What is a forked tale?

Well, it's a tale we write together. I write and give you two options….We all vote together. Majority rules and the story takes root…

Welcome to the second installment of Ellie's Whiskey Wednesday. Haven't read part one? Well click here to catch yourself up!


Ahimoth nudged her with the tip of his clawed hand, the roughness of his talon scraping against her sensitive skin. Irynia closed her eyes, reveling in the sweetness of his touch. Beyond the Gates of Hell, he would be but a distant memory and she would miss the torture he inflicted upon her flesh. She would be free of the heat burning in his eyes, the desire simmering in his veins, and the primal need to fuck stiffening his massive cock. No longer would she serve another.

This punishment couldn’t have been more fitting, because he would suffer too.

Even in the fires of Hell, moments such as this took her breath away. With fear weeping from her pores, and her fingers dancing with their trepidation, now she had to contend with a chill traipsing down her spine, lighting nerves attuned to revel in pain, and making her shiver.

Irynia clenched her teeth and ground them together. She had not died to become this weak thing.

“You must go.” The slight pressure of Azimuth’s talon pressed into her back, propelling her closer to the moaning gates.

Twisted forms, forever trapped in misery, called to her, beckoning her to free them from eternal torment. She took a step, and then another.

“How long must I stay?” How long would Death’s exile last?

“You know he will not say.”

She turned to beg to stay and met the fury of hellfire in Ahimoth’s gaze. “Do not, my pet. Don’t lower yourself in my eyes. Don’t embarrass yourself in this manner.” Only his eyes moved, a slow but measured stare at the gates and then back to her. “Don’t fight this.”

She wanted very much to do just that, but the consequences would be unbearable. She’d endured much and had learned to carry the weight of soul-crushing agony, but the punishment brewing in Ahimoth’s gaze spiked more of that disgusting fear in her veins. Disappointing him hurt worse than anything imaginable.

Irynia spun back around and took a long pull of the acrid fumes deep into her lungs. The burnt smell of brimstone saturated her nasal passages, and she hoped some piece of this place would remain.

Ahimoth pushed her into a stumbling gait toward the gates, toward life. Screams of those damned to guard the boundary between life and death filled the air with their torturous sounds, pleas for mercy and forgiveness which would never come. Hands stretched forward to grasp at her and then pulled back when toxic air burned their skin. Shrieks filled the air, a soothing melody calling for her to join their prison. Join them in eternal death.

Irynia twisted out of Ahimoth’s grip. He might be determined to kick her out of Hell, but she would walk with dignity.

“Do not push me!”

“Do not linger,” he countered.

“I’m not lingering,” she argued. But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing, staring into the mouths of those twisted souls, and digging in her heels? With a shake of her head, Irynia glanced at the gate and the shimmer of silver beyond. She feared the light and already ached with the loss of brimstone scorching her feet.

“You know what to do.”

“Ahimoth,” she whispered, “you will miss me.”

“Good riddance, my pet.” He grabbed her by the nape and yanked her back. The roughness of his tongue scraped from her shoulder to the tip of her ear in one ragged swipe. “Just because I’ve fucked you, don’t assume I care anything for you at all.” The hoarseness of his voice rasped against her back.

“Now, begone!” His roar ignited the smoldering rock, shooting pillars of flame into the smokey haze. The clouds sizzled while the air crackled with his wrath.

That shiver had returned, fear rippling down her back, weakness seeping into her bones.

Irynia closed her eyes and entered the Gates of Hell, moving in a direction no soul had ever travelled and away from the only home she’d ever known.

On approach to the barrier, a silvery fog reached out. Its exploration tentative at first, became bolder as it crept across her skin, smothered her face, and shrouded her in a prickling sensation of becoming something new. Her heart thundered, and her pulse quickened with the shock of sudden chill. The screams of those left behind faded and a new sound slammed against her ears.

What was that noise?

Irynia opened her eyes and blinked against the dissipating fog. To her left, a clear liquid fell from a great height, roaring as it tumbled against rocks and churned into a frothy torrent only to settle into a placid pool of crystalline magnificence. She turned toward the unusual sight, but then halted at the sound of approaching hooves.

To read Part III, click here.


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