A Cruel Fate

ten minutes later, you get a second one right after you cross the turnstiles into the subway. this one has a weird blurry dark figure in the corner, posed against the wall of the subway entrance. strange as fuck. the third picture is the same blurry figure outside your office. you're starting to get a little bit anxious about it now, to be honest. you tell building security about it, and they say they'll start double-checking anyone who enters the building's ID, just to be sure

you packed a lunch today, and you eat while your software analysis is running. cold leftover spaghetti. yummy. great. over the course of the day, you get three more photos from various places, all with the same blurry figure in them. what the fuck is going on. when you get home, you triple-check your doors and windows are locked before you go to bed. god, your house is a fucking mess. you need to deep clean it, you just don't have time

you don't hear from your stalker again until the next day, when you realize you forgot to pack a lunch and you can't afford going out again until the next paycheck - your damn rent eats your wallet. right as you mutter a curse about it under your breath, one of the building's security guys walks into your office with a pizza and tells you someone left it outside with your name scrawled on it. you open it up and it's literally your exact order from that place. your phone buzzes, and you look at it, rolling your eyes. this time, it's it's a text - the first one you've gotten from this freak:

"heard you forgot to grab your lunch. wanted to help out <3"

ok, what the fuck is going on?? whoever is stalking you somehow knew you forgot lunch before you knew you forgot lunch. god, the pizza's good as hell, though. small consolation, at least

after you eat, you remember there's normally a photo. you open the text, and there is! this one's from in the pizza place, and sitting in a booth in the background is... well, some kind of creature. honestly, it looks sort of like a fursona, but instead of a face it has a grimy dog skull. it's creepy, but also sort of endearing? its head is tilted to the side, and her hands are making a heart shape at you. someone is fucking with you so hard, man. what the hell

you get home. you know you should clean, you just can't bring yourself to do it. you step over a bunch of soda cans to get to your bedroom and fall asleep

the next morning, your phone chimes again. you pause the program you're running and look at it, and the picture is from inside your apartment. hell no. fuck that. you KNOW you locked the door when you left because you took a picture of it with the key in it, because you feel like you're going insane. you call the cops immediately, and tell them some lie about a doorbell camera, and ask them to go check your apartment out. they do, and call you back to say there's no one there and the door was locked when they got there

what the hell

you get another picture like an hour later. it's that thing from the pizza place again, posed with your vacuum cleaner. you're trying so hard to stay calm but you feel a bit like you're going insane. you go to the bathroom and splash your face with cold water.

you get the next picture just before you leave work. it's your house, but it's clean. it's so clean? the text accompanying it reads, "figured i could tidy up for you while you were at work. let me know if i put anything in the wrong place, ok?"

great. your stalker is able to avoid the cops, but at least they want your house to be clean. that's a huge fucking relief. thank god. problem solved, really

you haven't told anyone about this because who the hell would you even tell? honestly, you're not sure you aren't hallucinating the whole thing. you are the age where people start being schizophrenic, and maybe your depression symptoms are something else. but you know for sure you aren't hallucinating it when you get home and your apartment actually is just as clean as your stalker claimed. someone has been in your house.

you go buy a gun.

you can't stop the anxiety. you sit down to watch a movie to try to take your mind off it, handgun sitting just a few feet away, just in case. you've been routinely checking the locks every ten minutes for the last hour. you know no one else is in here with you.

the movie ends. you turn the tv off, and then you scream so loud you hurt your throat and just about piss yourself. for like a half second, that thing was sitting on the couch next to you in the tv's reflection. you grab your gun and turn back to it, and there's nothing there. no reflection in the tv screen, either. fuck, you feel like your heart is going to explode. you need help. something is wrong with you

your phone chimes again

"oh my god i am so sorry i didn't mean to scare you like that :( are you ok?? i'm sorry"

the accompanying image is that thing again, sitting crosslegged on the floor a few feet away from you, looking... reasonably shameful. you didn't know a dog skull could be so emotive. you look where it's sitting. there's nothing there.

you speak into thin air, voice shaking. "what the fuck do you want?" you get another text.

