The wind cut through innumerable leafless trees. The air was cold, but not enough to cut through their coats as they made camp within the darkened woods. A couple hundred years prior, such woods were home to beasts like Walking Mushrooms and Snallygasters, but both creatures are all but extinct, confined to the history books and local myth.

Jessup blew air through a harmonica, trying to keep the mood light, but as the night grew on, their music became more and more dower as if there was something external siphoning joy from the goblin.

“Cripes,” they said, pausing to stare at the campfire.

“What ails you?” asked Ailuin, who was in the process of cooking bacon over the open flame.

“I dunno,” said Jessup. “I just feel this coldness. It’s odd, it’s like it comes from my belly, y’know?”

“No,” said Ailuin, serving up the bacon on a plate and offering it to the goblin.

They shook their head, and then Ailuin offered the bacon to everyone’s favorite stand-up comedian, Vial, who took it and greedily hogged down fistfuls of the fried meat strips.

“You need to eat more,” said Glasha. “Do you think we can get far without feeding?”

“To be fair,” said Jessup. “You two are monsters that feed on blood. So it’s a touch different than eating bacon.”

“Not that different,” said Glasha.

They didn’t hear the carriage approach. It cut through the night silently. Or that’s what they chose to believe because in one instant there was an open dirt road and the next there was a coach pulled by black horses occupying the once empty space. They only took notice because the coachwoman made noise as she dismounted the carriage and stepped towards them.

“Gods above!” shouted Jessup. “She doesn’t have a head!”

The headless coachwoman was otherwise dressed in a white button-up shirt, form-fitted tan riding trousers, a bag hung on her side, and a loose half cape that was thrown over her shoulders. If it wasn’t for the lack of a head attached to her body, the assembled crowd might have considered her incredibly attractive.

She walked over to the carriage and opened the door, disappearing inside before returning with the head. She had skin that was the same pale shade as moonlight, black eyes, but had a slight magical shimmer to them, and short dark hair that was a mess from the body holding her up by it.

“Evening all,” said the head as the coachwoman stepped towards their campfire.

“You best get back, demon!” growled Jessup, stepping between the group and the headless coachwoman.

The monster raised a black leather-boot-clad foot and, easily and gently, knocked Jessup over.

Glasha pulled out a revolver and took aim, though, to be honest, she wasn’t sure if bullets would do anything against a dullahan.

“You can put away your little cap gun there,” said the Coachwoman. “I’m a traveller, same as all of you. I represent a very select group of people who wish to be entertained. Entertained in a way only your troupe can provide.”

Glasha holstered her revolver, and she and Ailuin stepped closer.

“Tell us more,” said Ailuin.

“I represent the Lascy Family,” said the Coachwoman. “My name is Hilde Everard.”

“Okay, Hilde,” said Glasha. “That doesn’t tell us what the show entails.”

Everard pulled a sack from her bag and tossed it to Glasha, who deftly caught it because she’s a champion among champions. Our leading lady undid the tie around the sack and found inside was a mess of antique gold coins.

“So, I think you’ll find that’s persuasive enough,” said Everard. “You will all need to accompany me in my coach on the way to the Lascy Mansion. Especially your stand-up comedian.”

“I don’t particularly want to go,” said Vial. “This all sounds scary.”

The dullahan’s eyes became lit by black flames, and her mouth opened in a horrible, silent scream as obsidian bile oozed past her parted lips.

“Fuck!” shouted Vial. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.”

The monster’s expression reverted into a smile, and suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened. The flames and ooze vanished, and she was simply a normal disembodied head again.

The body offered Everard’s head to Glasha, and she delicately took it . Kind of like one might take a live chicken if offered. She felt rather awkward holding her head.

“You can sit me down on the seat of the carriage, I have a little basket that I rest in,” said Everard as her body climbed up the side of the carriage, remounting it.

The interior of the carriage was lit by a single glass lamp that rested in the dead middle. There was room enough for everyone, though Ailuin had to sit on Glasha’s lamp. (Like he wasn’t always wanting a seat on his wife’s lap). There was a basket where Glasha laid down Everard’s head. Unfortunately, it was next to the basket where Jessup had to sit, trying not to look at the monster woman’s head.

“So if your headless body is piloting this carriage,” said Glasha as they started down the dirt road. “How do you know which direction we’re going?”

“I know because the trek of everything has been preordained. You were always going to enter the carriage, and we were always going to find our way back to the Lascy Mansion,” explained Everard.

“That’s terrifying,” said Ailuin, adding nothing to the conversation as always.

After a beat, the horses started in a hard gallop, panting loudly as they rocketed down the road, nearly slamming the occupants of the carriage from side to side as it made its way down the darkened path.

After a two-hour journey, the carriage came to a screeching halt. I mean that in a very literal sense, as outside of the carriage, there was a horrible wailing that would have made Ailuin’s blood run cold, if it wasn’t already.

“Is that a banshee!?” asked a terrified Jessup.

“No,” said Everard. “None of the Lascys became Banshees. Bit difficult to wail over the soon-to-be dead if there’s nobody left alive.”

“So what’s our audience look like?” asked Ailuin. “Vampires? Revenants? Ghouls? Mummies?”

“Nothing with a body like me, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Everard.

