I keep my eyes forward, fixing my gaze on the far part of the hall where honest darkness waits beyond the reach of lying glass.My steps maintain the paced rhythm of the song, each footfall marking time like a ship's bell counting the watches. The melody flows from my chest with the steady power of a man who has learned to trust in things that cannot be seen—the pull of tides, the promise of dawn, the love that endures beyond the reach of doubt.
The counting song builds with each verse, my voice growing stronger as I pour every ounce of faith into the simple, honest words. This is not the complex harmony I used to battle the necropolis's guardians, but something more fundamental—the music of work shared and burdens divided, of trust that needs no proof because it runs deeper than reason.
"Five years sailing distant seas,
Six storms weathered with such ease,
Seven harbors, seven homes,
Eight directions where love roams."
As the song continues, something remarkable happens. One of the mirrors fractures with a sound like breaking ice, its surface spider-webbing with cracks that spread from center to edge in perfect spirals. The glass doesn't shatter completely, but the fissures swallow three shadows—dark reflections that were reaching toward us with grasping fingers, trying to pull us into their realm of lies and despair.
The broken mirror releases a sigh that sounds almost like relief, as if it's grateful to be freed from the burden of showing only nightmare and never truth. Other mirrors begin to crack as well, their surfaces unable to maintain their hold on us in the face of such simple, unshakeable faith.
But even as the hall trembles around us, even as the lying glass begins to fail, I do not turn. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, my voice steady with the counting song, my hand firm in Eurydice's grasp. The mirrors want me to doubt, to look, to verify—but doubt is a luxury I cannot afford. Love means trusting withoutproof, believing without sight, walking forward even when the whole world tries to convince you that you're walking alone.
"Nine lives lived in service true,
Ten years hence, I'll still love you."
The song carries us through the rest of the hall, past mirrors that crack and fail as they realize they cannot break what was forged in the depths of absolute trust. The voices that whispered doubt grow fainter with each step, until they're nothing more than echoes of echoes, powerless against the simple certainty of love that needs no confirmation because it knows itself to be true.
Behind us, the Mirror Hall collapses into harmless glass and shadow. Ahead, the path continues toward whatever trial waits next. But for this moment, this victory, I am content to simply walk forward with Eurydice's hand in mine, knowing that some bonds are stronger than doubt, some truths deeper than sight, some loves more real than any reflection a lying mirror could ever show.
26
EURYDICE
The thermal vent cavern pulses with sultry warmth, its slick stone walls glistening with steam that softens the necropolis’s icy grip. Scavenged candles flicker on jagged ledges, their light rippling across the shallow pool lapping at our feet, casting our shadows—mine slight and trembling, Theron’s horned and massive—in a slow, sacred dance.
We peel away our sodden clothes, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, salt and ash dissolving in the cavern’s humid embrace. His golden mane drips, chestnut fur gleams in the dim glow, and his amber eyes burn with a love that drowns the drowned choir’s whispers.
My heart beats slow, a reverent drum, my body aching with a primal need to merge with him in this fleeting haven.
“Theron,” I murmur, voice steady but thick with yearning, dark hair clinging to my shoulders like wet silk. “My beast, love me—slow, deep, until the sea forgets us. Fuck my body with that monstrous cock, make me moan like your eternal whore, claim every hole as yours.”
His rune-carved horns glint softly as he looms, a minotaur of quiet, towering strength, his growl a low hymn that vibrates through my bones, making my pussy throb.
“Eurydice,” he rumbles, eyes searing with devoted lust, “you’re my goddess, my slut. Beg for your beast’s touch, let me stretch your tight holes until you’re dripping my cum.” His words ignite a fire in my core, my clit pulsing with need.
I step closer, gray eyes locked on his, body trembling with a desire that could thaw the abyss. “Take all of me,” I whisper, voice sultry and dripping with want, “my pussy, my ass—fuck me everywhere, beast. Make me ache, fill me with your hot seed until I’m yours forever.” My words are a prayer, a vow against the dark, my thighs already slick with arousal.
His massive hands cup my face, gentle but possessive, drawing me into a kiss—slow, deliberate, his thick tongue invading my mouth, tasting of sea and festival nights, stoking a smoldering fire that makes my pussy clench. I moan into him, tongue weaving with his, hungry and teasing, my hands roaming his furred chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath.
I ease his kilt away, fingers deliberate, teasing his hot skin, freeing his thick cock—veined, heavy, pulsing, precum glistening like sacred dew. He slides my dress off, damp fabric pooling at my feet, baring my curves, breasts heaving, nipples tightening into hard peaks in the steamy air, my pussy weeping for him. “Gods, Eurydice, your body’s a fucking temple,” he growls, lips brushing my neck, his fur a warm caress that sends shivers to my clit, making it throb harder.
“Suck me, my devoted beast,” I urge, voice thick with need, arching my breasts toward him, nipples begging for his mouth. His lips close around one, sucking with measured reverence, tongue circling slowly, then flicking the sensitive peak, sending waves of pleasure that build like a rising tide.
My moan echoes in the cavern, low and slutty, as he lingers, sucking harder, teeth grazing gently, making my breasts swell and ache. “Theron… oh fuck, beast—worship my tits, make them yours, suck me until I’m screaming,” I gasp, nails grazing his fur, urging him deeper, my pussy dripping onto the warm stone, thighs slick with my juices.
He switches to the other breast, tongue lapping like a slow tide, pleasure so intense my vision softens, my head spinning with ecstasy. “Yes, beast—bite my nipples, make my cunt weep for you!” I cry, hips swaying, grinding air, desperate for his touch.
I pull back, chest heaving with ragged breaths, and kneel in the warm pool, water lapping at my thighs like a lover’s tongue. My lips stretch around his fully erect cock, sucking with greedy reverence, tongue tracing every ridge, savoring his salty, musky warmth that makes my clit pulse with need.
My fingers tease his ass, circling the tight ring, slipping inside, stroking his prostate in rhythm with my mouth, feeling him pulse and throb. His growl is a sacred chant in the steam, hands light in my hair, letting me lead as I bob slowly, drool spilling.
“Fuck, Eurydice, your mouth’s a fucking paradise—suck your beast’s cock like the slutty goddess you are,” he groans, hips twitching gently. I curl my finger deeper, milking him, my mouth deliberate, moaning around his shaft, loving how his massive frame trembles, his power bending to my filthy will. “Deeper, my love—choke on your beast’s shaft,” he rumbles, voice thick with lust.