"you seemed like you needed help."

you roll your eyes. "well, i don't." jesus fuck, you're talking to your hallucinations. you have to schedule yourself for therapy tomorrow. you look into the empty darkness of the room.

"fuck you."

you make it to work the next day before the texts start:

"i'm sorry about last night"

"please don't freak out"

"you aren't going insane. you don't need to keep googling hallucination treatment"

"i'm real i promise" (you scoff at this one a bit. of course your hallucination would say that)

"please just hear me out. there's a sign language book on your shelf. i can learn this. please."

you ignore the texts. you are not texting back whatever the fuck this thing is.

just when you think things can't get worse, your girlfriend dumps you over the phone. you knew it was coming, your relationship had been pretty bad for a while, but why now? whatever. won't matter anyway if the entity stalking you murders you tonight

when you get home, the sign language book is on the dining room table, along with a compact from your bathroom and an "OPEN ME ->" sticky note pointing to the latter. you're not stupid. you know when you look in the compact mirror that creature is gonna be in your reflection. you sigh and shrug, and still flinch a bit when you flick it open and it's there. it lifts its hands and starts signing:

I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU-

you snap the contact closed and jam it in your pocket. you're not in the fucking mood. you try to go to your bedroom, but you trip over your own feet and go down hard. you just lay there. whatever. who cares

your phone buzzes against your leg.

"i know about your girlfriend. i can read your texts. i'm sorry."

"it's not your fault." you have no idea why you feel obligated to reassure this thing. "it's been going downhill for months."

"would it help if i held you? you seem sort of starved for affection." your stalker calling you out sort of stings, but it's right. you haven't been held or kissed or loved in a really long time. you shrug.

"sure, whatever." if this entity is gonna murder you, a hug first certainly wouldn't hurt.

you just lay there uselessly as it lays down with you, warm body curling against yours as it drapes an arm that you can't see over your body and pulls you close to it. you can feel warm breath on your neck. it's... really soft, actually. you're sort of disgusted to admit it but this is kind of nice. you dig the compact out of your pocket and flip it open to see its massive bulk pressed up against you, dirty skull pressed against your neck as it holds you close. it moves a hand to sign at you

SEE? NOT HURTING YOU

despite it all, you laugh

***

it's been a week since she held you. your life is still pretty rough, but you're trying to clean things up one at a time. your research is going well. Viola comes to work with you now. sometimes when you need something from across the room, it just gets tossed to you.

oh, yeah. you call her Viola now. the day after you spent the whole night cuddling, she read a book off your shelf while you were at work with a protagonist named Viola, and she fell in love with the name. you're letting her stay with you, but only on the condition that you make her shower so she doesn't grime up your apartment. with her skull cleaned and polished and her matted fur brushed out, she looks like a much more respectable eldritch stalker creature.

you get home from work and kick your shoes off, laughing as powerful invisible hands scoop you off the ground and a tapered tongue you can't see playfully licks one of your cheeks. you'll get dinner in a little while. you both have needs to attend to first. you hadn't had sex in like half a year because of your failing relationship, and she'd never had sex ever, so you're both trying to make up for lost time.

Curiosity led Volkova to a grassy cliff lined with torches, nearly burnt to stubs. Atop the cliff grew young, short trees that would only reach her waist if she stood among them, but were tall enough to hide the distant village. Near the cliff ledge, a narrow stone the length of her forearm had been erected; a red figure strapped to its front. When she emerged from between the ancient trees, the figure let out a strangled screech. No, not a figure—a woman. An itty bitty, human woman, only as big as a finger, chained by her wrists and ankles to the side of the rock tower.

That was odd. But the rocky cliff side smelled of nothing but trees and dying torches and the chained prisoner they kept company.

The two were alone.