The door to the carriage was torn open by Everard’s body, and Jessup let out a small, irritating scream. The body clambered inside the carriage’s cabin and grabbed her head.

“If you’ll follow me, please, I’ll introduce my employers,” said Everard.

Everyone followed the dullahan out of the carriage. The Lascy House was oppressive in its scale. It seemed impossibly large and looming with paint that was perhaps once white, now rendered into a peeling grey. It seemed oddly heavy as well. The gigantic ancient mansion took up more room in their minds than it ought to have.

The old doors were thrown open with a loud creak that cut through the night air and drew everybody’s attention.

Once Everard was presumably out of earshot, talking with whatever had opened the front door, Jessup turned to their employers and began to whisper in his most conspiratorial tone.

“I think we should start walking and get out of here,” said Jessup. “That’s a dullahan. An evil spirit. They kidnap and kill goblin children.”

“And are you a child, Jessup?” asked an incredulous Glasha.

“No,” said Jessup.

“Then you should have nothing to worry about,” said Glasha. “You’re putting more weight on this than what is deserved.”

Jessup huffed, and soon Everard returned to the group. “Please follow me.”

The pornographers made their way up to the door and stepped inside. They were greeted by an empty antechamber. Well lit, but exposing years of rot and decay. The air was heavy with the smell of wood rot and dust. That’s when the hosts appeared.

The first of the hosts seemed to be made out of silk, being spun out of the air itself and weaving until it took on a lightly human shape. In life, the ghost must have had an impressive moustache as it took up most of his face and connected to his ears. The top of his head was, however, devoid of hair, it seemed.

“Good Evening,” said the phantom. “My name is Sir Edmund Lascy.”

The air behind him did a repeat of the previous trick, spinning nothing into pseudo-material. This mass of lightly grey nonsense became a woman who, in life, had hair, unlike her husband, and eyes that were hard and intelligent, like those of falcons.

“This is my wife, Lady Marcine Lascy,” said Sir Edmund.

“Charmed,” said Lady Marcine. “We understand that you’re smut provisioners.”

“I mean, that’s kind of a roundabout way of describing us, but yes,” said Ailuin.

“We at the Lascy Mansion play hosts to all who have died horribly in this sacred land,” said Lady Marcine. “These are people who haven’t had sex in decades if not centuries.”

“Okay,” said Ailuin, who was gradually losing interest.

Glasha stepped in. “That works for us. What were you thinking?”

“Well,” said Sir Edmund. “We were initially thinking that we’d just have your elf there fuck Hilde, but now that we’re seeing the two of you, how do you both feel about having your way with her?”

Everard stood off to the side, smirking over at the married couple and exaggeratedly waggling her eyebrows.

“Can she act?” asked Glasha.

“Barely,” said Lady Marcine.

“I’ll take that,” said Glasha. “What about you, husband?”

Ailuin made a so-so gesture with his hand.

Everard kind of frowned at that.

---

Turns out the Lascy family in life had something like a built-in stage in their home. Sir Edmund explained that he was a patron of the arts, but mostly in the sense that he would hire prostitutes and homeless people from the local town to pretend to be characters from stories his wife would write in her free time.

The curtains were moth-eaten and smelled like mildew. Vial complained about this before he was shoved on stage to an audience of ghosts from various stages in history. None of which is all that important.

“Cripes,” said Vial, smirking and naked. “I would say that I haven’t seen a crowd this dead in a while, but this is livelier than most of my shows! HEYO!”

Stone cold dead. The audience just stared at him as he ran through the rest of his tight five. Not a single disembodied laugh or chortle. Not even crickets.

He quickly wrapped everything up and introduced the show normally. The curtains parted, and it was Ailuin and Glasha lying in bed, feigning sleep.

A bare naked Everard cut across the stage, carrying in one hand a lantern, and her head in the other. She seemed almost as luminous as her spectral hosts with her pale body beneath the lights. She saw the sleeping married couple and licked her lips before setting the lantern down. She turned her head to the audience and pressed a finger to her lips, shushing them.

A mechanical apparatus manipulated the bed, turning and lifting it so that the audience could view the sleeping couple as if from a bird’s eye view, but without throwing them out of the bed or knocking away their blankets.

Everard slowly pulled the blankets back away from where Ailuin was asleep, revealing that he was wearing only a sleeping shirt, and his soft, but monstrous cock was exposed.

Everard moved her head near Ailuin’s crotch, and she guided his limp length into her mouth. She took it in and began to greedily suck. Her hand gripped the back of her and began pumping like she was using herself as a sex toy on Ailuin.

Slowly, the vampiric elf’s eyes fluttered to life, and he saw what was happening as a groan escaped his lips.

“But what of my wife?” he asked in a breathy tone.

Everard slid off of Ailuin’s cock now that it was nice and hard. “Oh, you want her to have some fun too?”

Everard tore the blankets off of the sleeping Glasha, revealing that she was entirely naked beneath the blankets. Her body had been covered in oil, so she shimmered beneath the glow of the magical stage lights.

“What demon nonsense is this?” she asked as she pretended to sit up in bed.

The bed apparatus lowered the bed, and Ailuin and Glasha sat up for real so the audience could see them clearly. Everard sat up on the bed and straddled Ailuin’s lap, while placing her head in Glasha’s. She rolled her hips, grinding Ailuin’s length against her pussy, making both of them moan.

