories, all its impulses, and anything the Vessel saw was Her choice. Why had She shown this woman to the Vessel?
Regardless, the lone woman’s applause was nothing compared to the overwhelming force of the audience. The Vessel’s hands eased their grip, fingertips tracing upwards towards the collar of its hospital gown. Feeling the Holy One guiding every part of its body, feeling Her touch, as well as the awe and celebration it received, far outweighed whatever memory had been extracted from its mind. The Vessel’s fingertips rose past its collar to its neck, tracing light circles into its bare skin. Goosebumps rose down the Vessel’s back, and the flushing of its face that it was allowed to feel was how it knew it had pleased the Holy One.
Its fingers didn’t relent, only pressing more into the soft and pliant skin of the Vessel’s neck. The chamber became hushed once more as a hand trailed downwards to find and cup one of the Vessel’s breasts through its gown. A thumb brushed coarsely over its nipple and a hot breath slipped from between the Vessel’s lips. Being used in this way was beyond anything the Vessel could imagine. The sensation of its own hands felt like so much more than that. They were guided by the will of one who had seen everything the Vessel had been and accepted it, consumed it.
A woman’s touch.
A god’s touch.
Rivulets of liquid snaked down the Vessel’s thighs, and it realized they were being rubbed together. This liquid was distinctly different from the thick tar that still oozed slowly from its skull. It was stickier, thinner. There was a fire licking between the Vessel’s legs, a candle blazing down to its last, fueled by its all-encompassing obedience. The Vessel’s body knew it had felt this feeling before, but now it was feeding its everything into the flame. Nothing was more important. Its body shook as the hands that groped its breasts and explored its neck wandered their way to the straps that held its gown upright.
A vision of a man suddenly occupied the Vessel’s sight. He cast it a warm grin that brought a shade of red to his sepia-brown skin. Leaning a shoulder against the dull gray of the Imperial barracks, his posture was relaxed, inviting. The Vessel knew, somehow, that it could find safety wrapped in the muscle of his arms. It could find understanding in the words he would whisper into its ears, and warmth within his bed. Yet, the Vessel also knew he could never comprehend it in the way She could. It was beyond his ability to see the Vessel as it existed now, let alone protect it. After all, it had ended up in Her grasp and not his, hadn’t it?
The Vessel’s hospital gown slipped free from its body, fluttering down to land in a puddle of darkness. Its bare skin shone at the center of everything, countless eyes drawn to its unholy glow. It needed Her, needed Her touch, Her gaze, and the Holy One knew it. So when its hands began to move again, the Vessel understood Her intent, and let go of anything but what She wanted it to feel. Fingertips brushed between the Vessel’s legs, and its back was already arching, a gasp echoing up into the audience. Its entire being melted into the sensation, edges of its consciousness buzzing with pleasure. It was nothing but a doll to be puppeted by its creator, one who shared in every wax and wane of feeling.
A few gasps were returned from the audience, some sounds of zippers and weighty clothes hitting the floor, but it was of no concern to the Vessel. No, the Vessel was already close, drunk on being so close to the Holy One, sharing their pleasure, serving Her. It loved Her, and had nothing to give to the darkness that had not already been taken. So it could only obey. Only be perfect for Her. The Vessel’s lips were pried apart by one of its own hands, and a pair of fingers plunged within its waiting mouth. Its tongue welcomed them, painting them slick as they probed, explored the Vessel. The fingers pressed against its gums, eagerly tracing every inch of what it found. Grinding down into the other hand pumping relentlessly between its legs, the Vessel doubled over, and then promptly broke.
The Vessel cried out, shaking and humping into itself as the operating table was stained with both droplets of tar from its hair and slick from its legs. It panted desperately, coming down with Her guidance as its entire system buzzed and warped slowly back into a shape befitting the Holy One. Damp palms gradually slid their way back into its lap, legs swinging back over the side of the table and back held straight. Sitting still and pretty, as a Vessel befitting the Holy One should. There were no twitches of muscle or pull to its limbs. The Holy One had left the Vessel as swiftly as it had arrived. It had fulfilled its use for now.
Applause once again crashed through the Grand Audience Chamber, whoops and cries of pride surrounding the Vessel. It was smothered by waves of praise, yet only drowned silently beneath. What was there to feel when everything had been consumed and the one it loved had fled?
The Vessel knew what would come next, at least. It was a fitting tool for the Holy One. When the time came, it would be brought to a construction of hulking metal and flaring engine to rain death upon those who defied Her. It would feel Her touch again, if only to ensure Her will was executed. Any worries, any memories it possessed before, belonged to Her now, so that it became the best weapon it could be. It was an honor. The Vessel knew it was an honor.
The Vessel’s mouth curled into a smile, but She did not allow it to feel happiness.