The Faith of Inimel: Alone at the Top

Note: This story is intended to be a work of horror, world building and smut. It may disturb.

Something in the air was irritating Franklin’s skin. The spot just behind his ear, his inner elbows, his palms, all felt itchy and uncomfortable. It was difficult to resist the urge to scratch, but he gripped Inimel’s icon to distract him. A few dozen years ago the woman-shaped mirror, a reflective curvy hourglass, was meaningless, something Tanager had thought up to represent The Goddess. Franklin had to hand it to the bard, it had long since grown to mean so much to their followers. Franklin could feel traces of divine power when he clutched it, reassuring him that their mission would succeed.

He was suddenly aware that the rest of the room’s occupants were watching him expectantly. They were seated in one of the temple’s more lavish rooms, verdant greenery decorated the corners; lush orchids and long green fronds giving the room a natural appearance alongside the marble floors ceiling. This wasn’t some backwoods church; this was The Chapel of Union, the heart of their religion, and no expense was spared in beautifying it. Inimel was the goddess of beauty, of healing and life; the ultimate benevolent, loving goddess. Which was a half-truth; she wasn’t that yet. Regardless, her worshippers contributed exorbitant amounts of their wealth to the faith, and as they relied more and more on the cult, giving everything to Inimel, The Magic was used on them.

Franklin ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair, loosening his grip on the ladylike mirror he wore around his neck.
“Where was I?” mused the high priest, his eyes wandering around the room before settling on the bouquet of flowers at the table’s center. He found it difficult to look at the other members of the room. He was always a man of the cloth, and it felt sour to lie to these young worshippers. He had lied to so many  people for so long, it should have been second nature by now, but these enthusiastic, friendly faces? It was wrong to mislead them like this, he knew it, but it was necessary.

“Right, right,” he said, “it’s a ten year mission, you all are willing to spend that long in the field?”
Franklin heard only positive responses from the attractive people around the table. It was forbidden to enter any of Inimel’s holy grounds without beautifying oneself first. Everyone around Franklin was washed, decorated, made-up and well dressed. His skin made him worry that he was otherwise.

“Good, good, Inimel is proud of your enthusiasm. Our neighbors to the south in the Laurel Mountain Republic have banned Inimel’s worship for, god, it must have been eight years now. That ban was lifted three months ago, and-”
A young woman, maybe nineteen, with bright red hair that shone like rubies and skin as white as fresh snow raised her hand, pursing her lips and looking anxiously at the high priest. Franklin scratched the spot behind his ear and nodded for her to speak.

“You already mentioned that your holiness. If you excuse my forwardness, you were talking about our duties.”

Franklin’s hand returned to Inimel’s icon and he looked down in his lap. He was probably more embarrassed than the young woman was. The Magic had extended his lifespan, but in his old age it still had been hard to keep track of these things. He would see the plan through to completion though. He would make Inimel and join with her.

“Thank you child. For many of you this is your first mission outside of Gardenia, and The Laurel Mountain’s customs may be strange to you. Many there have never heard of Inimel, and many walk with sickness and ugliness as part of their lives. Some are proud of their wounds, their illnesses, their deformities. Still, you are to lead them in Her sermons and show them Her ways. Just like when you were initiated, give to them healing and succor with the teachings of The First Circle.”

Franklin hated that term. Tanager had included the Circles as part of the cult’s scripture; laymen could only learn of information contained in The First Circle, and those initiated further could learn more. Only after dedication and sacrifice could they advance, but they were rewarded with every step. All the missionaries were at least members of The Fifth Circle; having learned the most rudimentary forms of The Magic, but not its true purpose. Franklin wished he could tell everyone the entirety of his message, of Inimel, but he knew that the mystery was what kept people in the faith. Many, if not all, would scorn Inimel’s faith if they were told everything Franklin had planned, everything he, Tanager and the rest had written about Inimel.

“You all know how to run a group beautification, correct? You are to each run one in your mission on the first of the month, and redress all the participants in Inimel’s image. Many will scoff at the ritual. Many will mock it. But it is an essential part of our teachings, and just like when you were first learning of Inimel, those who have attended twelve of them and shown adequate reverence and dedication may be educated into The Second Circle.”

