And Only Dark Will Remain
Any sacrifice was worth keeping the Dark away. Neryna of Jugo reminded herself of this every day, and never did she doubt it. The tendrils of sin prodded her every waking moment. Born of the Dark and caressed by the gods’ mercy, it was the duty of mankind to venerate their protectors in any manner they could. In a sense, all of humanity was unworthy of this grace. But few less so than Neryna.
Concealed beneath the white cloth clinging to her slim form, there was a mark – a hole that proved she was less than human. This vacuum took away everything from her previous life – in the most literal sense. Her skin rotted, her memories drained, and her identity was forsaken. She left her homeland, wandering and dying in aimless pilgrimage.
Neryna couldn’t remember how it first happened, but she killed someone – a hapless traveler, perhaps – and fed on the dark sprite nestled in his soul. The effect was borderline narcotic. With each fragment of humanity she hoarded, she felt the emptiness of her mark retreat. She no longer existed in a fugue state between life and death. But she knew this could hardly continue. She was alive, but this was not a life worth living. Disgusted with herself and unfit to retreat to her former life, Neryna pledged herself to the service of a certain fertility goddess in penance. She hoped that, through her service, her depravity could be mitigated, and she could live as something more than a blemish on the world’s surface.
And so she stood at constant attention, gladly catering to the whims of her beloved goddess. She, along with a cadre of other handmaidens devoted to the true heirs of Light, now traveled down an enormous hall, bearing urns of sensuous oils, incense, and all manner of sweet ambrosial nectars fit for their Lady. A trio of silver clad knights tailed their procession. Their helmets were adorned with angelic wings, representing their steadfast commitment to the royal family.
The train came upon a gigantic and ornately engraved door, fit not but for the most ostentatious among their size. But this portal was a necessity, rather than an object of vanity, for their deity. As the lead handmaiden approached it, she pulled back a lever in a motion that briefly caused her white hood to fall backwards, revealing her maidenly face. The sound of grinding gears echoed through the hall, and slowly, inch by inch, the door opened.
Radiant light cascaded through the expanding crack. Its brilliance illuminated the faces of Neryna and all the other handmaidens, even under their hoods. The light reflected off the knight’s silver plates, endowing them with an incandescent glow. When Neryna’s eyes finally adjusted, she beheld the splendid form of her goddess: Gwynevere, the Princess of Sunlight.
The goddess lay in repose on a set of massive cushions. Her giant proportions made her beauty and excellence all the more overwhelming. Somewhere deep within her, an exuberant light blazed wildly – no doubt a fragment of her father’s stellar soul, lodged within her breast. Her garb was simultaneously saintly and revealing – for there rested no shame in the perfection of her form. Curtains of white cloth with gold trimming draped across her arms and legs, like elegant bandages. Golden jewelry decorated her forearms and wrists, which rested gently upon the cushions. Her midsection was left bare, exposing the subtle, delicate contours of fat surrounding her lovely navel. Neryna found her eyes drawn to this region, hypnotized by the slight winking of the goddess’s belly button with each breath.
Yet even this could scarcely compare to the majesty of Gwynevere’s more womanly features. An enormous pair of heaving breasts rested atop her arms like fleshy globes. The thin strips of silk and tiny brassiere scarcely covered anything – even the halo of motherly nipples could be seen peeking out. An auric necklace dangled alongside her mammoth breasts, its charms dancing against her skin and one another to produce a heavenly choir of clerical chimes. Just beneath them, on the princess’s right breast, sat a single, adorable mole. Neryna, entranced by the amazing chest ahead, felt a slight pang of jealousy for this item. Whereas the goddess’s mark enhanced her beauty, Neryna’s black splotch proved her inner ugliness.
All of her anxieties vanished at the sight of Gwynevere’s gorgeous countenance: an ovular face with a wide mouth and a serene smile, infinitely comforting. The lusciousness of her upper lips rivaled even that of her lower ones (which, belonging to a goddess of love and fertility, famously serviced Flann’s Tower of Flame, Seath’s Crystal Halberd, and the lesser-known Fourth Pillar of Lothric). Although, now that she thought about it, Neryna couldn’t remember ever seeing Gwynevere’s mouth open – or anyone else’s for that matter. Such were the anomalies of this land. Nevertheless, she yearned to one day peer inside and behold the princess’s immaculate rows of teeth and gently curved tongue.