At her approach, the human began to writhe, struggling against her bonds—but it was no use. Arms held over her head and legs pulled taught against the rock, the bound maiden was wide open as Volkova knelt before the cliff side.

At first, it seemed the woman was wearing a red hood to match her heavily decorated dress, but Volkova realized it was hair—deep, beautiful, blood-red hair, sweeping over shoulders to her waist in thick, wind-blown waves. Atop her head was a wreath of crimson flowers, whose lovely petals clashed with the picture of primal fear on her face. The beige of her cheeks was flushed pink from exposure. Her chest heaved, dark eyes wide and wild as the beast's shadow dropped over her, heartbeat flying—the sound was rapid and erratic in Volkova's ears, even for a human. But her movements seemed somewhat sluggish—she must have been tied there for hours—unless littlefolk were just less energetic and alert than she remembered.

What was this? Were humans trapping other humans now? Why do it so impractically? Why leave her hanging up so high? What was the point?

Volkova cleared her throat and the splayed maiden squirmed like she’d rather the stone absorb her whole. Her voice rasped, tongue thick and heavy as she tried to remember how to speak. “Who did this to you?”

“I…” The woman froze, blinking. It didn’t appear she knew beasts could talk. Under different circumstances, Volkova would have laughed. The little lady shuddered involuntarily, wetting her lips as she collected her words. “I—Please—Be quick—Don’t—I don’t want to suffer long.” Her voice was raspy too, but not from disuse. Her throat sounded like it had been worn raw from yelling. It was a miracle Volkova was the first big thing with sharp teeth to discover her.

She narrowed ochre-yellow eyes. “Who did this?”

The woman blinked her eyes into focusing. Her voice warbled. “I—They—My village,” she bowed her head, swallowing. She seemed to be struggling to remember something. “I… please… accept me as… as an offering, so my village might be spared the gods’ torment.” She paused, as if waiting for more to come to her, but only managed a quiet, feeble, “Please.”

A long, pregnant pause went by.

Volkova broke out into a toothy grin of disbelief. “They—put you out as a sacrifice?”

“Yes,” came the soft, hoarse voice.

“For me?”

Hesitation. Then, a meek nod.

“Is that so?” She murmured, tilting her head. She leaned in close—close enough to watch the tiny woman’s breath hitch. It made Volkova’s heart skip a beat, the same way it did spotting an injured elk. She couldn’t help but start to sneer—this was just too good to be true. Humans were serving each other up to her as breakfast.

Volkova lifted the woman’s trembling chin with a careful black claw. “Let me see your face then, my pretty little sacrifice.”

The woman let out a weak sob, but managed to peer up at her executioner-to-be all the same. She was pretty—a heart-shaped face, full cheeks and lips, puffy and pink from wind and tears, her brown, almond-shaped eyes red and watery—likely early twenties, if Volkova knew anything about how humans aged—somewhat close to herself. The front pieces of her long hair whipped across her face in the wind—Volkova couldn’t believe humans could have hair so red.

What idiots, stringing up a girl like this. They should be tripping over themselves trying to keep her.

Volkova swept the front pieces off a cheek with her claw. “Tell me, little sacrifice, what your name is.”

She shook, steadying herself. “Yara,” she breathed.

“Yara.” Volkova sounded out, rewarded with another shiver from the tiny captive. She tilted her head again. “And tell me, Yara, what are they sacrificing you for?”

She sucked in a breath. “The—the crops failed again.” She said in a small voice.

“Is that it?” Volkova asked flatly. “I don’t control your crops.”

Yara shook her head. “People have been sick. Winter will be here soon, but we don’t have the manpower to prepare. And there’s still been no children after me. My—my Baba, she told me I was a blessing from the gods, but—“ Yara shifted against the chains, uncomfortable. “Father Antonov says I am a curse—I cursed the village—but he thought—he says... beasts are messengers.” Her voice was so quiet now. “He says my death would appease the gods.”

