The Gathering StormMature

Meanwhile in the study of the house, something started to happen. After Chantilla Thoreau signed her name on the inside page of the book, a coldness swept through the room. The old clock struck with its impending doom as the old caretaker smiled upon her. "Your coming of age, Lady Thoreau, is now complete. You are the Mistress of Thorncrest and the Tome of Ferok, just as your mother has requested. The Sisterhood of the Thorn will be reborn through you."

To Chantilla, it was just a formality she had to go through to receive her inheritance. She couldn't seem to think of it as much more than a show of respect and a sign of her love for her mother. Surely she had loved her mother, and they were very close after the death of her father, a man she hardly knew. His work always took him away from her and her mother. Or at least this is what she was lead to believe.

The aged caretaker had been with them forever. Though he looked old, he also seemed ageless and ancient to Chantilla, as if some force were at work to keep him in an eternal suspended state. Her mother seemed to rely quite heavily on him while she was alive, and even Chantilla had developed a fondness for the old man.

The sound of the brass door knocker suddenly resounded through the mansion. The caretaker turned to Chantilla. "That will be Miss Molly Raefield and her friend Eliza Beckette" the old man said. "If Madame will excuse me, I shall see to their comfort."

Chantilla was always curious as to how he knew who was outside the door before he even opened it, but she never pressed him for an answer. It was just one of those many oddities she had come to accept while growing up. "By all means, Carlton" she answered. "I'll be along in a bit." She watched him leave, and close the study door behind him.

Chantilla looked at the book. Would she study it, and learn its secrets? She wasn't really wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She closed the book, then went to stand before a full length mirror. She looked herself over as she meticulously primped. Yes, she would make a fine Goth queen. The black, slinky dress with its tight bodice clung to every curve just right. She put on her black mask, then primped her fiery red hair a bit more. When she was satisfied, she turned to go greet her guests.

Cahntilla tried to move, but found she couldn't. It was almost like something held her there in front of the mirror against her will. She suddenly became alarmed as invisible hands softly caressed her breasts. Her body tingled, and her senses reeled as the hands made their way down her entire body, leaving no spot untouched. She felt her trembling thighs spread slightly, and then the pressure of a hand against her soft mound. She tried to fight it, but the pangs of lust and desire were growing deep in the pit of her soul.

"Who are you?" she gasped.


Carlton opened the door with a smile. There before him stood the bride of Frankenstein and one of the sexiest werewolves any man in his right mind had ever seen. "Do come in ladies" he said to them. "Miss Chantilla will be with you shortly. The main party is in the ball room. There is a smaller one, if you prefer, in the drawing room."

"Did she do it?" Molly asked.

"Yes" answered Carlton. "It's only a matter of time now before the coven is reborn. There are many sacrifices to choose from."

"Excellent" said Eliza. "Our mothers would be disappointed if we didn't take the rite of passage."

The End

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