“Welcome, my children.” Gwynevere’s voice sounded more like a whimsical hum than the booming commands they had come to expect from the gods. Her long headdress softly waved as she raised her head. It resembled a milky mycelium with regal fringes canopying her modest veil and forehead jewelry. “Cometh this way. Receive my blessing, and bask in the light of the gods.”
The handmaidens readily obeyed and promptly went about their duties. Some prostrated in front of the princess, while others prepared lotions to massage her voluptuous form. Closer to her head, a novice attendant ineptly fanned her with a large leaf. With little finesse, she simply spammed the fan in her right hand relentlessly. A more experience girl came to her and offered her sage advice.
“Try holding with both hands, dear. T’will help getteth thee good.”
Neryna picked up a large, water-filled vessel. She took slow and careful steps toward the goddess, careful not to spill a drop. A number of other handmaidens did the same. Gwynevere turned her attention to them, her auburn hair lightly swishing to the side. They beckoned her to bless the water in order to distribute it as a miraculous healing reagent across the land.
Neryna arrived directly beneath the holy princess’s face. She bowed on one knee and raised the dish high above her head. Gwynevere’s lips curled upwards and her eyes widened slightly, revealing the light brown of her irises. She shifted her weight and withdrew her right arm from its resting place. As she extended it towards the dish, Neryna noticed her right breast drop in the absence of support. It bounced slightly, coming into misalignment with her other bosom and nearly slipping from its meager attire. A wave of light glimmered across it as the motion sent discrete ripples along the fat. Even the tiny mole – in actuality, the size of Neryna’s fist – rose to the wave’s crest like the dawning sun.
Gwynevere’s fingers hovered over Neryna’s bowl, bathing and enchanting the water with her divine essence. But Neryna remained awestruck at the sight before her. The colossal teat stretched into a teardrop shape and mildly swung back and forth like a pendulum. Its mesmerizing undulations threatened to overwhelm Neryna, whose face flushed red and breath ran shallow. She tore her gaze away and looked directly at the tiles beneath her. She was so ashamed. She wished to flagellate herself for entertaining such prurient thoughts about a higher being. But did not the princess’s outward perfection match that of her spirit?
A faint giggle came from above. The goddess moved her hand back and pressed it against her dais, raising her body. Neryna sheepishly cast her vision upward.
“Haveth no shame, little one. Many celestial children have suckled hither. My bounty is for all the creatures of this world. T’is but natural to desire them. Even my younger brother wished for them, but perhaps,” she paused, briefly, “he was simply envious.”
Gwynevere giggled again and raised her hand to her mouth. Curling her lower lip over her teeth, she stuck her index finger in there and gently bit it. Her cheeks swelled with glee. A shower of relief flooded over Neryna, who couldn’t help but beam back. A collective sigh of contentment escaped every handmaiden’s mouth, as if the goddess’s cheerful demeanor changed the atmosphere, transposing the very air into a comforting salve.
“My Lady, I cannot express my gratitude,” Neryna stammered. “I am truly unworthy to serve one such as yourself.”
Cascading light filtered through Gwynevere’s veil and descended upon the young attendant. The goddess’s elation manifested itself as a shimmering golden stream – this was the surrogate sun of the world, nursing the earth’s bounty in spite of the impending darkness. Neryna knew she belonged at the princess’s side for all eternity.
A sudden clatter knocked everyone out of their blissful stupor. A trickle of water formed around Neryna’s bare toes, implicating some clumsy handmaiden as the source of the disturbance. Probably that feeble neophyte with the fan from earlier. No doubt she had foolishly dropped her vessel. A brief gasp escaped the mouths of the girls behind her. The faux pas was certainly uncouth, but hardly anything to fret over – the princess’s grace would reconcile everything.
But confused, frightened faces greeted Neryna when she turned around. A handful of attendants stood close to one another, eyes wide, mouths agape. They were all staring at her. One of them raised a quivering finger, barely peeking out of her robe’s oversized sleeve. She pointed at the ground beneath Neryna’s feet. Neryna looked down and saw nothing. The water had indeed come from a smashed dish, but all she could discern was a sparkling puddle reflecting her goddess’s image.
She looked back up, but the other girls continued to gawk, even cower. They shuffled together further, becoming a carousel of quivering robes. The pillars of their individual shadows, cast several meters in the wake of Gwynevere’s radiance, formed one giant, black blanket, extending to the far wall.