There was so much to cover with the missionaries, so much minutiae, that Franklin almost forgot his itchy skin. It had bothered him since he was a boy, and during his time as a priest of Swayeur, the Healing God, he was forbidden from treating it. The clergy of the Healing God saw it as stigmata, and it would be disrespectful to Swayeur to cleanse oneself of it. How he hated Swayeur’s faith! Content to let the ills of the world continue, treating only symptoms, never the cause. He had parted ways with them on foul terms, and since founding Inimel’s faith he had used The Magic to treat his condition. The cure was temporary, but it helped.

“With that, I leave you in the hands of The Radiant Lady,” he said as he finished his speech, keeping his eyes downcast. “May her splendor find you in that far-off land.”

The missionaries left one by one, each thanking Franklin for the opportunity and toadying to him; bowing, offering small prayers and attempting to reaffirm their faith to him. The girl with the red hair even embraced him before realizing her violation of conduct, a petrified look on her pleasing face. Franklin returned the embrace wholeheartedly, telling her he could see The Goddess within her, that she would do great things in Her name. He smiled and nodded as they left, despite the nagging irritant between his eyes, on the backs of his hands, on his knees. Only when the last was out of earshot did he let out a heavy sigh and tear at his skin, itching and scratching like a fervent cat. The irritations returned worse each time, and even though he had used The Magic on numerous occasions, he could not banish them forever. Eventually, if left untreated, the boils, the dead skin, the sores, the bleeding, all would return.

Only when Inimel is realized, he mused, will my malady vanish. Just like the world‘s.

Franklin hated to lie to those eager young faces about the mission’s goal. True, it was about spreading Her faith, but not solely for the betterment of the people. Isaiah, the man who had pioneered The Magic, who had retrieved it’s techniques from the savage tribes in the east, had discovered ley lines in the Laurel Mountain Republic. He claimed that if enough worshippers of Inimel lived around these veins of magic Her divinity would increase exponentially, her immobile form in The Cradle drawing power from the land itself. It would take decades, maybe even longer, for Her worship to displace whatever faith the people who lived around the lines practiced, but the ceremonies Tanager had created had proved very effective, and Franklin was confident it would succeed.

It was a few minutes later that he left, his symbols of office clinging tightly to his wiry figure. The faith’s preachers wore garb to highlight and accentuate their attractiveness; some wore little more than jewelry and undergarments, some wore diaphanous silks, others tight-fitting sleeves decorated with intricate weaving. Franklin’s clothing was pure white, with selections of the scripture stitched in with gold filigree. A similarly colored fez decorated his head, its alabaster color in contrast to his graying hair. He carried his staff of office; an oddly humble, worn and lacquered aspen rod topped with a small garnet gem. He had carried it with him since he first took up the cloth for Swayeur, and he was loath to exchange it for anything else.

The wooden rod thumped against the marble floors as he walked the chapel’s long, decorated halls. He itched at his skin through the tight garment, and he made his way down a long set of spiral stairs. Those who encountered him bowed there heads, some even prostrating themselves before him, but he walked past them all, paying them no mind. He went down many floors, towards the ground floor where the great sermons, rituals and ceremonies of his faith were conducted. He, Tanager and Odette had concocted each and every one, filled them with subliminal messages to guide the cultists towards Franklin’s ultimate goals.

“Your holiness!” gasped a priestess as he shuffled past her, his eyes fixed on the marble tiles in front of him. She was clad in loose, revealing white sheets, looking more like a harem dancer than a holy woman. Franklin swallowed and turned to look at her, adjusting his fez.

“What may I do for you child?” he said as his eyes lazily followed her curves. She too wore a feminine mirror around her neck, marking that she was at least a member of The Eighth Circle. She knew The Magic, and had likely used it on herself, or on those who wouldn’t be missed.

She stammered and folded her hands behind her back before she responded, pushing her bosom out further.
“Im sorry for my outburst your grace, but it is a wonderful surprise to see you. Is there anything I might aid you with?”

“Nothing that Inimel requires, just an errand. I’m looking for a lady to practice The Magic with, purely for personal reasons mind you,” Franklin said as he scratched the back of his neck.

