Carmilla and Laura

by S.D. Simper

“We have a room set up,” I said, keeping my hand at her waist. She leaned into the touch, letting me take most of her weight. Her dark, brunette hair fell across my shoulder in curled waves, threatening to tangle with mine.

“So, you are a princess trapped in a tower? Or perhaps a bird in a gilded cage.”

They made no comment on her lounging, to my relief. I adored the excuse to touch her.

“Will you show me?” Blushing, I shook my head, embarrassed to reveal so much of my soul to anyone. “No?” She laughed, melodious in her joy. “Why? Too many love poems in my name?”

“Will you walk with me?” My ploy to see her smile again worked; immediately, she began beaming. “The stars are begging to be admired,”

Our bodies touched, though my skirts and corset prevented me from feeling her. A terrible cage, keeping us apart— By God—that was dangerous thinking.

“Darling, darling, the dark has never hurt a soul. Perhaps be more concerned for its inhabitants.”

“These violent delights have violent ends,” she whispered, reading the text on the page. I felt her lips smile against my ear. “And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume.”

“A tragedy, perhaps, but to think of how they lived—the passion they shared! Oh, to die, nay—to die together, so that we may live together!”

If this were love, I wished it dead. My will was nothing to hers, I feared. But her will was nothing to God’s.

That night, I began to dream. For if it remained a dream, it could not be a sin.

She obeyed, those shined, black pits settling onto me. Her tears remained wet and vibrant on her face, but no more flowed. Though her fangs still protruded, I saw no menace; only teeth too large for her mouth, an abused animal prepared to fight.

If she were a monster out to ruin me, would she not have done it long ago?

I ought to be afraid, to know I had given my body to some monstrosity from below. Hell spoke of demons, but Carmilla had spoken only of love.

“Do tell us if your health begins to fail. We are here to honor the dead, but we cannot forget the living.”

I wondered if heaven was not a place, no, but a state of being, the time where one might exist with God or whatever deity they claimed. Carmilla did not believe in God, but she believed in me.

With her skin awash in moonlight, she glowed like the holy angels above . . .’”

Carmilla brought my hand to her lips and kissed it, lighter than summer rain. “Then let the fire that burns these pages seal our future in flame.”

She worshipped my body like the God she did not believe in,