The White Flower and the Imp - Sex Stories

The White Flower and the Imp

... construction. Light flickered past the empty space below the door, and Genevieve heard movements within as she neared the entrance. She was about to knock when the door opened. Devyn was inside, standing by a table with a tome spread open before him. All around him, the interior of the stone house was riddled with glass containers, some bubbling with mysterious contents, others expelling thin wisps of colored smoke into the heavy air of the room. Several codices lay strewn on the floor and stacked upon shelves next to animal bones, dried skins, baked herbs, and other peculiarities Genevieve did not recognize but were, no doubt, some part of one of Devyn’s many schemes. If she did not have such a history with him, she never would have trusted the man. When he looked up at her, Devyn smiled, closing his book loudly. Genevieve stepped warily into the house and looked around, expecting to see the person who had let her in standing just by the door, but there was no one there. “I have been expecting you, old friend.” Devyn extended his arms as if to hug her from across the room. A gust of wind rushed up behind her and Genevieve flinched as a dark mass flew past her and perched itself on a plank above the fireplace. The raven squawked loudly as its master offered up his hand with a seed between two fingers. “My friend saw you riding towards us hours ago,” Devyn rounded the table and offered a chair to Genevieve after lifting some books off of it. “I’m afraid, however, that he ...

... was not able to see what it was that brings you here today.” The raven gave out another call and Genevieve shuddered. The fireplace spat out as coals broke in two, and outside, somewhere deep in the woods, a beast howled in the night. “Edward has the plague.” Genevieve’s own voice startled her, she sounded hoarse and worn down, and for a moment this reminded her of the immense exhaustion she carried and of the soreness in her legs, but she subdued it within her and regained her composure. Devyn waved a strand of long, black hair out of his eyes with a hand and poured water into a cup he placed near the lady, who continued her story. “The healers say he will not survive. I have prayed to the gods, I have said the words….” Devyn’s raspy voice rose into the air, catching her intent. “But the gods have not answered.” He stood up and turned to face the fire, contemplating the coals with a cup in his hand. Genevieve turned her gaze towards the raven who seemed to be staring at her with an eerie awareness. “I was driven away, cast out for my crimes, and yet now you come to me and ask for my assistance.” Devyn faced her now, venom in his tone. “Was it not your late husband who called my views heretical? Was it not the great lord of the Riverlands who called them false and made me a pariah?” Genevieve stood. The Raven squawked. “Devyn, I once saw you bring life into the chest of a dying child for the sake of his mother, a woman you did not know.” She leaned forward now, practically ...