The priestess shuffled forward and did her best to look desirable, seductive, alluring. She batted her eyes at Franklin and spoke in a barely audible whisper.
“Your grace, would you consider me? I have brought many to Inimel’s fold, and improved many through her blessings. It would be an unimaginable honor to join her through you.”

Franklin exhaled and stroked her hair, the silky smooth strands flowing through his fingers. He placed a small, barely noticeable kiss on her soft cheek and smiled.
“My child, I, and Inimel, adore your willingness. You are an example to us all, so willing to put Her duties above yourself. But Inimel has greater need of you, this I can see. She is grateful you have brought so many to her,” he lied, “and your place is here, brining more to Inimel, preparing more for The Goddess.”

The scantily clad priestess looked dejected, her expression falling as Franklin let her down.
“Someone of your ability would be missed, my child. Who else could fill the void you would leave? We need you here, Inimel needs you here. Don’t fret now child, don’t worry, we will all join with Her one day.”

The priestess nodded somberly, and began to withdraw from Franklin before the high priest spoke again.

“If you do wish to aid me, could you direct me to one of the dancers? One of Third Circle rank at least, who has lived in The Chapel for at least three years. Someone who wont be missed.”

“Yes your grace. Sister Ruth is the only one who comes to mind. You will find her perfect physically, even without The Magic. If you wish, I could tell her you require her for a mission.”

Franklin shook his head and thumped his simple staff on the ground, scratching nervously at his thighs.

“I know how you are taught to solicit volunteers for The Magic, I wrote the techniques myself. But call me soft, old fashioned or too kind-hearted, but I wont mislead them. Just direct me to Ruth and I will talk to her about this.”

“But your holiness-”

“No buts my child. If she refuses I will find someone who doesn’t, but I wont beguile her into sacrificing herself for me. I am not Inimel, after all, just her herald. I can be refused.”

The priestess nodded and murmured a brief prayer in understanding. Wordlessly, she led him across the Chapel. He knew the way, but it was pleasant to walk in a lady’s company. They passed through the main thoroughfare, pausing for a moment beneath a large statue of Inimel. A perfectly proportioned, beautiful women, her skin a reflective metal, cradling a globe in her bosom. The statue stood among long, lush fronds and flowers, the likes of which decorated the entirety of The Chapel. Small songbirds flew through the large, open spaces, and many perched on the statue’s shoulders. Franklin bit his lip and scratched his neck when he thought about how they made those avians.

The temple dancers were performing around the public baths; a large room of heated, steamy water in the southern wing of the chapel. The uninitiated were permitted to clean themselves, to enjoy the warm bath and lavish decorations. Burning incense scented the room and the gently swaying dancers made the baths a heavenly, pleasing environment. Tanager referred to it as an ‘attraction', thought Franklin. Something to draw people in to The Chapel, not something to better them.

Franklin waited at the threshold of the baths, concealed behind a feminine-shaped topiary while his companion went and conversed with one of the gyrating beauties. He itched at his temple as the priestess led Ruth to him. The dancer was a bit shorter than her senior, though similarly dressed in revealing, gauzy fabrics, bits of jewelry placed to highlight what clothes she wasn’t wearing; a silver waist chain, brass bangles, a simple gem hanging from her navel. Ruth had long, voluminous hair and an oval-shaped face with almond eyes and a happy, energetic expression. She was gorgeous to look upon; thin and fit, yet with ample curves and near-flawless skin.

“-and remember, do not make eye contact with his holiness,” said the priestess as the women entered earshot, “and hold your chin up. He asked for you specifically and you don’t want to disappoint his grace.”

Franklin gave one last quick scratch and stepped out from the foliage, eyeing up the dancer again. Ruth beamed and moved to exclaim something when she saw Franklin, but stopped herself and looked at his feet, practically shaking with excitement.

“I can take it from here,” said Franklin, nodding curtly to the priestess, who bowed in reverence and left them.

Franklin noticed Ruth constantly looking at his face, then averting her eyes, her energetic expression now one of anxiety and guilt.

“This way my child,” said the High Priest. They were always anxious and shocked when they saw who it was that requested their presence. He was used to it.

“I will explain this once we are in private. Don’t worry so, I can see this worries you, you have been given the opportunity to… volunteer for something very important, very dear to me, and I don’t want the prying eyes of your peers to influence your decision.”

