Deep Twilight

Deep Twilight

They were dragged into him with their eyes full of the soul deep
terror these Elves seemed subject to. They never lived, and he had
ceased trying to find a way to keep them so, but occasionally this
certain need came curiously in him.

This one was small and delicate—ruddy golden tresses, deep eyes,
face white and drawn. Once the guards had left the chamber she ceased
struggling and simply stood quietly, small and hunched, eyes beginning
to glaze.

This was an annoying trick on theirs—to send the mind to other
spheres and so be unresponsive and insensible of anything until their
souls fled to Mandos. But Melkor was past master of the art of torture
and torment—had he not made the orcs, his servants? This maiden would
know what befell her tonight.

But it had been so long, and he was impatient. Surely if this one
died too quickly another could be sent up until his desire was sated?
Or perhaps this one would last the night after all.

Calmly he strode across the stone floor and pulled the tiny thing
into his arms. Her head barely came to the breadth of his chest, and at
the feel of his cold embrace she began struggling once more, like the
death throws of a fly already being wrapped in the spider's cage of
silk.

This one was young as well—barely of age, he would guess, just a
child, really. Perhaps 50, maybe 100 years of age. Oh, the young were
wonderful, so much pain to be enjoyed in their breaking. The fear
coming from this one was almost delicious in its potency. Placing one
hand under her chin, he forced her eyes to his.

The Elf maiden gave a bone deep shudder as she looked into those
bottomless, souless black pits that were the eyes of the Great Enemy.
His grip around her was like merciless iron, and chilled her to the
marrow. A vein of gibbering fear crawled up through her mind, until she
gritted her teeth with a harsh breath and reminded herself that Elwe,
great leader of the Elves, was her great uncle. She would not lose her
mind even in the presence of this demon. Nevertheless hot tears poured
unchecked from her eyes and her body shuddered uncontrollably.

Melkor looked intently at this little girl, and his mouth twisted
sadistically. On any other creature it might have been called a smile.
That slight movement turned her blood to ice. With a swift movement he
lifted the maiden in his arms and crossed the cold stone floor to the
enormous black piled bed at the far end. He had some mind to play with
his quarry a bit, but as soon as she had laid her on the coverlet his
blood grew hot and he hastened to crush her beneath him.

After that everything happened swiftly and lasted unbearably long
for her. One moment the iron grip had loosened and her back had hit
something rather soft and deathly cold. The next moment the breath was
near crushed out by the startling weight of this dark deadly being
hanging over her. She realized through her fear that he was rather
beautiful—dark hair, deep iron grey eyes, skin fair and cold. The next
moment she felt cold lips pressed to hers—devouring her, biting her—and
almost clawed hands digging into her robes.

Soft tendrils of terror flowed around her heart and he savagely tore
her clothing from her, but her body would not move—as if she were
floating in deep water. Instinctively she tried to call out, but only a
barely audible hissing scream made its way past her lips. He was
ripping her clothes, his hands bruising her skin, his lips and teeth
attacking her neck and shoulders. And then there was silence for a
moment as he lifted himself off of her.

She couldn't move—she tried, oh how she tried, but her body once
again betrayed her. But then it was too late anyway as Melkor crushed
her in his cruel embrace again as she realized he was unclothed and
something hard and large was pressing insistently between her thighs.

It wasn't long after that. The dark lord parted her legs with his
own and then forced himself into her with one strong thrust. She did
scream then from the pain—but it came out as something rather like a
pained sob. She continued sobbing against his shoulder as this Evil
continued driving into her with crushing force. It seemed to go on
forever, the drive and pull of his shoulder above her face, the
agonizing pressure and tear of his shaft within her, and worst of all
the grunts and groans he made against her ear all the while. By the end
her body had no more strength. When he finally finished with one hard
thrust and the spill of something liquid inside her, she shuddered, but
her soul was already floating away from her mind. Soon it had spirited
itself away from the pain and hurt and fear to join others who too soon
had fallen prey to the Darkness that had taken over her world.

Melkor stared dispassionately at the cold body that laid beside him.
It was a pity—she had been so wonderfully innocent, small enough to
tear open properly—but after all there were at least five more young
maidens down in one of the holding cells. Certainly enough to last the
night.

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