Deptford Mice Commission: Mabb/Virianna
"Mabb! Hear me! 'Tis I, Virianna!" The strange little mouse named Whortle fled behind the volewife, and she stood, shaking but unbowed, staring into the storm. The eyes of Mabb glowed within the smoky dark. Virianna met the golden gaze, and did not back down a whisker's breadth as the sibilant, seductive voice poured out. "Petty slave of root and water. I have not come for you this night." Of course Virianna knew. Captain Fenlyn's paws had left a trail a blind beast could follow, straight to the Hanging Tree, as the Sleep Visitor fulfilled Her unholy name and drew him dreaming onward. Virianna herself meant not a tenth of what Fenny meant to the settlers, so Fenny was Mabb's seeming target tonight. To Mabb Herself, though, Virianna was worth far more than a magic-less mouse, because Mabb the Queen of Magic could not claim her. She would use that; while she would prefer to live, she knew her life meant little. The good folk of the new Fenlynfeld needed their hero, and so she cried her challenge. "A contest between thee and me. Bring it hither!" And so Mabb did, taking form from shadow and flinging fire from Her wispy-dark claws. Virianna turned tail for the ditch, her ring glowing with the flames of the blessed Green in her paw. For a moment, Mabb thought She had the upper paw, but Virianna was merely seeking a weapon; the flames of her ring blazed and caught a stick as she took it up and wielded it like a sword. Fire clashed upon fire, strike upon strike, red and green burning as bright as daylight. Soon, with Virianna's most powerful blow, Mabb shrieed and Her form split apart to nothingness... and dived down for another strike. From the corner of her eye, Virianna saw little Whortle dragging the captain, still sleeping, towards the blessed pond, and begged the Green to shield them. And to shield her, as well.It seemed He did, as Mabb circled her, striking and striking, but could not break through the flames. Finally, She seemed to give in, pulling back, and hissing "I waste my time with you..." Knowing Fenny was not yet safe, Virianna pursued the monstrous goddess down the track to the pool. Whortle and Fenny were close to the reeds, but not yet in the water. Just as they were about to touch the surface, Mabb swept down upon them, knocking them back and taking hold of the Captain, who slept on still. Whortle could not reach in time as Mabb dragged Fenny back to the Tree; Virianna and her Green-flame stick blocked the way. "The Raith Sidhe must have vengeance. We demand a life!" Virianna gestured to Whortle to run, shouted "Then take mine instead!", and flung aside her weapon. Mabb, intrigued, circled her again, slower and slower. After several moments' thought, She slunk closer. "If you renounce the protection of your Green spirit, then only one life shall I take this night," She swore, "by the horns of my Lord Hobb..." And so, Virianna did. And that was their undoing. No sooner had she thrown away her magic ring to join her staff than the great rat shadow poured into her, through eyes and mouth, filthy claws sliding into every corner of her soul like sewer water bloating a drowning creature's lungs, leaving smears of Her wickedness in every inch. Virianna felt herself lose control of her limbs, claws clenching, tail twisting, jaw forced open till it was fit to crack. She fell to the ground, writhing and rolling in the greatest pain she could have ever imagined, and waited for death, but it did not come. The last of Mabb's form flew into her and her eyes and mouth snapped shut like traps, leaving her limp on the ground. And then, her eyes flew open again, and she felt herself very slowly stand up. Eyes open again, forced wider than they should have been, Virianna could see the glow of Mabb's golden glare reflecting from her own whiskers, her eyes replaced. The eyes have always been the window to the soul, and now her soul was pushed aside by Mabb. "One life only I swore to take this night," the Ratwitch goddess hissed with Virianna's tongue. "But not yours." Slithering swift as a striking snake, a long, strong rope emerged from somewhere in the hidden hall and glided up the grassy bank toward the tree. Without a creature's touch, it crawled up the sleeping, slumped body of Fenlyn Purfote and wrapped itself around his neck. Captive inside her own head, Virianna silently screamed. All that came from her mouth was the laughter of Mabb, and the goddess took control of her feet and started to dance in joy. Slowly at first she stepped and turned, her matronly body lumbering with inexperience, speeding up and gaining grace as Mabb gained awareness of Her captive's physicality, until she could spin and leap in circles as daintily as thistledown, and all the while Mabb laughed and laughed and laughed. Slower now, as if savouring the moment, the rope looped around itself, time after time, into thirteen coils as tight as it could pull. Fenny's neck was held tight, but not too tight, and the friction of the knot prevented it pulling tighter as the rope's other end threw itself over a branch and pulled him