Glasha, meanwhile, wasted no time squishing Everard’s head between her muscular thighs, the pressure threatened to crush her head like a watermelon, encouraging the dullahan to start licking Glasha, her tongue probed past her lower lips and inside, curling as her nose rubbed up against her clit.

Ailuin worked the length of his cock into Everard’s pussy, trying hard to focus on her body without looking up to notice that she was bereft of a head. To remedy this, he leaned in close and took one of her breasts in his mouth and began to suck as he thrust his hips hard, working his considerable length in and out of the monster with something approaching glee.

Backstage, in addition to finding it difficult to cum to the sight of a dullahan, Jessup watched the audience as their spectral forms gradually took on more light. It was soft at first, a light, white glow, but then it became a problem that was too intense, transforming into bright balls of impossible light that threatened to outshine the stage lights.

Ailuin had made a mistake. He’a gotten Everard’s body on its back and was above her, thrusting in and out, but from how he was positioned, he couldn’t bury his face back between her breasts to avoid looking at the head stump, so instead he cocked his head over and focused on his wife getting toyed with by a head. That was a bit easier for him to work with, to be honest, even if it was close to him being made a cuckold.

Glasha looked over at her husband and kind of hopped over towards him with Everard’s head locked in place between her thighs. She seized the back of Ailuin’s head and pulled him into a kiss. Ailuin briefly parted from the kiss to make a soft and hungry growl before retreating into the embrace of his wife.

He pulled the length of his cock free of the dullahan and shot ropes of sticky, old semen all over her abdomen. The body worked her hands down and began to rub the seed into her skin. It wasn’t long before a climax cascaded over Glasha and left Everard’s head soaked.

The white light of the audience grew and shot up through the ceiling, piercing the night sky like a spear. Or some other phallic weapon. The group watched as the walls and fabric around them unraveled, revealing the natural world. Everard’s body sat up and freed her head from Glasha’s legs.

“Oh shit, my employers have climaxed!” shouted Everard.

“That’s good, right?” asked Glasha, sitting on her knees on the bed.

“No!” shouted Everard. “It means I don’t have a job anymore because they’ve ascended to the final dwelling of the dead…They’ve reached the afterworld. So that means that their will that was holding the hollow reality of the house together is disappearing with them.”

*hört nach kurzer Zeit ganz oben im Haus eine Tür und Stimmen und springt sofort panisch auf – so soll ihn niemand sehen* *wischt sich hektisch die Tränen vom Gesicht und schluckt die, die nachkommen wollen, verzweifelt runter* *taumelt die letzten Stufen bis zur Eingangstür runter und verlässt das Haus* *schließt draußen angekommen sein Fahrrad auf und schiebt es bis zur Bordsteinkante* *unterdrückt den Drang, noch einmal zu Matteos Fenster hoch zu schauen, denn er will die Enttäuschung nicht spüren, die wohl oder übel die Hoffnung mit sich bringt, Matteo könnte dort oben stehen und ihn doch noch aufhalten* *steigt aufs Rad und fährt los* *merkt schon nach einigen Metern, dass ihm erneut Tränen in die Augen steigen und versucht irgendwie seine Gedanken zu ordnen, schafft es aber nicht, da er sich irgendwie auf den Verkehr konzentrieren muss und zudem versucht, Blickkontakt mit Passanten zu vermeiden, damit niemand sieht, wie mies es ihm geht* *ist froh, als er endlich zu Hause ankommt und schließt sein Rad am Bauzaun fest* *fährt sich noch einmal durch’s Gesicht und atmet tief durch für den Fall, dass Laura zu Hause ist und ihn sieht* *will jetzt keine Fragen und kein Gespräch, sondern einfach an ihr vorbeikommen und seine Ruhe* *schließt dann oben die Tür auf und hört Laura schon in der Küche singen* *schließt kurz die Augen, als er merkt, dass sie ihn bemerkt hat und in den Flur kommt und hört kurz darauf schon ihre fröhliche Stimme: „Ich gehe davon aus, du warst bei Matteo? Wie immer, wenn mein Bruder spurlos über Nacht verschwindet…  Das nächste mal könntest du ruhig Bescheid…“* *hört sie stocken und öffnet die Augen, nur um zu sehen, dass sie einen Schritt näher kommt und fragt: „Was ist passiert?“* *weicht automatisch einen Schritt zurück in Richtung seiner Zimmertür und schüttelt den Kopf* *spürt schon wieder einen Kloß im Hals und murmelt nur* Jetzt nicht, okay? *drückt dann seine Tür auf, verschwindet in seinem Zimmer, schließt sie und lehnt sich von innen dagegen* *spürt schon wieder Tränen in seinen Augen und wie seine Schwester von außen leicht gegen die Tür klopft: „David?!“* *schüttelt vehement den Kopf und sagt so kraftvoll, wie er kann und leicht wütend* Jetzt nicht!! *dreht dann den Schlüssel in seiner Tür um und taumelt zum Bett* *vergräbt sein Gesicht im Kopfkissen und hat genau in dem Moment das Gefühl, entspannen und endlich frei weinen zu können* *erschreckt sich fast vor sich selbst, als er einmal laut aufschluchzt und dann bitterlich in sein Kissen weint* *hat irgendwie nur wenige Gedanken im Kopf, die sich ständig wiederholen, nämlich, dass er Matteo verloren hat, dass er es ihm früher hätte sagen sollen, dass er sich nie in ihn hätte verlieben dürfen, dass es abzusehen war, dass Matteo es nicht versteht, dass es dumm von ihm war, sich Hoffnung zu machen, dass er gestern Abend nicht hätte zu ihm fahren sollen und immer und immer wieder, dass er ihn verloren hat* *spürt, dass irgendwann das große Schluchzen nachlässt und keine Tränen mehr nachkommen, bleibt aber noch einen Moment in der gleichen Position auf dem Bett liegen und lässt die letzten 14 Stunden Revue passieren*