Then Neryna realized exactly what frightened them. She glanced down again – she had no shadow. It was something she had never taken notice of before - but light seemed to pass right through her, unfit to nourish her inner soul. Or perhaps the gluttonous Darksign gorged on and greedily hoarded shadows. Either way, she instantly recognized that the inky depths of her mark had betrayed her true form. An Undead could hide her decaying flesh, but her murky soul couldn’t escape the truth of a goddess’s light.
The silver knights standing at the chamber’s entrance nodded to one another and began their approach. Neryna caught them from the corner of her eye and fell upon the ground. Her blood ran cold. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to plead with her goddess, to explain everything. Words wouldn’t come.
She waited to hear the princess’s sweet, soothing voice, but she was met only with silence. The most deafening silence she could imagine. For the first time, she wished for death. She wished to go Hollow, to be reborn elsewhere, and forget her shame and grief. But oblivion wouldn’t take her. Instead, a steely grip seized her right arm. Another claimed her left shoulder. She was hurriedly hoisted to her feet, nearly slipping on the wet marble.
The knights held her in place without so much as glancing at her. They remained stalwartly attentive to their mistress. The giant woman cast her eyes down on her. Their sparkle had vanished, turning matte and grave.
“My child, why thought you to deceive me? Knowest thou thy nature? My father wreathed himself in flames to halt such darkness – a tradition carried by countless heroes. The Undead hunger for souls. They covet the fire. What meanest thou by coming here?”
Neryna was alarmed at Gwynevere’s gentility. Her despair was so deep, she hadn’t even considered explaining herself. She scrambled to gather the words.
“My Lady Gwynevere, noble Princess of Sunlight,” she began, “I know what I am. My sin reaches deep, and my grief doubly so. I came to pledge myself to you, to atone for the vacuum of my soul. My Lady,” she began sobbing, “I would do anything, anything to serve your will. Please, find mercy for me. May you make use of my fragile soul in some way.”
The giantess’s lips wrinkled eerily. She returned to the sleepy gaze that often painted her face, sealing her eyes.
“Thou swearest to do anything to fight the Dark?” she asked.
Gwynevere sighed, her luscious breasts descending with her sinking diaphragm. She waved her enormous fingers and addressed the remaining silver knight at the far side of the room. “Very well. Bless thee, child. Thy bravery we will remember.”
Before the strangeness of the words could even register with Neryna, she felt a rumbling on the floor underneath her. Elsewhere, the lone silver knight turned an enormous crank, propelling a dynamo of cogs and gears that ran beneath the chamber. The elaborate mechanism started raising sections of the floor. Neryna’s captors tugged her a few steps to the side and lifted her feet onto the rising platform.
“What’s happening?” she gasped. She glanced around the room in panic. The remaining handmaidens had all retreated into the corner, noticeably more terrified than before. A narrow, bridge-like path rose up and connected to her pedestal. She heard the sound of metal locking into place, and knew they had reached their maximum height. They hovered just above Gwynevere’s giant face.
Neryna let out a nervous whimper. From the corner of Gwynevere’s mouth, a protrusion of pink flesh peeked out. It rolled clockwise around her bottom lip, then flicked upwards to do the same to the top one. Her lips gave off a sheen from the coating of saliva. An anticipatory breath escaped the goddess’s mouth, and she addressed Neryna soon after.
“As an heir of the old royalty, I kindle within my bosom a fragment of the Flame’s eternal light. By thy sacrifice, thou shalt nourish this beacon and purify thyself. In my belly thou shalt discover penance in agony.”
Neryna’s blood ran cold. “My Lady, please,” she stammered, “you intend to… eat me?” She asked more out of disbelief than confusion. A morbidly sunny smile crossed the princess’s face.
“Indeed, child. Thy sacrifice shall satiate my hungers and bring me pleasure beyond imagination. Thou shalt become a part of me forever. T’is the greatest offering mortals can make to the godhead.”
The unfortunate handmaiden panicked and began frantically kicking against her captors, but to no avail. “Please, I beseech thee! Spare me, please!”
Gwynevere’s facial muscles noticeably twitched in frustration. “Thou said the lengths thou would go to in order to fend off Darkness. Didst thou not also swear fealty to myself and my covenant? Renege not on your vows. Let not your faith be swayed. Come and join me. Let me embrace you, like a child returning to mother’s womb.”