Volkova raised her brows. “That’s fucking stupid.”

Her little sacrifice only sniffled.

“Still,” she shrugged, finger toying with the chains. “You are very tempting. I’ve not eaten for—it has to be almost a fortnight now, and you do look—what’s the saying?” She smiled wide, flashing long canines. “Like a pig on a platter.”

Yara’s chest sputtered with a choked sob.

Volkova leaned in even closer, lips grazing knees through the embroidered skirt that must have taken a hundred thousand hours to stitch. “You’re not much more than a mouthful, but they’ve laid you out for me so nice, haven’t they?” She whispered, scraping claws along the sacrificial stone. “A sitting duck after my long hunt. How long did it take them to string you up, I wonder?”

No answer. Only shaky, swallow breaths.

Volkova loomed, running claws across the embroidery of her skirt. Her warm breath rolled over Yara’s body. Her stomach growled, eager and angry. “Do you know what I think?”

Fresh tears ran down her pretty, pretty face. Volkova took it between her fingertips, forcing her to look into large, ochre eyes.

"I think we should let them stay cursed.”

The little sacrifice shook, blinking rapidly as she tried to connect the pieces. “You’re—you’re not going to eat me?”

Volkova shrugged, petting her face. “I like my prey to be a little bit more of a challenge than… this.”

“So—“ Yara blinked again. “You’re—you’re not eating me, and you’re just—leaving me here?”

“No.”

“‘No’? She croaked. "What does ‘no’ mean?”

Volkova wondered if the human was on the verge of a mental break. “It means I’m going to start with getting you down.”

Yara squirmed as she slid her hand between the woman and the wall of stone, with just enough slack to slightly angle her legs towards the beast's face. She slid her other hand over Yara’s dress; lifting her hem to peek equally embroidered shoes and a set of thick, roughly-made metal cuffs around her ankles. She could easily crush them off, but not without taking her little sacrifice’s ankles with them. She frowned. Each had a keyhole, but were so minuscule, it was impossible to pick.

“You—you’re serious?” Yara fidgeted her feet.

Oh, her disbelief was sweet. Volkova answered by holding her still and sliding the tiny shoes off. She set them on the clifftop and inspected the cuffs again.

“These are loose,” she observed. “Better for a big man than a little lady. With a bit of luck, I might be able to squeeze you out of them.”

“Luck?” The incredulous look on her face was like honey. 

“Just a bit.” With a half-teasing, half-reassuring smile, Volkova lowered her head before the tiny woman. Taking her feet into her mouth was easy—too easy. The chains rattled and half of Yara’s legs sunk between her lips in a mere second.

“What are you doing?” A panicked shout echoed.

Volkova pulled back, letting calves fall out of her mouth. “Lubricating,” she said.

“Lubricating,” Yara echoed.

“You think I should just try to rip them off you?”

She paled.

“I didn’t think so. Now relax.” When the concerned wrinkle between her brows didn’t smooth, Volkova sighed. She laid a gentle hand next to her, the way she’d seen humans put a hand on another’s shoulder. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. If you want me to stop, just say so.”

Yara’s eyes glistened with the threat of a new round of tears, but she nodded.

Volkova took her ankles back into her mouth.

Yara flinched, writhing. “It’s like fire."

It occurred to Volkova she’d not just been here all night, but exposed to the elements all night. Those pathetic little torches couldn’t have kept her very warm. She sank Yara in up to her knees.

The tiny woman hissed and bit back a whine.

Gods, Volkova said she wouldn’t eat her, but if she’d known how heavenly her little offering tasted, she might’ve thought twice before that promise. At least those village idiots had some idea of what they were doing.

She licked the underside of Yara’s thighs experimentally, running taste buds over vulnerable flesh—oh, she had to taste more of her—now.

Yara seemed to be on a similar page—her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade now, still half-crying as she tried to angle her hips towards the source of this spectacular heat.