He led her, consoling her and doing his best to occupy her thoughts. It must have been overwhelming for the girl, to have been suddenly confronted by the leader of the faith, the supposed mouthpiece of The Goddess. It almost overwhelmed Franklin on a daily basis; all the combined stress from the severity, the importance of his mission, so he couldn’t really blame her. He took her past the public areas, past where the lavish decorations, the naturalistic embellishments, the womanly statues, to the simpler, functional rooms of The Chapel. She, being only an initiatie of the Third Circle, could not enter these areas without a chaperone of at least the Fifth Circle. Ruth seemed worried that she was being brought back here, to a plain room connected a sparsely decorated hallway, ornamented only with a reddish rug and a large potted plant, alongside a print of a mural depicting the myths Franklin had propagated. It showed the world, floating in the void, its northern hemisphere melting and flowing into the luscious figure of Inimel; as if she was being crafted from the world‘s runoff. Franklin thought it a parody, a mockery, of what they planned to accomplish through her, but held his tongue.

There were a few comfortable chairs around a medium-sized desk in the room’s center, a few quills and scraps of parchment left over from the room’s previous occupants. They sat down and Franklin leaned in close to Ruth, looking into her eyes for the first time.

“Ruth, was it?” he said, scratching his elbow.
“I’m told you have been in the Chapel of Union for some time now.”

The temple dancer kept her eyes fixed on the floor and nodded, slowly and unsurely, as if she was afraid of Franklin.

“You may speak, Ruth. Ignore my station and speak to me as an equal.”

“Yes sir, sorry your eminence. I have lived in The Chapel for the last five years; my whole family has joined The Faith, and we sold our home and gave the money to The Goddess. We were told it would please her, is that true your grace? Was she happy with our gift?”

“Any show of dedication is worthy in Her eyes,” lied Franklin. Inimel was a blind, deaf zygote of divine potential at this moment, requiring much more work before she would arise, let alone ‘reward‘ her worshippers.

“But this is not a test of your dedication to Her. Tell me, what is it you do in Her service?”

Ruth stammered and adjusted the fabric around her breasts, making sure the bits of jewelry were in the proper places.

“I am sure you know, your grace, that I dance for The Faith. Today I was showing the unenlightened Her beauty, just like I was taught, sir, to show them how-how-”

“Breathe, my child,” said Franklin, itching at the bridge of his nose. “Collect your thoughts. You dance to attract the uninitiated to our faith; to Her beauty. Do you like what you do for The Radiant Lady?”

“Well, I am not one to complain, sir; I like doing something I’m good at, even if its not, well, is direct the right word? Even though I’m not directly helping spread Inimel’s blessings, I’m good at dancing and that helps people accept Her, right?”

“I wouldn’t say indirect. The Goddess is in you; the uninitiated see you and, though they do not know it yet, see Her. If they wish to see more of you, then they wish to see Her. If they desire you, they desire Her. If their lives are bettered by you, then perhaps they will treat Inimel in the same way.”

He leaned in close to her, lifting her chin so she would have to look at him.
“I asked you to meet me for a very special reason. You know that I am Her messenger. It is through me that her will is done. You could say that I am responsible for the most direct work in Her faith; the direct interpretation of Inimel’s commands to the world.”  It was only a half truth, but it felt better than truly lying.

“Ruth, do you understand how important my station is? How Inimel’s worship depends on me?”

The dancer nodded, seemingly paralyzed with a mix of fright, excitement and surprise by Franklin’s touch.

He continued, his tone shifting to one of regret; “Ruth, I am sick. I have been since I was a babe, but Inimel has given me the power to cure my sickness, just as She does for all who ask her for it. But my condition requires sacrifice, Ruth. It requires the most sacred of Inimel’s gifts, of her blessings. I need you to help me cure my ailment, if only temporarily, so that I may continue my duty of leading Her worship uninhibited.”

She responded, shakily, her eyes as terrified as a rabbit facing a wolf.
“Whatever you wish of me your grace, I will do it. For Inimel.”