With no more comforting words, Gwynevere elevated her head to intercept the platform’s edge. With a yawning grace, her lips parted, slowly revealing an enormous, wet cave. Bordered by rows of glistening white teeth, tiny strands of saliva bridged the roof and floor of her mouth, like concave waterfalls. Out slithered her tongue, a thick mass of tissue covered in tiny bumps. It rested on the platform like a carpet, a decorative item beckoning guests into a pit of no return. A wave of warm air surged past Neryna, enveloping her in its humidity and sour stench. She struggled to fight back the tears. Her fear and shame threatened to rip her apart before the goddess’s bowels could do anything to her. She was sickened with herself, bound by her choices. She knew she had to face justice for her evil, but she couldn’t take such a horrifying plunge. She wished to please her goddess in any way, yet how could she do something so unthinkable?
Perhaps this is a test, she wondered. Yes, she’s testing my faith. I have to prove my virtue before receiving redemption.
Doubt continued to gnaw at her, but this thought reassured her for a moment. She ceased struggling with the silver knights and resigned herself to what was to come. They began their approach to the giantess’s maw. In the distance, a young initiate shrieked and fainted at the coming event. As her sisters rushed to her aid, Neryna felt a pang of jealousy. Their obvious concern and horror apparently wasn’t enough to prompt them into action to assist her. Either they found her unworthy of such aid, or else…
Or else this is real!
Her bare feet sunk into a damp, squishy surface. Pockets of sensitive muscle rose and tickled between her toes. Before she could cry out, the knights loosened their grips and shoved her forward. She lost her footing and slipped facedown onto Gwynevere’s tongue. A foul dew sprinkled in her hair and rubbed against her lips. She peeled herself from the semi-adhesive substance, but not without a mask of slime coating her face. Despite her divinity, the inner fluids of Gwynevere lacked the ambrosial aromas of her exterior flesh. The stench was rancid.
In front of her, Neryna noticed a kaleidoscope of red bulges sloping downward into a bottomless abyss. The goddess’s hot breath wafted up from here, accompanied by thunderous bellows. Yet between these sounds, Neryna heard a distinct gurgling noise – wet, organic squelches. A thick, pendular uvula dangled over the chasm, vibrating in the internal wind.
Neryna finally collected herself enough to scream. Within moments, she rendered her own throat hoarse. Her voice cracked as she pleaded for her life. “Please, Lady Gwynevere, don’t eat me! I’ve changed my mind! I don’t want to do this anymore! Let me out!” She scrambled on all fours and swiveled around to see the portal to the outside closing. She vaulted forward in desperation. A low, creaking noise penetrated her eardrums as Gwynevere’s jaws converged. Neryna crawled up the gentle curve of the tongue and dragged her stomach over the giantess’s incisors. Her lips were almost entirely sealed, but their enormous size allowed Neryna just enough space to stick her hands out.
The plushy lips pressed down mildly just below Neryna’s elbows. The convergence of Gwynevere’s teeth stopped momentarily. The pitiful girl inside flailed her arms, gradually wedging an opening in the soft flesh. She pulled her head through the small opening, but the she couldn’t get past her shoulders. A concert of gasps came from the onlookers.
“Please, help me! Somebody!” Neryna proceeded to scream incoherently, her face awash with her own tears and Gwynevere’s hot spit. She felt a contraction around her shoulders. Gwynevere’s facial muscles tightened and her lips puckered, squeezing Neryna’s head backwards. “Please… don’t,” she whimpered pathetically.
Accompanied by a hollow timbre, a suctioning force slurped her back into the gargantuan mouth. The light of the outside disappeared forever. Neryna was now nothing but food between her mistress’s cheeks.
The goddess’s innards still gave off an incandescent glow in the absence of exterior light, just enough for Neryna to fully discern the minutest features of her mouth. Tiny bubbles scattered around the tongue’s semi-exposed underside. Above her, Gwynevere’s hard palate curved like the bars of a cage. It seemed like a sick joke. The panicked handmaiden was trapped and lacked any hope of rescue.
The enormous tongue began undulating, sending her rolling towards a lateral queue of stony teeth. Her squeal was instantly muffled by the impact of Gwynevere’s tongue, pushing Neryna over her molars. Neryna was dazed and immobilized by the wet smack, but knew where she now was. She knew that any moment now, the princess would clamp her teeth down and grind the poor girl into paste. But the expected crunching of bones, smashing of organs never came. Instead, Gwynevere pressed her further, pinning Neryna against the inside of her lovely, plump cheek. Neryna felt the protrusions of reed-like veins, transferring the humours of the giantess’s elaborate vital faculties. She knew that she would soon become a mere part of this process as well. With her “sacrifice” sufficiently stuck, Gwynevere ran her flabby tongue up and down her lithe body, over and over again. Neryna’s wispy clothing was shredded by the wild licking, as the goddess sampled a taste of her naked form. An army of taste buds tickled Neryna’s sensitive skin. Mortification mixed with terror as Gwynevere incessantly licked her. Bathed in the viscous ooze, Neryna shut her eyes and prayed for an end. Her thoughts turned to the accursed Darksign – the source of her torment, now soaked with the Sunlight Princess’s spit.