up. With limited pressure on his throat, he would strangle slow. The thick rope pushed his jaw up, forcing his snout to face straight ahead, and he gasped and awoke. "Hnnn-!" Throat squeezed, jaw jammed, Fenlyn Purfote would have no heroic last words, no chance to cry for help. Even in such straits, his first thought when he saw his trusted wisebeast Virianna below was to shout for her to save herself, until Mabb gazed up at him through her and he saw it was too late. "Greetings, warrior whose mistress hath tried to widow me!" cried Mabb through Virianna's throat, cackling like a flock of carrion crows. "Thine army may have wounded Us sore, but the Raith Sidhe cannot die. My Lord shall return one day when the great oak rots, but a mortal mouse may not!" Dangling from the tree, Fenny clawed at his neck and wept bitter tears from his bulging eyes as the rope held firm. He wept for Virianna, he wept for his followers, and he wept from shame (though he'd have told anyone else not to do so) that he was also weeping for himself. He was far from a coward, but he was strong and healthy and his people needed him, and this was no way for a warrior to die, and so he wanted so very badly to live. His wish went ungranted, the pressure of his own small mouse-sized weight very slowly crushing his carotid and trachea, every jerk and twitch of his kicking paws pulling him down harder, the rope far too tight to let him slip free. His vision blackened at the edges, and below him Mabb kept dancing. Virianna fought and fought within her own head, tearing at the goddess' grip on her heart and soul, but to no avail. Her body was no longer her own. She felt every twitch and turn, every twig or stone stepped on, every brush of bark as she moved too close to the Hanging Tree, but nothing she did would give her back control. Every time she tried, Mabb would fling her body harder into the dance and intentionally scrape her up against the tree, bark and twigs tearing at her fur. "It's been a long time since I took a body," Mabb growled, running Virianna's paws over her stolen ears. "I had forgotten why Bauchan loves being enfleshed so very much..." Virianna's handpaws ran over her face, hairless finger-pads pressing into her ear canals and her mouth, ruffling her once-well-groomed fur, touching her open eyes without Mabb allowing her to blink. She didn't bother controlling the tear ducts, and Virianna's tears showed her shame even as her face grinned madly. "We have all night!" cried the voice of Mabb. "Let us make the very most of it!" The last thing Fenny's darkening vision saw before he passed out, well on the road to death, was Virianna dropping to her knees, her paws sliding over her throat and then lower and lower. Mabb savoured the feeling of a pulse beneath warm fingers, Virianna's blunted claws running through her neck-fur as if ready to drive into her vein with the goddess' supernatural strength. They did not; nothing so merciful was on Mabb's mind. Instead, her fingerpads stroked at the vole's neck, then down to her chest, finding the nipples beneath the fur and tugging hard, then softer, slower, then pinching again. Virianna would have gasped if she could control her mouth. No other beast had touched her so teasingly there since her husband's passing, no one at all since her sons were weaned. Even her own paws felt unfamiliar, she so rarely had time or energy. She felt each touch like a lightning bolt up and down her spine, her tail swishing as Mabb revelled in her pain, and enjoyed her pleasure too. Stop! she tried to plead, but her mouth did not move, and Mabb ignored her thoughts. "The old witch is not so dried-up after all, it seems," the goddess said, driving the vole's claws into each side of her nipple hard enough to almost pierce it through. The skin broke and blood beaded in her fur. To Virianna's shame, even that sent a jolt to parts of her she'd almost forgotten existed. Mabb's insults aside, she was not that old, certainly still fertile and fit for breeding, and her body craved the stimulation even as her mind cursed it and wanted it gone. Matching the blood on her chest, the fur of her thighs collected the first honey-drips of fluid. Mabb directed Virianna's fingers to collect the liquid from her lower lips and bring it to her upper ones, tongue darting out to taste the smearing slime. Virianna was healthy and it tasted of little, musky and somewhat bitter, but Mabb gloried in it like the finest wine, even more so in Virianna's tears. She ran Virianna's fingers over her slit, collecting more and teasing more, and waited until the vole's vulva was sloppy wet to plunge her claws inside, raking and scratching as She stretched her open. By now Virianna was in great pain, almost enough to distract from her grief and horror. All pride forgotten, she did her best to beg for freedom, or at least for an end to the violation of her body if not her mind. Every burst of fear and agony only encouraged the Sleep Visitor, who in contrast to Her name intended to keep Virianna awake and aware for every second of their time. Mabb did little to control