*als die Nachricht von Matteo kam, hatte er gar nicht wirklich nachgedacht – natürlich wollte er mit Matteo zusammen sein – wie konnte Matteo nur auf den Gedanken kommen, dass er es nicht wollen würde* *allein der Gedanke, dass es Matteo immer noch genauso gehen könnte, dass Matteo ebenfalls immer noch mit ihm zusammen sein wollte, hatte ihn dazu bewogen, ohne Nachzudenken auf sein Fahrrad zu steigen und den kurzen Weg zu Matteo in Rekordzeit zurück zu legen* *die Zweifel und die Angst waren erst gekommen, als er schon auf den Klingelknopf gedrückt hatte und so war er ganz froh gewesen, dass Matteo ihn gebeten hatte, kurz unten zu warten* *erst in diesem Moment, war ihm klar geworden, dass er es Matteo sagen _musste_, dass jetzt der Zeitpunkt gekommen war, ob nun richtig oder falsch, aber dass Matteo es verdient hatte, endlich die Wahrheit zu erfahren, dass er ihm das schuldig war und dass Matteo eine Erklärung und eine Entschuldigung dafür verdient hatte, dass er den Kontakt so plötzlich abgebrochen hatte, denn erst, wenn Matteo wusste, worum es eigentlich ging, hatten sie eventuell eine minimale Chance, tatsächlich zusammen sein zu können* *hatte nicht die geringste Ahnung, wie er Matteo alles erklären soll und wäre am liebsten wieder umgedreht und zurück nach Hause gefahren, als er den Türdrücker gehört hatte* *hatte aber dennoch die Türe aufgedrückt und oben im Treppenhaus leises Gemurmel vernommen, was seinen Fluchtinstinkt kurz wieder verstärkt hatte* *allein der Gedanke, Matteo wiedersehen zu können, hatte ihn aber schließlich dazu gebracht, doch die Treppen hochzusteigen* *und als er ihm dann endlich gegenüber stand, da waren alle Worte weg gewesen, da war nur noch die Sehnsucht nach Matteo und dieser dicke Kloß im Hals* *hatte ein paar mal versucht, anzufangen, zumindest eine Entschuldigung heraus zu bekommen, aber die plötzliche Nähe zu Matteo und der Blick in Matteos Augen, die so viel Schmerz und Verwirrung, aber gleichzeitig auch Vertrauen, Sehnsucht und Liebe ausgestrahlt hatten, hatten ihn alle Worte vergessen lassen, so dass er schließlich dem immer stärker werdenden Drang nachgegeben und Matteo einfach in die Arme geschlossen hatte* *hatte das Gefühl gehabt, endlich wieder dort zu sein, wo er hingehört, als Matteo nach minimalem Zögern die Umarmung erwidert hatte und sein rasendes Herz hatte sich nach kurzer Zeit ein wenig beruhigt und sein Körper entspannt* *könnte inzwischen gar nicht mehr sagen, wie lange sie im Flur gestanden und sich einfach nur umarmt hatten, aber seine Gedanken und sein schlechtes Gewissen waren irgendwann wieder lauter geworden, so dass er sich nach einiger Zeit leicht von Matteo gelöst und seine Stirn gegen seine gelegt hatte* *die Worte in seinem Kopf waren immer noch nicht in eine logische Reihenfolge gebracht und zudem war da die Sehnsucht in ihm, wenigstens noch ein bisschen in der Illusion zu leben, dass alles gut war, weil sie wieder zusammen waren, ein bisschen in der Illusion zu leben, dass sie einfach nur zwei Jungs waren, die einander mochten  und zwischen denen nicht dieses riesengroße Geheimnis steht, was alles kaputt machen könnte* *hatte sich irgendwann zusammen gerissen und mit leiser, brüchiger Stimme angefangen, zumindest herausgebracht: „Matteo, es tut mir so leid, dass ich…“* *war aber nicht weiter gekommen, hatte noch zweimal ein „Ich…“ gestottert, in der Hoffnung, dass irgendwelche logischen Sätze folgen könnten, hatte aber nicht gewusst, wie er anfangen sollte* *hatte kurz die Augen geschlossen, als Matteo sich irgendwann von ihm gelöst hatte, sie aber wieder geöffnet, als er sanft und vorsichtig Matteos Finger an seiner Hand gespürt hatte und Matteo mit leiser Stimme gesagt hatte: „Wenn du noch nicht willst, können wir auch später reden…“* *das war der Moment gewesen, in dem der Kloß in seinem Hals wieder angeschwollen war, denn Matteo war einfach nur gut – gut und verständnisvoll und geduldig und rücksichtsvoll – und er hatte es so verdient, die Wahrheit zu erfahren und nicht noch einmal verletzt zu werden* *hatte dennoch nur nicken können und war Matteo wie in Trance in sein Zimmer gefolgt*

