#mambo spellman

She was almost able to forget the phantom shadow of the Dark Lord over her shoulder as she worshipped Marie’s body. And when Marie peeled off her kimono, Zelda firmly pushed away the memory of Faustus making her wear that stupid floral dress even as he ordered her onto all fours. And then, when Marie laced their fingers together, she could very nearly forget how she lowered herself onto her knees at the foot of the bed on her wedding eve and waited to be…claimed.

Once they had thoroughly sated each other, Marie had drifted off to sleep, while Zelda had remained wide awake, suddenly hyper aware of the room once more, with nothing to distract her from it.

If it was torture to be under the Caligari spell in Rome, it was torment unlike any other to be fully in control of her body, but have to pretend that she wasn’t. Faustus felt she deserved a carnal reward for killing Leviathan. It was hard to remain a doll when he was rutting away on top of her. She had to control her every muscle, her every expression, desperate not to let the façade drop for even a moment.

Zelda stared into the dying fire, glad that Marie, at the very least, seemed to be sleeping well. But as for her? The room felt haunted. She could still hear his whispered commands, the fake, high-pitched, breathy moans she’d let out upon each thrust of his body into her own, and the slap slap slap of—

Zelda leapt from her seat, needing to be rid of the unwanted images flashing across her mind’s eye. She paced in front of the dying fire, her fingers trembling as she took a long drag from her cigarette. She needed a drink—or three.

As she poured herself a generous measure of whiskey, Zelda’s soul nearly separated from her body when two strong arms unexpectedly wrapped around her waist from behind.

"What are you doing up at this hour, chérie?" Marie purred into her neck. “Come back to bed.”

Zelda leaned back into Marie’s embrace, trying to calm her racing heart by focusing on the way Marie’s curves against her back felt nothing like the hard planes of Faustus’s chest and stomach.

“You know I have terrible insomnia,” Zelda said, her voice strained, even to her own ears.

Marie peppered kisses on Zelda’s neck. “Oui, but you cannot live without sleep, n’est-ce pas? And I am, how you say… cold without you.”

Zelda sighed, feeling something flutter in her stomach as Marie’s hands began to wander. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be… cold, now would I?”

At this, Marie’s hands stopped. While Zelda had tried to keep her tone light and teasing, it would appear that she had failed. Marie pulled on her hips to turn Zelda around so that they could face one another.

“I do not wish you to do something, if you do not desire it yourself, chérie,” she said, her brown eyes warm but filled with concern. “Won’t you tell me what drives sleep away from you? What has you pacing and drinking in the night?”

Marie brushed a lock of hair out of Zelda’s eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Zelda leaned into the touch, her eyes slipping closed for a moment as Marie then leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead.

“Your spirit is troubled. Tanpri, tell me what you need?”