Damn it! Why me?
A fold of flesh slithered under her and flipped her body back on top of the tongue. She released a horrified screech as the writhing mass curled upward and touched the roof of Gwynevere’s mouth. Gravity seized Neryna and sent her plummeting down. She dug her fingers into the squishy slope, but the dangling sensation she felt informed her of the grim truth: she was right by the esophageal pit. The drooping uvula dripped globs of heated filth onto her exposed backside. At once she knew – Gwynevere planned to swallow her, whole and alive. Neryna couldn’t conceive a more frightening fate.
A deafening groan sealed her doom. Liquid came cascading down from the crevices below Gwynevere’s tongue, rushing towards their drain. Neryna was swept in the tide, lost her grip, and sent hurtling backwards. Headfirst, she witnessed a contraction of muscles that quickly closed down on her. The giant esophagus squeezed her with unimaginable pressure, then, with a few powerful pulses, propelled her down to meet her fate.
Neryna couldn’t even open her mouth in the midst of the constricting muscles, but that didn’t stop her from vainly struggling to emit muffled screams. Not that there was anyone to hear her. She descended down the seemingly endless tube of Gwynevere’s throat. The unbearable sucking noise soon gave way to the thundering booms of a rhythmic heartbeat. Neryna whimpered at this, pained by the palpitating lunges of her own heart. The love it felt so deeply for her noble goddess was utterly betrayed. She had been turned into a meal by the one she worshipped.
Outside, a muted whine emanated from the closed mouths of Neryna’s former sisters. They watched in horror as a bulge traveled down Gwynevere’s throat, squirming all the way. It disappeared beneath her necklace, but they knew it was still somewhere, continuing its cursed descent behind the goddess’s luscious bosoms.
Neryna heard a noisy squelch, followed by a splash. A ringed sphincter opened up at the crown of her head. Her body had enough momentum to easily slide through the lubricated surface, and she came tumbling into a spacious stomach. She found herself submerged in a boiling pit of bile. Its yellowish hue shone an almost bronze color thanks to a nearby source of light. Through the stinging of her eyes, Neryna managed to see it: a flickering flame, drowned amidst the contents of Gwynevere’s stomach. This was a fragment of pure Light, her link to the primordial fire. Such a sight would’ve been beautiful in any other circumstance.
With the smell and taste of vomit invading her nostrils and mouth, Neryna thrust her arms out and swam for the surface. She emerged, gasping for what little air was available. She fought to tread water in the soupy mixture, which seemed to be constantly tugging at her legs. An effervescent fizz covered the acid lake’s surface. Bubbles of gas rose and popped with gross plopping sounds. The escaping vapors covered the fleshy chamber in their rancid haze. For all of her outer beauty, Gwynevere’s guts embodied the most revolting thing Neryna could ever conceive. Yet her disgust could hardly equal her fear and pain.
“Please, let me out! I don’t want to die like this!” Her overwhelming grief suffocated her. The corrosive gnawing at her flesh guaranteed her that she would become a part of the goddess forever, absorbed into her divine body to provide sustenance and add to the fat of her voluptuous form. She knew that whenever a worshipper or pilgrim gawked at Gwynevere’s indescribable loveliness, they would be looking at the fruits of the poor girl’s demise. Bereft of personhood, reduced to squealing food, her goddess had found more pleasure from her death than her life. That was Neryna’s greatest service. That would be her legacy, and what her friends remembered her by. A tasty morsel, unfit to live with such great sin, righteously consumed and digested.
Neryna splashed around helplessly and cried out in despair. The chyme began churning counterclockwise. The sizzling she felt on her skin became more intense. Gluttonous gurgles escaped from tiny acid ducts lining the stomach’s walls. The veritable undertow dragged her beneath the stinging bile. Her sorrowful wails manifested as a stream of bubbles, rushing upward as foreign vomit singed her mouth and throat. Slowly, she sank to the bottom of the goddess’s stomach. She couldn’t fight any longer. She thought her life would pass before her eyes, but as usual, she could hardly remember it. As pain engulfed her, she latched on to a single thought, clutching it tightly for some small comfort.