Franklin let go of her, averting his eyes and looking at his feet. This was the hardest part. He could cover the rest with half-truths and flowery scripture, but now he had to explain just what The Magic entailed. She would be horrified, he knew, and rightly so. The Magic was created by the nomadic tribes to the east, who used its power crudely; to fashion tools, shelters and mounts to their specifications. To make war on each other; the antitheses of the potential Franklin saw in The Magic. They claimed they inherited it from their own dark god who created The Magic, and used it to fashion them from imperfect, half-formed beings to be it’s perfect servants. The tribesman’s creations were horrific, living tools, weapons and monstrous abominations created in their short-sightedness. He shuddered when he remembered how similar Judith and Isaiah’s creations had been.

“Ruth, what I am asking is not a small task. You and your family have already given everything to Inimel, a fact that saddens me to ask more of you. Ruth, what I require of you will, will, well, what is the reward for a life spent in Inimel‘s service?”

The dancer beamed at the chance to show her knowledge of the faith, and sat up proudly as she recited the words Tanager had written years ago.

“The goddess’ faithful are to join with her; both in body and in spirit,” she said, keeping time by tapping her fingers against her bare thigh as she did so.
“The elect shall share in Inimel’s magnificence; as a part of her, for all eternity, a part of the radiant, beautiful whole.”

Franklin nodded, resisting the urge to tear at the skin beneath his chin. God how it irritated him, how it burned and itched.
“Well, what I ask you to do is like that Ruth,” he said somberly, almost morbidly. “If you agree to this, you will join with her, through me, and share in her essence.”

He swallowed and spoke softly, trying not to alarm her, “There wont be any going back Ruth. You will be a part of me, and thus part of Her, forever and ever. Many will think you dead or gone, though we will honor your memory in a way that respects your sacrifice. You will still exist of course, as a portion of myself, and as I am Inimel’s mouthpiece, as a part of The Goddess.”

The dancer’s face lost color and she leaned back in her chair. Franklin could see her swallow dryly, her eyes wide with fright, but also contemplation.

“You can refuse me, my child. I will not force this decision upon you, though you should consider it an honor I chose you. Your sacrifice will help me continue my divine mission, to lead The Faith for Her, to guide the ill, the weak, and the ugly into her bosom.”

Ruth nodded slowly when she heard that and exhaled, looking at her bare feet. Franklin could hear her inhale slowly though her nose, then back out through her mouth, her chest heaving with each breath.

“It’s, goddess above, its terrifying Father. I wont BE me anymore will I? Just a, a, a fraction of you and Her?”

Franklin nodded, partly glad that she understood what he was asking of her. This was why he abhorred how his peers tricked worshippers into submitting to The Magic; it was tantamount to murder in his eyes. At least like this they were martyrs.

“But you promise i'll join with her, right? That ill become part of Inimel, just like in the scriptures?”

“I would never lie to you my child,” he said. It was a half truth; she would join with Inimel, yes, but only when he eventually did so in the heart of The Cradle, the secret place where Isaiah worked to create her. The other members of the inner circle each believed that when they finally joined with her, their minds would control the vast gestalt consciousness of Inimel, granting them dominion over the goddess’s power. Franklin suffered no such delusion; only when completely united would humanity overcome its violent, hateful tendencies. He was ready to let his consciousness be subsumed into the enormity of The Goddess’, and that had been his intention since forming the cult.

“I swear upon my station,” he continued, “that the ultimate reward awaits you if you accept this. I can offer nothing else for someone who gives all so that I may continue to guide the masses.”

Ruth arose and placed her hands behind her back, bowing softly to the high priest. She mouthed something slowly, then spoke softly, hesitantly, with an air of uncertainty.
“Then I will do whatever is asked of me your eminence. For Inimel, and for The Faith.”

With a somber nod and a brief prayer for forgiveness, accompanied by a quick look in the womanly mirror around his neck, Franklin stood up to face Ruth. Slowly, he embraced her, running his old hands over her young, smooth curves. She was still sweaty, a little damp from the bath’s steam, her dancing outfit clinging ever so slightly to her nubile frame. A surprised, but pleasured moan escaped her lips as Franklin’s fingers slid under the soft fabrics, barely touching her private areas before slipping out the other side.  The young woman rested her head on the patriarch’s shoulder, her big blonde hair falling onto his back. As he slowly traversed her frame, Franklin rubbed and massaged her lithe muscles, easing out tension and relaxing the dancer.