*dort hatten sie einfach nur auf seinem Bett gelegen - Stunden wie es ihm vorkam – einander zugewandt, Matteo war ihm einige Male durch die Haare gefahren, hatte seine Wange gestreichelt, seine Hand gehalten und geschwiegen, ihn nicht gedrängt* *hatte sich selbst nicht getraut, Matteo zu berühren, weil er ihm nicht noch mehr falsche Hoffnungen machen wollte, weil der Druck, ihm endlich die Wahrheit zu sagen so schwer und gewaltig war, dass er es sich selbst nicht zugestehen wollte, der Sehnsucht nach mehr Nähe zu Matteo zu folgen* *kann sich nicht mehr wirklich erinnern, dass er irgendwann eingeschlafen ist, weiß nur noch, dass er mitten in der Nacht einmal wach geworden war und Matteo seine Arme von hinten fest um ihn geschlungen hatte, so als wolle er ihn nicht mehr loslassen – so als hätte er Angst, er könne am nächsten Morgen verschwunden sein* *hatte sich nicht getraut, sich zu bewegen und eine kurz Zeit einfach nur dieses Gefühl von Geborgenheit genossen, bis die Gedanken an sein Outing wieder in den Vordergrund gerückt waren* *war dennoch irgendwann wieder eingeschlafen und am nächsten Morgen ohne Umarmung erwacht, da Matteo sich in der Nacht wohl doch weggedreht hatte* *war leise aufgestanden und ans Fenster getreten, um dort seine Gedanken zu sortieren* *hatte sich fest vorgenommen, es nun wirklich hinter sich zu bringen, sich seiner Angst zu stellen und hatte auf einmal Lauras Worte im Kopf, dass es nicht fair sei, Matteo die Möglichkeit zu nehmen, selbst zu entscheiden* *war sich mit einem mal so sicher, dass er das alles will, dass er Matteo will, dass er jede Nacht in seiner Umarmung einschlafen will, dass er die Nähe zu ihm will, die Gespräche mit ihm, die Geborgenheit, das Gefühl, dass er Matteo wichtig ist und weiß, dass er die Chance, das alles zu bekommen nur dann hat, wenn er Matteo endlich die Wahrheit sagt* *als Matteo dann aber mit einem mal hinter ihm gestanden, ihn umarmt und zärtlich seinen Hals geküsst hatte, da waren mit einem mal die Angst und der Fluchtgedanke wieder da gewesen, er hatte Neuhaus vorgeschoben und war bereit gewesen, sein Outing aufzuschieben* *die Tatsache, dass Matteo wütend geworden war, dass er laut geworden war und ihm vorgeworfen hatte, dass er sich wieder verpissen wollte, waren letztendlich der entscheidende Punkt gewesen – da hatte er gewusst, dass er Matteo verlieren würde, wenn er es noch weiter aufschiebt und auf einmal waren die Worte wieder da gewesen, die er sich zurechtgelegt hatte und er hatte es ihm gesagt*

*wird in seinen Gedanken unterbrochen, als er ein leises Klopfen an der Tür und kurz darauf Lauras Stimme hört: „David?“* *reagiert nicht und fühlt sich schlecht dabei, weil er genau weiß, dass Laura sich Sorgen macht, aber kann jetzt einfach noch nicht reden, muss selbst erstmal klar kommen* *hört Laura seufzen und durch die Tür sagen: „Ich muss gleich los, ich bin verabredet… aber ich kann auch absagen, wenn du reden willst…“* *dreht sich auf die Seite, starrt aus dem Fenster und muss daran denken, dass er heute Nacht beim Blick aus dem Fenster in Matteos Armen lag* *spürt, wie ihm kurz wieder die Tränen in die Augen steigen* *sehnt sich so zurück nach diesem Gefühl und vergisst für einen kurzen Moment, dass Laura noch vor der Tür steht* *hört sie aber irgendwann: „In der Küche steht Kakao, der ist noch warm. Wenn du reden willst, dann schreib mir, dann komm ich sofort zurück, okay? – Bis später!“* *hört kurz darauf die Wohnungstür und merkt, wie er sich ein bisschen entspannt bei dem Gedanken daran, jetzt erstmal nicht reden zu müssen* *würde so gerne an den Gedanken anknüpfen,  den er gerade hatte, kann sich aber nicht wirklich konzentrieren und erinnern* *versucht stattdessen, sich genau an Matteos Reaktion während des Outings zu erinnern und kann erst jetzt im Nachhinein feststellen, dass sie nicht so schlimm war, wie er es sich ausgemalt hatte – Matteo schien verwirrt, überfordert, enttäuscht, dass er es ihm nicht früher gesagt hat, aber er hatte nicht abwertend reagiert, ihn nicht verurteilt, ihn nicht beleidigt, ihn nicht voller Ekel oder Wut angesehen* *wird jetzt erst klar, dass Matteo ihn nicht rausgeworfen hat, dass es nicht Matteo gewesen war, der das „Gespräch“ beendet hatte – er hatte ihn zwar nicht aufgehalten, aber er hatte auch nicht gesagt, er solle gehen* *wird klar, dass Matteo vielleicht einfach nur total überfordert war und fragt sich kurz, was passiert wäre, wenn er nicht gegangen wäre – hätten sie weiter geredet? Hätte Matteo noch mehr Fragen gehabt? Hätte er ihn vielleicht doch irgendwann rausgeschmissen oder hätte er vielleicht sogar irgendwann alles verstanden?* *spürt, wie sich ein winzig kleiner Funken Hoffnung in ihm breit macht, als ihm der Gedanke kommt, dass Matteo vielleicht einfach nur Zeit braucht, das alles zu verstehen* *ist sich ziemlich sicher, dass er Matteo was bedeutet – warum sonst hätte Matteo immer wieder seine Nähe gesucht, warum sonst hätte er sich von Sara getrennt und hätte nach seiner SMS bei ihm vor der Tür gestanden, warum sonst wäre es ihm in den letzten Tagen so schlecht gegangen und warum sonst hätte er ihn mit seiner Nachricht gestern Abend herausgefordert und impliziert, dass er mit ihm zusammen sein will – aber kann nicht wirklich einschätzen, ob die Tatsache, dass er transgender ist, was an Matteos Gefühlen für ihn ändert oder nicht* *kann sich denken, dass es hier wahrscheinlich nicht nur um Gefühle geht, sondern wahrscheinlich auch um sexuelle Anziehung, logisches Denken, das Ansehen bei Freunden und vieles mehr – und dass Matteo sich wahrscheinlich nicht nur darüber Gedanken machen wird, sondern auch um die Tatsache, dass er sich nicht früher bei ihm geoutet, ihn verletzt und sich zurückgezogen hat* *hat nicht die geringste Ahnung, ob Gefühle alleine reichen können, um all das andere zu überdecken*