At least now I’ll never know the hell of Hollowing.
With this meager reassurance, she braced herself for the end. Slowly, she felt her body decompose and vanish into the foul soup. Thorns of agony gripped her consciousness. She felt herself torn apart, mind and body. Mentally shattered, broken by unthinkable suffering, she finally faded away and expired. Her torment had come to an end.
Were it so simple.
Neryna awoke, as if from a nightmare, drenched by the familiar sloshes of the smouldering lake. She threw her eyes about the cavern in disbelief. She was whole again – decomposing, but certainly not digested. Had she imagined the ordeal’s end, momentarily tricking herself into the bliss of oblivion? She furiously splashed the chyme before her, scattering its contents in a gesture of impotent frustration.
Again, she sank into the pool, letting out a mournful hum as her head vanished beneath the surface. The blistering torture returned in earnest. She gritted her teeth and braced for the end. But just before her body dissolved, she felt a distinct tingling on her back. Somehow, the Darksign was resonating.
For a few brief moments, the accursed Undead enjoyed the respite of death. But once again, she found herself jolted awake at the nadir of Gwynevere’s swollen belly. She couldn’t believe it. She was sure she had died. Gwynevere’s stomach should’ve consumed the curse along with her, burning out the very essence of her humanity.
How am I still alive?
Blinding light filtered through the digestive juices and pierced Neryna’s already burning eyes. It emanated from the same source she had noticed earlier in these blighted depths. But now the light carried a familiar aura. It was like a beacon that reminded Neryna of her proper place. A grotesque chill seized the back of her neck as she realized its true nature: this was a linked fire routed through Gwynevere’s bowels. It had tethered Neryna’s soul to the goddess’s insides, like a vampiric umbilical cord. And when their communion was interrupted, it gathered the ashen remnants of the handmaiden to experience perpetual rebirth.
She was petrified, dumbstruck. Endless torture. Digestion for all time. Tears rained down her cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably. Violent convulsions abruptly gripped her while she spiraled into a labyrinth of hysteria. Please don’t do this! I can’t take anymore! Just let me die!
There was no remedy for Undeath, just as countless people had told her before. She wished she had listened to them. Her depravity was absolute, and she only compounded her sin in trying to escape her fate. Now she paid the ultimate price. Eternal reincarnation would lead to infinite suffering for her and persistent sustenance for the beautiful goddess.
As Neryna’s dwindling hopes were extinguished, her mind conjured up the image of Gwynevere. Her cheery smile took on a macabre significance, a perversity that made Neryna’s fate all the more monstrous. With one last gasp, she vainly reached for the elevated entrance to the goddess’s stomach, despite it being far out of range. Her exhausted form fell limp. Just before losing consciousness, she heard the sound of a whirling gust surging up through the narrow ring.
The giantess once again extended her body on her dais. Her attendants returned to her side, determined to carry out their duties and remain in her good graces. One girl, the novice previously chastised for her inept fanning, carried a jar of a sacred balm. With her nimble athleticism and dexterity, she cradled the jar in her armpit and climbed the soft footholds of Gwynevere’s exposed abdomen. Reaching the top, she crouched down, planting gentle depressions in the fat beneath her feet. She lifted the cover off the jar and began her work.
The girl massaged the delicate flesh of the goddess’s belly. A spontaneous jiggle almost knocked her off balance, threatening to send her into the grotto of the giant navel. Occasional vibrations from Gwynevere’s powerful breaths were common and expected, but this disturbance was joined by a gurgle emitted deep within her gut. No sooner had the girl noticed this than were her eardrums wracked by a loud, wet belch. Gwynevere’s burp echoed throughout the chamber, aided by the acoustic curvature of the high ceilings.
The voluptuous princess blushed and raised her hand to her mouth. She barely managed to cover a series of smaller belches that slipped out immediately afterward. Though momentarily embarrassed, her countenance returned to one of utter contentment. She beamed with satisfaction and delight.
The initiate disguised her revulsion, aware of the sickening fact that those burps might’ve been the products of her deceased sister. She put the thought out of her mind and returned to her duties.
Her fingers deftly navigated the folds of soft abdominal skin, but she soon felt another shudder. This one had a unique sound – one that failed to match even the prelude to Gwynevere’s belches. Curiosity took over. She pressed her ear against Gwynevere’s belly. A gross symphony of gurgles, squelches, and sloshes made up most of the noise. But faintly, she discovered the perplexing sound. After a few moments of confusion, she recognized what she was hearing.