WitchFall on the Hill

***

Note from the Author:

This novel has dark, forced sexual elements, brutality and raw demonic aggression. Please read with caution this is a dark erotica tale.

Some elements could be triggering for some.

***

“He’s like a king living up on that hill.” Udora remarked to me in a hushed voice.

Living in WitchFall Fortress on that hill. Guarding the WitchFall dungeons. I thought bitterly. Having not like the man since he’d accused my friend Mara of being a witch and taken her away.

I never saw her after that.

It was safe to assume that she’d died in WitchFall.

Most do. I knew. It was a massive torture chamber where witches confessed to their sins.

We watched the older man coming down off the hill from his towering fortress. His powdered wig and overly elaborate cravat carefully in place.

“An evil one.” My eyes narrowed.

“You only say that because of his pursuit of you.”

“No. There’s something wrong with him.” I insisted.

“Saria, you been saying this for years.” She groaned. “He’s the most powerful man in our village and the six surrounding.”

“That’s because he has a knack for calling out witches.”

“It’s true!” Udora gasped. Giving me a wide-eyed look. Her brown hair tossing in her huff. “You think otherwise?”

“I think its mighty convenient he always seems to find some trace of witchery on every woman he accuses.”

“Devil marks or devil gifts.” She emphasized. “Proof.”

“Is it really though?” I eyed her askance.

She frowned. “Well, what else would it be?”

“His magic.” I suggested.

“Saria!” She covered my mouth and looked furtively around as though I’d said something infinitely profane.

I yanked her hand away. “I’m going to prove it, Udora.”

“How?”

“I’m going to follow him for a day. I’ll find out the truth.”

“What if he catches you?” She sputtered. “He could have you thrown in those dungeons! No one ever comes back out! You know that!”

***

I did what I told Udora I would. I slinked in the shadows. Haunting the magistrate’s step. Watching every careful adjustment of his wig. Every long step which seemed a bit too spry for a man of his age.

How old is he? I had no idea.

He’d looked the same since as long as I could remember.

Even my father, the town tanner had feared him. Ushering me away from the magistrate’s watchful gaze. Telling me the man wasn’t one to be trifled with.

Why does he never age? I moved behind the booths in the village to keep him in view as he inspected wares. Keeping his hands linked behind his back as he eyed the goods. His eyes were bleary green, but they flitted around as though he missed not the smallest detail. He had blotched skin on his face and a few lumpy growths marring along his nose and cheeks making him difficult to look directly at. But even as I was thinking it he lifted his hand to make sure his wig was carefully in place and I noticed something that had always struck my attention. His hands were darkly tanned and sinewed. Long fingered and…

Beautiful.

Like the hands of a much younger man.

***

The heat of the midday sun was blindingly painful today. Taking it to such a temperature that anyone not under a canopy was flushed red and panting for water.

Me included. But I doggedly followed the man buying trinkets here and there. Pretty little necklaces or women’s dresses.

Odd things for a man living alone to purchase. I frowned. My eyes narrowing on him.

Does he have a mistress he hides from the village? Perhaps a village over?

That would indeed be clever! I’d heard my father speak before of men that did such things so their catty wives wouldn’t find out about their affairs.

Soon he was wiping a smooth brown wrist along his forehead and plucking at his wig in a way that told me he was overly hot in it.

A dangerous game in Drimidan.

Overheating was one of the fastest ways people died in this country.

He veered from the booths and cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. Missing me crouched behind a booth. Once he’d verified no one seemed to be watching him, he turned sharply and quickly maneuvered to the left.

Heading straight into Warlock Wood.

What is he about?

Everyone was scared to go into these woods. I hesitantly followed. Staring up at the towering trees anxiously. Noticing it progressively got darker.

Quieter.

But Magistrate Mathis’ step was smooth and sure as he headed into the center of the woods.

No one comes out here. I thought fearfully. Realizing that if I lost him now, I might never make my way back out of these dense trees.

He didn’t appear to be following any trail I could see. Just walking here as though he was born here.

I heard slight gurgling and knew there had to be water close. It made my parched mouth seem even dryer. Wishing for a drink.

He knelt next to the pond and swept several mouthfuls up to his lips. His white wig teetering but remaining in place. I was surprised he wasn’t worried about staining those fine black breeches.

Straightening he never looked back as he began unpinning that wig and hung it over a branch above him. He unlaced his flowing white shirt and pulled it over his head. Hanging that from another branch so it dangled smoothly. Nearly glowing in the darkness of this enclosure.

I cowered behind a tree wondering what he was doing.

This didn’t seem like the prudish man the village knew as Mathis.

He stretched onto his toes and extended his arms, and I was stunned at the smooth muscled lines of his back.

Not an old man’s back. More like his hands…

My lips parted as I watched with interest.

He stuck his thumbs in the waist of his breeches and slid them down.

I reared back slightly. His buttocks were well honed like the young men of the village who’d spent all their years cutting down trees or tanning hides.

Not like the lazy body of a wealthy magistrate, who’s only job is to sit in a high chair and judge the rest of us.

His narrow hips curved into thighs which bulged with muscle. His calves the same. Without hesitating he stepped into the gurgling water of the wake. Letting the waters which seemed to be boiling, swallow him. Bubbling up around his chest and then his neck as he ducked into it. Sweeping long black hair back from his face. He grabbed a fistful of weeds along the edge of the pond and began scrubbing his body with the soapy grass. Lifting his arms to wash along and under them.

The sinewed arms of a warrior.

I crept tree to tree until I was close enough to see the merest sliver of sunlight creeping through the trees to slant along the pond just next to him. If he turns just right…

I’d be able to see his face.

Though I was certain I already knew what it’d look like…As youthful as the rest of him.

***

I picked up a rock and hurled it.

It landed a short distance from him.

Closer to me.

As I’d hoped he reared up and took a tentative step forward to see what had landed in the water. Allowing that bit of light to brighten his features.

As I thought, his face was flawless. Jaw square and tan and skin smooth along high cheekbones around a mobile mouth which was hard right now.

Alert green eyes snapping through the trees and landing on where I hid.

Oh, no. I crouched deeper behind a shrub. Certain he couldn’t see me peering through it. Surely not.