*schließt irgendwann die Augen, weil ihn der Blick aus dem Fenster wieder an Matteos Nähe erinnert und er den Gedanken daran, ihn vielleicht verloren zu haben, kaum ertragen kann* *klammert sich an dem winzigen Funken Hoffnung fest, dass Matteo einfach nur Zeit braucht und am Ende vielleicht doch alles gut wird*

Sorcerers are a very strange lot. They come in a vast array of flavors, sizes, and colors. In this sense they’re kind of like candy or popsicles. Our thing, Stitcher, is a theatrical sorcerer. This means that even though they were versed in rituals and other magical workings, they decided to apply their skills to the theatrical arts. That is until the eclipse. This was all in accordance with the practices of the ritual, you understand. The candles were placed at the cardinal directions: North, South, East, and West, all with little circles around them. These circles had lines down them that led to two other circles. One large circle containing the sigil of the mighty demoness, Sobric. While one that led off to it contained Stitcher. 

The theater troupe approached with knives, swords, and hatchets. 

“This is madness, Stitcher, stop it this instance!” shouted Ailuin. 

“You know nothing of power, Ailuin. You fear striving for greatness. The dark huntress, Sobric, will lead us into greatness!” 

“Say the word and I’ll march over there and cut their head off,” said Glasha. 

“What will the people of Glasstown say if they see we summoned a demon outside of their town’s borders?” asked Cisex. 

“We’ll say we don’t know them, obviously,” said Iole. 

Stitcher began to chant in a language that none save for Slime could replicate. It was a language older than the planet and older still. The ground shook as the circles and sigils around Stitcher began to glow. This was it, this was the crowning achievement of Stitcher’s glorious magical career. It was the dawning of a dark apotheosis for the world, and all would come to hail and curse Stitcher’s name for centuries, if not aeons to come. 

There was something wrong with the space right above the circle where Sobric’s sigil lay. It was as if the world, the night sky, the grass, and everything had creased and folded like paper or fabric. White hands parted the folds in the world and split it open, revealing a gaping blackness, and a figure with massive horns escaped into the world. 

Even Glasha, mightiest of the all the land, the bane of the west, felt fear as this thing that should not be was spawned into existence. The lips of the demoness were the red of fresh blood, and when they parted, everyone was met by fire and howling laughter. 

She stepped into the world fully formed and naked, but then something occurred to everyone. The demonic huntress that Stitcher had built up wasn’t exactly tall or all that imposing after she ceased spewing fire and howling. 

Everyone stood around, waiting for something even more spectacular to happen, but after a bit, it just kind of gained an air of implacable awkwardness.

“Sobric!” shouted Stitcher.

The demon gave them a nod of polite acknowledgement. 

“I beseech you, take me and then you may plunge this world into untold darkness, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in centuries! I can be your war bride!” shouted Stitcher. 

Sobric made a kind of bemused, but ultimately displeased expression. “No can do, buckaroo.” 

“What?” asked Stitcher. 

“Well…Succubi don’t really marry, it’s kind of a whole thing,” said Sobric.

“Succubi? Are you not Sobric the Huntress of Eternal Night! The Breaker of Daylight?” asked Stitcher, desperation growing in their voice. 

“No…That would be my elder sister, Sobix…You read from the wrong entry in your little book of demons,” said Sobric. 

Stitcher stared at the demon for an uncomfortably long time before collapsing to their knees and weeping. It was by that time that the eclipse had ended and the theater troupe made their way towards the ritual site. 