Ruth’s hands felt up Franklin through his tight garment, one arm wrapping around his waist and fondling his inner thigh, the other around his neck, feeling his sinewy, wiry neck muscles. Franklin’s hands finally found the clasp behind her back that undid what little hid her breasts from view. Her womanly parts hung free, like two round fruit, so tantalizingly supple. Franklin ignored them as his experienced hands moved slowly upwards, relaxing Ruth with his practiced touch.

He gently cupped her chin and moved her head into his, softly kissing her young, full lips. She was sloppy at first, clearly inexperienced, but by following his lead she was soon playing with his tongue in earnest.

His hand descended back to Ruth’s rear, pulling down the scanty cloth that concealed her sex. Her vagina was crowned by a patch of pubic hair, and Ruth first crossed her legs, attempting to hide her mound. Gently, Franklin took one of her breasts in his hand, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh; pinching her nipple between his thumb and pinky finger. His other hand took hers, and slowly guided it lower.

He moved their hands between her thighs, slipping down to her sex. He rubbed their hands against the outside of her vagina, their fingers teasing her labia as he played with her boobs. As they kissed she moaned in anticipation into his mouth, her tongue retracting as his chased it down. The older man leaned over her, making her lay back on the table as he began to finger her, guiding one of her digits alongside one of his into her inner passage.

Their lips parted, a thin trail of saliva connecting their lips. Ruth’s other hand was gripping her other breast, mimicking his motions as he played with her. As he guided another of her fingers inside her, the dancer panting wantonly as it entered, he withdrew his hand and began to undo the hidden seam that released him from his garb. As the tight white silk fell to the ground his erect phallus sprang to attention, a tiny bead of precum at it’s head.

“Are you ready, my child?” He whispered into her ear, punctuating his statement with a powerful squeeze on her boob.

“Y-y-yes your grace,” she repiled, arching her back towards him and sliding her dripping wet fingers out after final, deep penetration.
“Do whatever you need with me, let me ease your suffering, let me cure your sickness.”

Franklin pecked her just behind her ear before pressing the head of his cock against her vaginal walls, gripping her legs just beneath her butt for leverage.

“Thank you Ruth,” he said as he slowly rolled his hips against her, rubbing his cock up and down the entrance to her sex.
“You have no idea how much your sacrifice means to me. You’re a beautiful woman, perfect in so many ways, so kind, so sweet, so soft.”

He entered her, pressing his head into her tight sex, the wetness letting him slide right in. She opened her mouth wordlessly and arched her back further, gripping the edges of the table. Franklin began to pump into her, beginning to channel The Magic as he did so.

“Ruth, never forget that Inimel is grateful for your offerings. Everything you do for her is remembered, and will be so for eternity. Even after you are gone, what you’ve done for me today will help me lead our faith for years and years,” he started to thrust faster, causing her rear to slap against the table with each entrance. He pulled back against her legs when he thrust, pulling her up and into him, eliciting pleasured moans as he did so.

“More than ever when you danced, though you did so beautifully and wonderfully, you are helping The Faith. Without your sacrifice my task would grow more ten times more challenging, Inimel’s worship would-”

“Your eminence,” interrupted Ruth as the patriarch penetrated her, her cries growing needier and lustier.
“Please stop talking. Let me spend my last minutes as Ruth in pleasure. Don’t make me think about anything more than how much I enjoy this. Please sir, please let me enjoy this.”

Franklin was happy to comply, and placed a tender love-bite on her shoulder, taking one of her hands in his as he quickened his pace. Their bodies slapped wetly together, the spry older man gritting his teeth as he fucked the dancer, her toned, luscious thighs wrapping around his waist. Ruth’s other hand gripped the back of Franklin’s neck, and he was secretly thankful that her nails dug into his enflamed skin as she pulled herself closer to him. As the heat of ecstasy overtook the priest, he called upon The Magic, and channeled it’s arcane, some would say profane, potency through him, into Ruth’s form. She only felt it as a surge of warmth that flowed through her body, exciting every muscle, nerve-ending and fiber of her being.