Volkova tried not to groan too loudly at the sight. She swirled her tongue around Yara’s legs and found there was nothing under her skirt. The discovery made her hunger roar—she wondered if her cunt tasted just as good as the rest of her.

Promises.

Yara was breathing heavily now, straining against the chains above her head and in the giant’s mouth. Brows drawn, eyes desperate. Conflicted between the terror of her situation and the pleasures of her flesh.

Yes, yes, yes. Checking all the boxes. Volkova sucked down on her skin and ran her tongue across it rewardingly.

As if further confirmation was needed, Yara let out a rather pathetic, distraught whine when Volkova pulled back again—this time, she dragged teeth over soft flesh; long, sharp canines catching against the metal of the cuffs. She pulled, slowly and gently, and the cuffs slipped over heels and off tiny feet.

Volkova spat out the metal. It clattered to the ground below with a plink-plink.

Yara panted, slumping against the rough, gigantic hand. She still seemed terrified, but slightly relieved. Her legs hung free—with a look up through half-open eyes, she parted them as best she could.

Oh, fuck.

Suddenly half of Yara was in her mouth. The skirt of her dress bunched up against Volkova’s nose and chin. The long, thick muscle of her tongue wiggled between trembling thighs and Yara gasped as Volkova nibbled on them—not forceful enough to break skin, but enough to satiate the feeling that she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t eat this girl, one way or another.

One-handed, Volkova gripped the tall rock, leaning into the cliff side to press herself deeper between Yara’s legs. Tongue met pussy.

“Ah—!” Yara yelped.

Mouth watering, Volkova licked in alternating directions—back and forth, circling, side to side—trying to see which one got the best reaction before she found the tiny woman’s clit and sucked hard.

“Oh—! Shit!” Yara hissed, pulling desperately at the chains still keeping her hands pinned above her head—denying her the right to her own body, unable to put hands on Volkova’s nose and drive her deeper into all the spots she wanted to.

Instead, the beast wrecked her as she pleased—feeling hips buck against her mouth as Volkova tried to worm her big tongue into a tiny little pussy.

“Oh gods,” Yara trembled. Inside the beast's mouth, she wrapped legs around Volkova’s tongue. The big palm braced her back against the sacrificial stone as the tongue roughly fucked up and down, black lips holding her in place with a vacuum-tight seal.

Yara squirmed. “Please!”

Volkova wondered which release she was begging for.

Her thumb found Yara’s tits, fondling them through her dress. Cupping her body in her hand, Volkova sucked down on her hips and shook her head, like a dog shaking its prize, tongue scraping against the sensitive cunt beneath it.

Yara gasped loudly, eyes wide and watery. “Please!” She cried. “Please, please, please—please! Yes—please!”

Her thighs quivered. Her calves tightened. Her toes curled. Her hips bucked, rubbing against Volkova’s taste buds, and she tasted divine.

Yara whined, long and high. Her heartbeat thundered in Volkova’s ears. Her face was flushed so, so pretty. She jerked on the chains, riding the high of her orgasm in waves.

Volkova released her vacuum grip on Yara’s hips with a gasp, panting as she pressed a few more sloppy licks and kisses between squirming legs. “Please,” Yara managed between ragged breaths, “I… gods.”

Volkova nuzzled her chest with her nose. The smell of her was heavy and close—fearful and aroused. If Volkova were one of those villagers, she’d never let this treat out of her sight. She was too perfect to let go.

Coming out of her daze, Yara blinked and peered up at the remaining cuffs.

“Please…” she started again. “My hands… It hurts—it stings—please… help me…”

Volkova flicked her gaze from Yara’s face to her hands, twisting against the cuffs. Unlike around her ankles, these were fitted to be skin-tight. The skin she could see around them was red with irritation.

Something like hatred pooled in her chest. They let this poor girl hang over the ledge of a cliff, on the edge of a forest of monsters, all night. Longer than that—the sun was peeking over the horizon of titan trees. The torches were dead. Volkova should be back in her cave, curling up after her hunt to sleep the day away. It didn’t even seem like they cared which beast got to her, so long as something did.