“Hello darling,” said Glasha. “My name is Glasha, and this is my husband, Ailuin.” 

She gestured at the elf, who politely waved, but said nothing. The demon smiled at both of them. 

“Since you’ve been summoned here,” said Glasha. “How interested are you in the theatrical arts?”

“I love it, for a time I was a patron demon to actors,” said Sobric. “Do they not still speak my name aloud in theaters?” 

“Not to the best of my knowledge, no,” said Ailuin. 

“Shame. Well, what do you want?” 

Glasha and Ailuin explained their theater company’s gimmick, and the demon seemed rather pleased by the notion. 

“I like it. It’s not unique, though,” said Sobric. “They used to put on plays like the kind you’re describing. It was all a part of stupid fertility festivals and things like that. Back when I was seen as a goddess of sorts. But sure, I’ll participate. I can even write some of my own dialogue. I'm really good at writing dialogue.”

---

Glass Town is where the snow globe was invented. They were miniatures made representing the city itself. Towering castle spires, mazes of incredible houses, all contained inside a gigantic glass dome to protect it from war and dragons’ fire. One could only enter at the whims of clockwork automata that controlled the great glass drawbridge. 

“Papers, please,” demanded a gigantic clockwork man with a metal moustache. 

“We’re performers,” said Ailuin. “We have an audience with Mayor Gillian. He expects us to put on a play tomorrow evening.” 

“I remember when this place was just a collection of houses and lean-tos,” muttered Sobric.

“Is that thing also a performer?” asked the automaton. 

“Yes, she’s just dolled up in her makeup for the performance!” said Glasha as she minded the horses. 

“Proceed,” said the automaton. 

---

They were greeted by Mayor Marji Gillian. She, like all the higher-ups in Glass Town society, had a big moustache. It wasn’t real, of course. Even elf men had difficulty growing elaborate facial hair, but if you wanted to have power in Glass Town society, you needed to sport something of prominence on your upper lip. Her’s was woven out of braided silk and connected to her ears, making her look a bit walrus-y. 

“It’s just fabulous to meet you all, just fabulous,” she said as she anxiously paced across the polished glass floor of the mayor’s office. 

“What’s going on with you?” asked Glasha. 

Ailuin shot his wife a withering look, but the effect was completely lost on her. 

“Eh? Me? Nothing, I’m fine,” said Mayor Gillian. Her eyes kept flitting between the married couple and the very obvious demon that stood beside them. 

“Should I stand outside or something?” asked Sobric. 

The mayor made a weird little squeak noise like a mouse as the demoness spoke. 

“No, Sobric, you’re fine,” said Glasha, patting the demon’s hands. The orc then turned her attention on the mayor. “She’s clearly got an issue.” 

“It’s just…We’ve got a lot of religious types who might pitch a fit if they see a literal demon on the stage,” said Mayor Gillian. 

“Well they don’t have to know she’s a demon, for all they know she could be…human? But wearing weird makeup,” said Ailuin. 

“She’s the star of the upcoming show!” declared Glasha. 

“Look, I’m sympathetic. I’m not a prude. I’m a patron of the arts,” said Mayor Gillian. “It’s just…Can we do something about her eyes at least?” 

Sobric stood with her arms crossed and said, “You’re more than welcome to try to come near my face, little elf, we’ll see if you keep your fingers.” 

“Look, there’s no need to fight,” said Ailuin. “You said there are religious folks who’ll be in attendance at the show. Okay, that might be a problem.” 

“I think that’s exactly what we need,” said Glasha. “Religious muckity-mucks are all deeply repressed and weird; they might cum in their shorts if they saw a demon banging my husband.” 

“Can we please not say ‘cum’ in my office?” said Mayor Gillian. 

“We make Pornographie,” said Glasha. “It’s unavoidable.” 

“Well, just be a bit more proper. How about ‘ejaculate’?” offered Mayor Gillian. 

“Are you trying to dictate my dictation?” asked Glasha with a murderous glare in her eyes. 

Ailuin stepped between the mayor and his wife, hoping that would ease tensions. 

It did not. 

“Fine!” declared the Mayor, exasperated. “Do whatever you want. Cum! Shit! Piss! Blood! Are you happy? I guess the office of Mayor means nothing to you.” 

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” scoffed Glasha. 

“We’re getting off topic,” said Ailuin. “What do you need us to do to keep the audience from having a full-body freak out?” 

“Short of having the demon exorcised,” said Mayor Gillian.

“I’m standing right here,” said Sobric. 

“Short of that,” continued Mayor Gillian. “We need something with broad appeal. The demon should wear some manner of costume or makeup to disguise herself. That will do wonders.” 

“Fine,” hissed Ailuin. “We’ll work something out.” 

“I also need to approve of the script,” said Mayor Gillian. “I can’t have you thespians sneaking in anything that will make the zealots have a conniption.” 

“Sure, fine, that’s fine, water down our art!” shouted Glasha. 

Ailuin’s lips flattened and he made a low growl. “Fuck. Fine. That’s fine. I’m sure I can conjure up something that won’t offend their delicate sensibilities.” 

“That’s all I ask,” said Mayor Gillian. 

---

“Can we do something a little less stereotypical?” asked Sobric as she read through the script. 

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Ailuin. 