Franklin squeezed her tight to him, locking her in a bear hug many times tighter than a man of his age should be able to muster.

“I’m sorry Ruth. I’m so sorry it has to end like this,” he said as The Magic began to take effect, “you are a beautiful, wonderful girl and it is wrong of me to rob you of a normal life.”

He grunted as his cock spasmed, shooting thick, ropy strands of seed into her eager hole. She opened her mouth wide and threw back her golden-haired head, squeezing Franklin as tight as he did her as she came.

“But this isn’t in vain, Ruth, please understand, that you’re serving Her like this. That you’re aiding Inimel.”

Ruth didn’t seem to notice, but her arms wrapped around Franklin’s back and warped, changed; their form becoming attached to his as if they were one being. At the waist they were similarly attached; the skin seeming to start on one being and stretch to the other.

As Franklin slowly humped and stroked Ruth, her form began to subsume into his; her arms disappearing as they were absorbed into his figure. Her waist joined his, vanishing and leaving her legs sprouting awkwardly from his waist, her torso seeming to erupt from his crotch.

The nubile dancer began to open her eyes in response to the strange sensation, but the patriarch’s hand darted up to her face and shielded her vision, as he whispered that it would be better if she didn’t see. Slowly, inch by inch, her legs were drawn into his body, seeming to disperse their mass and color into his skin, flowing and streaming through his body until they vanished. All the while Franklin kissed Ruth, whispered to her, played with her hair and breasts to distract her from his awful deed.

With her legs absorbed into his body, Franklin placed his hands on Ruth’s shoulders and applied pressure, pushing her torso into his body. As she gradually was drawn into him, first her abdomen , then her breasts becoming one with his body, Franklin continued to shield her eyes, even though he could see the silent expression of terror on her face.

When her neck was all that seemed to remain of her, sprouting strangely from one of Franklin’s shoulders, did he remove his hand. The distraught dancer, tears running down her face, looked into his eyes, sniffling with confused fright.

“For Inimel,” he whispered, kissing her deeply and passionately, stroking her hair and exploring every inch of her mouth.

When he finally broke the kiss the dancer’s head swallowed and panted, before nodding to him and mouthing “For Inimel” back.

Franklin kissed her forehead as she melted into him, her body vanishing into his. When the last strand of golden hair disappeared into his skin, all that remained that hinted at Ruth’s presence was the pile of dancing clothes and jewelry at the foot of the table. The high priest exhaled, slumping forward in exhaustion. He was not a young man anymore, and these unions tired him. He could undo many of the effects of age with The Magic, but chose to let many of them persist. He felt guilty enough seducing young women like Ruth for his selfish needs.

He rubbed his skin, feeling for any imperfections or irritations, and found none. Ruth’s offering had worked; his disease had been suppressed, and would remain so for many years, until he required another. As he pulled on his suit and located his fez he considered the missionaries he had dispatched just this morning. With luck, their travels would be swift and unimpeded, and they would be successful in converting the denizens of The Laurel Mountain. He bit his tongue as he considered what manner of wicked creatures Judith would assign to their protection; what horrid monsters that walked as men she had used The Magic to shape. They will never be needed, he reassured himself as he closed the seam at the back of the garment, and those wonderful young men and women will never see what their faith is capable of.

Retrieving his walking stick and exiting the room, making a quick retreat to the upper levels of The Chapel of Union, Franklin again clutched the mirror that represented Inimel. If everything went smoothly, the mission would hasten Inimel’s completion, and all the lying, the sacrifices, the skin disease, all would end as She made all peoples one in her. There was a set of rarely used stairs in the back of The Chapel he used after these meetings, built so workers and the members of the faith’s militant arm could navigate the many-floored structure with ease and not disturb the day-to-day worship.

“It wont be in vain, Ruth,” he mouthed as he ascended flight after flight of stairs.
“Neither will Beth’s, Rebecca’s, Rachel’s, Colette’s, Laurie’s, Allie’s, Robin’s…”

As he finally returned to his private chambers he collapsed on the fainting couch that occupied the center of the room. All the horrors his faith did in the name of peace would be rewarded, he thought, still shaken from his use of The Magic.

“And Inimel will arise.”