Baker's Day 6
Baker and Matilda venture through the unknown depths of the forbidden wing of Aldevan Manor.
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Beyond the forboding doors is the light-starved chamber of Allison Aldevan's gallery. Among the lifeless statues hewn in the figures of mathematically pleasing yet aesthetically offputting figures, Baker walks hand-in-hand with Matilda the Maid.
The woman grips his hand tightly, stumbling through her steps in the echoing hall.
"I would think the help comes in here every once in a while, at least."
"N-no," says Matilda, slightly trembling as she clings closer to Baker. "She handles her affairs, or so I've heard."
"Hm…, you didn't say anything about this before," the Baker says, pulling her close. "Were you trying to spend some more time with me? How bold."
She nuzzles against him, pressing her bare chest up against his jacket.
After a moment, he clears his throat, and she pulls back, covering her chest and mumbling an apology.
Producing his handkerchief, Baker dabs the spots of milk on his coat and waves his hand dismissively. "No, no, it's alright. Getting myself covered in foodstuffs is part of the job, after all. Though…” His voice turns slightly husky as he pops a button. "We might want to keep my outfit from sustaining any more staining, right?" He takes her hand, placing it on his chest.
She shudders, her hand reaching down over his form, feeling over that outer shell, all while he continues to unbutton his top, slowly and surely giving her a feel and a view of whatever sight she has in this darkness.
The Maid bites her lip, spreading his top aside, thumbs moving up to his chest, feeling his nipples and then stroking back down along his sides, fingers feeling under his pants.
"You're a work of art," she says.
"It helps my friend is so good at artistic works," he admits, his hands out, letting her admire him; she brings herself close, presses those full breasts against him, and soon has her lips linger on his.
With her so close, he whispers. "If you want, we could get you out of here—find you a place to work in my Bakery where you can be as lewd as you desire."
She grips his shoulders and leans against his ear, whispering back. "Are you attempting to poach me, Mister Baker? What would Lord Aldevan think of that?"
"It's just a suggestion for the future, should you ever want more opportunities."
She sighs, pressing her lips against his, popping a leg and rubbing over his chiseled body. His tongue slides against hers, greeting her with the mixture of sweet, syrupy saliva, a delectable concoction that makes her delve deeper, gripping onto his cheeks, deepening the kiss, groaning in the desire of one tasting something so forbidden, yet so much wanted!
A warmth glows behind the Baker, bathing the Maid's face in a soft red hue. Her eyes flutter open, hazily transported out of the moment with Baker.
Only to let out a blood-curdling scream, letting go of him, and stumbling back, falling onto the ground, scrambling back toward the door.
Baker whirls around, his face lit by the red light behind him. What he sees is a horrid thing. Its face is much too long, its mouth much too broad, stretched into a smile that is crooked and razor-sharp. Where there should be eyes, there is Nothing but black pits.
Baker sniffs and buttons his shirt, not caring about the milky spots dripping down over his constructed form. "Why, hello there," says the confectioner.
The face turns its head all too quickly, those black pits staring at him from some voided consciousness. It ignores the maid's frantic flailing and screaming.
Matilda flings herself against the door and claws it open, slamming it behind her as she disappears.
"Hello," the face responds with the same cadence as Baker.
"You must be the help for Lady Aldevan. I see Allison's power has grown since last we spoke. Is she in communion?"
The face continues its smile, but it backs up, not moving but appearing further away.
"Right, then I'll follow you," Baker says, his footsteps the only ones moving through the gallery. As he passes the statues, their gaze follows them through the shadows cast by the face's light.
Soon, the face disappears, and a huffing breath heeds him over his shoulder. He finishes buttoning his top and stands straight. "That was rude of you to scare her like that," Baker says, reaching forward to the door before him. "I'll have to talk to Allison about your manners."
The door opens, and the room beyond him is bathed in a deeper crimson than the light emitted by the floating face. Within, arcane and ancient symbols are scrawled all along the walls, leading to a space in the center that glows with the protective power of the spell being cast.
Standing over the center is a woman, thin and tall with greenish skin, horns, and sony protrusions over her naked body. She is reciting things in the old language.
Baker closes the door gently, not disturbing the ritual, and watches as a figure caked in scarlet fluid from within the circle arises, moaning in the pain of its eruption into this world. The figure is thick and powerful, its arms failing about but never reaching the outside of the circle.
The woman's eyes roll from out of the top of her head down to look at Baker, and her demeanor brightens up. She grabs a robe and pulls it over her shoulders, running over toward him and hugging him.
He reciprocates the hug, even as the being from beyond hurls curses in some unknown language, flailing about and wiping at its eyes. "Oh, it's been oh so long, Allison, darling. I see! I've been keeping busy!