Virianna's reactions; with every scratch and scrape of her claws, Virianna was allowed to thrash and roll in her frantic attempt to pull away, but of course she could not, her paws moving along with her. She fell to the ground, kicking and bucking, as three, then four claws forced inside her. No longer could she beg, even in her thoughts. All she could think of was the desperate urge to get away, and that urge would never be fulfilled. Claws were no longer enough. Mabb used Virianna's hand to seize a stick fallen from the Hanging Tree, little more than a mere twig on the tree's scale but big enough in the vole's little paws. At its widest point it outmatched her wrist, twisted and knotted and rough with splitting bark and the points where leaves had broken off. Virianna's eyes could not widen, Mabb held them narrow and smug, but she felt the horror as she knew what Mabb would do. Indeed, Mabb did; She held the stick like a knife between her legs and drove it deep towards Virianna's womb. As She did so, the goddess allowed Her host just enough freedom to scream. Virianna's shriek rolled over Fenlynfeld, the goddess' laughter echoing with it. A listener, had any been awake, would have taken it for a mad, triumphant howl. Virianna's cunt clenched around the invading stick, trying to force it out, her forced wetness barely enough to shield her from the splintering wood. Her paws held it firm, though, forced it in further until it stabbed her cervix, unable to penetrate it but certainly able to scrape and tear. Pain speared through her, sharper and worse than the deep cramps of birthing and with no reward of new pups at the end, only more suffering to follow. Virianna's body thrashed and rolled, forcing the stick inside at every angle Mabb could find, drawing splash after splash of blood onto the ground. No matter how little Virianna wanted this, no matter how much her body hurt, Mabb was having the time of Her epochs-long life. Eyes fixed on Fenlyn Purfote's swaying form, She cackled and gibbered and moaned, slamming the stick deeper and deeper and grinding on the side of the vole's handpaw, overcome with the agony and bliss the flesh could give. She took one paw off the stick and clasped it over her clit, pinching and pulling with all the vole's strength and more of Her own. She craved the pain as the living craved breath, the pleasure as much as water. She needed, needed, *needed* to come... And, crying out to Her dark master Hobb and staring with Virianna's eyes at Fenlyn Purfote as he finally, finally died, She did, hard enough for her spraying fluid to splash onto his feet. Virianna's muscles spasmed and relaxed, but she was allowed no time to rest. Mabb forced her protesting body upright, and, tears spilling to mingle with the blood and wetness on the grass, She continued to drag the vole into her victory dance, the stick still inside her and tearing her further with every single step. That was how the good folk of Fenlynfeld found Virianna that morning, dancing and babbling under the Tree. Fenny hung above her, eyes bulging from his head, paws and tail stiff, cold as the night breeze had left him, and below, She danced. The mice sprang upon Virianna and bound her paw and claw, even as Mabb struggled through her; not, of course, hard enough to really break free, but enough that they felt the need to bind her ever tighter, spread between two saplings by wrist and ankle. The rough grass-fibre ropes cut and scraped at her, pulling out her fur and stinging the skin beneath. More ropes looped as a collar held her head up just like Fenny's as she snarled and bit, keeping her big chisel teeth well out of reach of her restraints. The mice who held her were none too gentle, wrenching her paws and kicking her when she struggled, accompanied by raucous shouts and curses from the others around them. As they finished binding her and drew away, one spat in her face. Among the crowd, Virianna saw her sons, and her heart froze ever colder. The young voles gaped and gasped; one covered the other two's eyes, but could not look away himself, despite his horror. She was so dazed, so exhausted, she couldn't even see them well enough to tell which one was which. "Stop! Stop!" cried one voice, then another, and a couple of cooler-headed mice hurried up to her, raising their paws to the crowd. "Please, friends, peace!" "Yes, stop! This can't be what it looks like!" "Oh, rest assured, fools," Mabb growled through Virianna's mouth, shocking them into silence, "it is." In terror the less brave mice drew back, clutching their mousebrasses, calling on the Green. Others surrounded her, darting back and forth to look closer at her and then back off, as if trying to snatch something from a fire. One brave one struck her across the face, and then more followed, picking up whippy sticks and striking her on the legs and back and belly. More picked up pawfuls of mud, then pebbles, then rocks, and hurled them at her head, leaving Virianna stunned. The stick still halfway inside her, firmly jammed and gripped by Mabb's control of her pelvic floor, jolted in her with each