“You can make it stop,” my dance partner purred in my ear.
His hand trailed gently down my cheek as he turned me to face a corner of the room. There, amid the Versailles ambiance of cherub cornices and gilded crown moldings, a guillotine appeared. A fucking guillotine in the middle of the ballroom. Yeah, okay; I suppose it was kind of appropriate for the Marie Antoinette theme. The enormous blade glinted evilly in the flickering light. A burly man stood beside it, beady eyes peering out of the traditional black hood. His arms were crossed but he unfolded them to gesture at his pride and joy as if urging me to give it a whirl.
“It will be fast, I promise.” The man holding me kissed my throat.
I weakly tried to push him away. “Fuck off, Mirror!”
“Oh, is that the way you want to play it?” The man asked casually. “Very well.” He looked up and nodded. “Hold her.”
My dance partner pushed me back but several more men caught me. Strong hands carried me to the center of the room and then draped me over a gilded table topped with cool marble. The chill revived me a little. I frowned as the table was surrounded by wickedly grinning men. Eager hands lifted my skirts and tore away my underwear. I started to fight, but I was so tired that I could barely move.
“I feel no pleasure or pain,” the Mirror spoke through the man who positioned himself between my legs. “But I've learned from the minds I've consumed that this act can be both pleasant and painful depending on how it's done. To have it forced upon you is especially traumatic. I don't understand why, but I'm game to try it if you are.”
He opened his pants and removed his erection. I tried not to react and just stay calm. If I didn't show fear, maybe it would change its tactics. The Mirror's cold hands slid over my thighs, making me shiver.
“I see their memories, you know? Those who I've taken into me,” the Mirror went on casually. “Some of the men I've fed on enjoy a woman like this; held down for their use. Powerless. Some women even enjoy being taken in this way. But I don't think you are one of those women, Vervain. No; you will not enjoy this. I saw the way you reacted to Narcissus when he attempted to seduce you. This will hurt you very much. The question is; how much of this can you take before you give in to Madame Le Guillotine?”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “I've been tortured by the best. Your little”—I looked pointedly at the cock he held between my thighs—“prick isn't going to bother me. I doubt I'll even feel it.”
“Too small for you?” He lifted his brows and chuckled. “Very well.”
The cock enlarged until he had to hold it with both hands. I paled and tried to swallow past the dry lump in my throat. The men surrounding the table undid their pants and pulled forth similar shafts. They began stroking themselves with one hand and pawing roughly at me with the other. Some of them bent forward and began licking me; my cheek, my lips, my neck, even in my ears. I thrashed away from them and ground my teeth together so I wouldn't scream. I began to chant a mantra in my head; It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real.
“Just one word and I'll make it stop,” the Mirror said. “You will live forever inside me. I promise I will treasure your memories as if they were my own.”
“Go to hell and shatter, you emotionless asshole!”
“Asshole? Interesting suggestion.” The Mirror seemed to consider it. “But we'll start with the usual hole and then work our way back, shall we? I wonder how much you'll bleed?”
My whole body was shaking as he pressed that monstrous appendage against my sex. I was as dry as the desert from fear, and that would make it all even worse. But it wasn't real. I started the chant again and closed my eyes tightly. I simply wouldn't believe it, and it wouldn't affect me.
“Vervain!” Narcissus' voice startled me.
My eyes shot open as I stretched my neck, trying to find Narcissus, but I couldn't see through the thick crowd of men. I did see the men shuffle and stir as they scowled in the direction of Narcissus' voice. Then suddenly, everything disappeared; the ballroom, the men with their monstrous members, the table, and Madame Guillotine. I fell to the frigid floor in a heap of fabric and drooping, powdered coiffure. Was I wearing a damn wig? How did I not notice that massive pile of white hair and pearls stuck on my head? I guess I'd been distracted. I yanked the wig off and tossed it away from me. It skidded across the floor like an angry Pomeranian. But I still wore the pink ballgown the Mirror had put me in. Pink? Really? Narcissus was striding up to me, lowering his arms as if he'd just been waving them about.
“Hey, Narc, thanks for the save,” I whispered before I passed out.
Chapter Twenty-One
I was too tired to dream, but that didn't matter when a dream god was involved. Morpheus strode into the misty bleakness of my blank mind and shook me until I became aware of him.
“Vervain!” Morpheus shouted.
“Morph?” I frowned at him and looked around groggily. “Where are we?”
“Nowhere,” he said. “This is a blank deamscape. What the hell is happening in that mirror that you're too tired to even dream?”
“The Mirror is trying to force us to kill ourselves.” I focused on