Fine. They don’t want her?

Her hand released her supportive grasp; lips sliding forward, past hips, to her torso—Yara’s eyes widened as gigantic lips approached her head.

“No! You—! Wait—!”

Her cries were muffled, little legs kicking against the roof of Volkova’s mouth as her tongue drew minuscule hands in. She could feel her there—all of her, right there on her tongue, curled up in her mouth. She wished that damn dress wasn’t in the way, itchy with wool and soaking up all her saliva, leaving her mouth dry—getting between her and Yara’s skin. Focus. Volkova pressed her tongue—and Yara—to the roof of her mouth. As soon as she was sure the little lady was unable to swing her limbs in the path of sharp teeth, Volkova slammed jaws shut over the chains.

The metal dented with a muted clang.

She growled. Yara screamed. Jaws snapped shut over the metal again—and again—and—

Crunch.

Two broken ends of chain fell from her mouth, swinging against the rock where just a few seconds ago, a very defenseless tiny woman had squirmed against her lips.

Volkova lowered her tongue from the roof of her mouth, feeling Yara squirm—shaky little hands racing over gums. Over teeth. She had her; her perfect little sacrifice; wrapped up between her jaws, on a silver platter, no strings attached. Except for one.

Volkova spat Yara out onto the palm of her hand.

Gasping, the minuscule maiden wiped the drool from her face, pulling the wreath of wet, drooping flowers off her head. Brown eyes wide and fearful, she gazed up at the giant whose hand she was hopelessly stranded on.

“Told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” Volkova murmured. “This beastie keeps her word.”

“Oh—thank the gods.” Yara collapsed back against tall fingers.

She snorted. “The gods didn’t do shit; thank me.”

Yara’s gaze found its way to Volkova’s. “Thank you,” she said, quietly but earnestly. Her eyes were sincere.

Volkova blinked. She swallowed—the moment was too tender. Too personal. She looked away, over the narrow sacrificial stone to the shorter, younger trees, shielding a tiny town somewhere beyond. She tried to sound as disinterested as possible. “What do you want, now that you’re free?”

Yara followed her sight in the direction of the village. She looked back at her hands, settled in her lap. “I don’t know. If I go home, I—I won’t be welcome. They’ll punish me.”

“I don’t fancy rescuing you from this rock a second time.”

She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, trying to rub some of the drool off the embroidery. “If… If you take me, they’ll take that to mean their sacrifice worked.”

Taking her—what would that even be like? What would Volkova do with her? Keep her in a secluded corner of her cave, for her eyes only? Drop her off at the next nearest town? Hell, eat her for breakfast?

She frowned at the pretty girl in her hand, trying to remember anything else she just said. It took her a moment.

“So,” Volkova said slowly, “when their little charade doesn’t work, they string up the next unfortunate fool who comes by with red hair, or pointy ears, or an extra thumb?”

Yara hesitated. “I’m afraid of that.”

Far below, a loud groan gurgled angrily.

“Ugh.” Volkova rubbed her free hand over her stomach, so empty. Without curiosity or sex to distract from it, starvation clawed against her sides—the thing that drove her this far from her cave in the first place. Even during the day, the idea of a hunt made her mouth water. She tilted her head at Yara, staring horrified at the origin of the sound, and couldn’t help but start to grin. “What do you say, little red?” She traced the hem of her skirt with a claw. “I think we ought to pay your village a little visit.”

Yara watched the giant finger, then the equally gigantic palm she was poised in. She looked so tired—a sleepless night spent screaming for the people whose duty it should’ve been to protect her. In Volkova’s shadow, the dark circles under her eyes gave her her own slightly inhuman appearance. Her sight shifted to her own hand, fingers curling, and she gazed up at Volkova. Her eyes were firm, but her voice wobbled.