swing or stone that caught it. Mabb gurgled in glee and pushed back into the whipping, desperate for more pain. Some of the mice tried to question Virianna, but there was little to say. They knew what it looked like, and "Virianna" was not denying it; what else did they need to know? They cursed her, begged for explanations and excuses, wailed for Fenny. Every word uttered was met by joyful curses and gloating from Mabb, and every word from Mabb fueled their hatred higher. "Your precious hero rots in Hobb's underworld, worthless spawn of the Green!" She cried. "You'll join him soon enough!" The crowd roared, tears streaming for Fenny even as they cursed and beat her and called for her death. Very soon, Mabb tipped them over the edge; they threw down their bloodied sticks and started to pile them up, gathering more and bigger branches to form a pyre. Mabb watched in glee as the Fenlynfeld mice cried for murder, as they tainted their souls on Her behalf and betrayed the mercy of their precious Green. Still bound, blood matting the fur of her legs and back and head, Virianna was dragged to the heap of sticks, Mabb still laughing with her mouth. The Sleep Visitor kissed the air and raised her tail, crying out for any creature bold enough to "Give this old whore a good sendoff!" The mice holding her picked up the stick that had fallen out of her and beat her with it until her ribs cracked, and Mabb still laughed even though the air was knocked out of her borrowed lungs. Their paws gripped her tighter and ripped out her fur for kindling. Fanned by the gentlest of Fenlynfeld's welcoming breezes, the sparks caught and spread to twigs, then branches, then chunks of log, and rose higher than the cornstalks, high enough to frighten off a wolf. Sparks drifted on the smoky wind and singed the fur of poor dead Fenlyn Purfote, whom (thanks to Mabb's goading to keep their eyes on Virianna and build the pyre) no one had yet bothered to even cut down. Virianna thought that was the worst. At least it would be over quickly, the blaze was hot and dry and would finish her off soon enough for little pain to matter. It could have been worse... Her sons were shoved to the front, paws held behind their backs by burly mice with clubs and knives, ears pulled to force their faces forward. They squinted and wept, and were shaken and kicked to urge them to open their eyes. "Watch, seeds of Hobb!" cried the mice. "Watch the fate of the wicked and learn from it well!" Virianna redoubled her efforts to free herself. Inside her head she screamed and wailed that her sons were innocent, they hadn't even been there, how could they deserve this horror? Alas, no more effect was had. Still only Mabb moved her stolen limbs and mouth. "Yes, watch well, my darlings! Know that we'll be together again someday, when Hobb's tree burns too!" Still roped, she was picked up by the strongest three mice, Mabb struggling just enough to make it look real. Up they lifted her, back they swung her, and into the fire she flew. Smoke and flame shot out and the mice leapt back, swatting at their fur and choking. Some looked away, ashamed or fearful; others stared, whether stoic or shaking, wanting to be absolutely certain the traitorous ratwitch was gone. Virianna felt every second as she hit the fire, her fur catching alight immediately. The ropes began to smoulder, but were too thick to burn away fast enough. Even if they had, even if she could leave the fire, she would have been crippled for life and likely to die of infection thanks to the burns which covered her with shocking speed. Her skin blistered, her ears and tail shrivelled. The smoke blinded her even before the heat scorched her corneas, turning everything dark for her forever... And Mabb left her, the last of Her laughter echoing in Virianna's mind. With her voice back, Virianna screamed, rolling and jerking in the fire, turning this way and that to futilely shield herself and only finding more flame. With all her strength, she cried out words, the only ones upon her mind. "No! Fenny! Fenny, I'm sorry! I tried! Green save me! Green save us all!" "Stay back!" shouted mice in the crowd. The larger and stronger ones surrounded the fire, her ruined vision able to make out their mere shadows here and there until those too were gone. "She's lied to us all before, don't listen to her!" "Don't get close! No telling what the witch will do!" Virianna's only fortune was that her lungs filled with smoke and burning air, letting her death come quicker. With her very last breath, devolved to a whisper, she let her last words fall, the names of her sobbing sons. "Firgild... Woppenfrake... Wilibald..." Innocent she was, though, and as she died she felt the paws of Fenlyn's spirit reach for hers. The Fenlynfeld mice stood by, holding the young voles still, until the fire burned out, leaving nought but ashes of their mother's little body. As soon as they were released, the trio fled, and were never seen by any Fenlynfelder mouse again. (Language changes, however, and a *Fennywolde* mouse, on the other hand... But that would be many centuries afar.)