“Well, it’s just…Having a succubus visit a sleeping nobleman was fine and dandy a few centuries ago, but now the premise feels kinda creepy. I mean, it’s not like he summons me in the story.” 

“This is the second idea you’ve shot down. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to me playing as an incubus?” offered Ailuin. 

Sobric’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the suggestion. 

“Hun,” said Glasha. “It’s not like the mayor would approve of that idea anyway. What else do we have?” 

“We could recycle one of the other plays, maybe the princess one?” suggested Ailuin. 

“Do you have anything that doesn’t involve royalty?” asked Sobric. 

“We’ve got the nun one, but that will probably piss off the religious folks,” said Ailuin. 

“You’re kind of a shit writer, aren’t you?” said Sobric. 

---

The play was held in Glass Town’s famed Branwell Theatre. It was a gigantic indoor theater, and every seat was packed. Again, Iole was on the stage, pacing as the preamble comedian to the pornographic show. 

“So,” said Iole. “I’m standing there in King Polykrate’s throne room, and he says to me, ‘I don’t care if you’re a woman, it just means it’s more accurate to call you a bitch now. Go get me another glass of wine, bitch.’.” 

There was one singular chuckle in the audience. 

“I was not well-liked in the court of the king,” said Iole. “But here I am now. On stage, getting everyone ready to see some hard fucking. I’m living the dream. Anyways, smut, you’ve come to see it!”

Iole shuffled away as quickly as she could manage, and she vanished behind the curtains minutes before they were up, revealing an approximation of Mayor Gillian’s office. Sobric was seated at the desk, dressed in a tight pair of beige slacks and a tunic shirt that exposed her bosom. This was in addition to the big fake elf ears and the moustache that she wore. 

This the audience actually laughed at, and somewhere backstage, Iole was scowling because she was pretty sure that her new routine was way funnier than them dressing the succubus up as Glass Town’s mayor. 

Then there was Ailuin. For the play, they invented a character who was to be Mayor Gillian’s secretary. Ailuin was dressed in a pair of short pants that did little to hide the erection he had from downing upwards of seven bottles of red potion. The elf was practically vibrating in his chair from all the latent energy he had. 

“Wilson?” asked Sobric. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Never better,” said Ailuin. 

Sobric stood up and cut across the room before forcing Ailuin away from his much smaller desk and revealing his erection to the crowd and the succubus. 

“This won’t do at all, what have I told you about getting hard during work hours?” asked Sobric. 

She seized the length of his cock and began to slowly stroke him through the fabric of his shorts, making the erection bigger and visibly throb through the dark fabric.  

“You have to tell me when you’re hard so I can take care of it, as is my responsibility as Mayor,” said Sobric. 

She wrenched down the short pants, showing off the throbbing, naked manhood to everyone, and then descended on it, taking it in her mouth and hungrily bobbing up and down on it while simultaneously working the length with her hand. 

“Your moustache tickles,” muttered Ailuin between moans. 

She pulled away and ran her tongue along the length before standing back up and marching over to her desk, bending over and presenting a generous fat ass to the elf. Her pronged tail flitted about in the air as she waited for him. She undid her belt and slid the slacks down for good measure. 

“C’mon, Wilson. Mount your mayor like a good stud,” said Sobric. 

Dicks do an amusing thing when they’re in motion. When Ailuin stood up and started to walk over to Sobric, his cock bounced and wobbled with each step, causing sporadic laughter from the crowd. 

He tore off the fake mayor’s panties and tossed them to the crowd, where they were caught by a waiting Cisex who gave them a long sniff. Cisex is a freak like that, you understand. Ailuin wasted no time getting inside the succubus as her tail wrapped around his body and helped him along. He reached forward and grabbed her horns, stabilizing himself as he bucked his hips wildly, slamming into her with enough force to make noise over the cheering audience. 

That’s when Sobric’s eyes began to glow, and the cheering of the crowd ceased. Everyone could feel this intense energy in the air, and those who viewed the scene began to touch themselves. It was small things at first, people would whip out their cocks or hike up their skirts to rub themselves, but then they started to notice one another, and they started actively fucking each other. Cisex found herself bouncing on a Glass Town glassmaker’s girlcock. Backstage, Iole plowed Tomas while Owebena rode his face. The only person who wasn’t overtaken by the sudden urge to partake in the orgy was Glasha, who was more than happy to play with her dripping pussy as she watched everyone getting it on with each other. 

The real mayor of Glass Town was having sex with one of her secretaries, but nobody gave that a thought amid the orgy. 

Sobric started to grow larger, her eyes filled with infernal fire as she took Ailuin’s cock. 

“That’s it,” she said over and over, her moans echoing and being mimicked by the assembled crowd in the theater. 

She was a veritable giantess, and her skin started to flush a shade of crimson as the desk broke beneath her, and still, Ailuin thrust and thrust until he burst, spilling his seed inside the succubus. 

With that completed and her hunger only partially sated, Sobric found that the stage was rushed by audience and crew members who were not partnered. 

“Yes!” shouted Sobric. “Come to me! Come for me! Worship me!” 

Several horned-up people swarmed Sobric. A woman dove between the giant succubus’s legs and sucked Ailuin’s cum out of her while licking like a greedy beast. Likewise, Sobric found her mouth being used by two men, one human and one orc.