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The aroma of garlic, herbs, and vegetables filled the small house. Amara recognized the faded white walls, the wooden beams holding up the frame, and the faded rug under the couch. It was her home. She was back home.
A figure in a brown gown stood in the kitchen, stirring the pot, and whistling a familiar tune. Upon hearing her footsteps, she turned.
“You’re back.” Her white hair pulled back in a bun, and her dark lips curved up in a smile. That soft, familiar voice poured over her senses like honey.
“Mama…” Amara found herself staring into her mother’s dark eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re…alive…”
“Of course I’m alive!” she said. “It’s too early for me to die. I might be human, but I’ve still got a few years left in me.”
The heavy weight in her heart vanished in an instant. Taking one hesitant step after another, she inched closer to her mother. “Is it really you?” Her lips trembled. Tears threatened to spill over.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” her mother asked. “Why are you crying?”
Amara closed the distance between them, enveloping her mother in a hug. “I missed you.”
“You just saw me this morning.” Her mother’s voice chided, but her hand was on Amara’s hair, smoothing her mahogany curls.
“I’m…so glad you’re alive…” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “I thought I’d never see you again. It was so lonely without you.”
“Shhhh. I’m here. Everything is all right.” Her mother said.
She was right. It would be all right. Her mother was here. She’d fix everything; she’d fix Amara’s heavy heart. It had been just the two of them since her father died. It’d always be just them. Joy pierced the darkness, and she smiled. Everything felt lighter. Happier. More hopeful.
The nightmare was over—her mother’s death, the lonely years that followed, the disappointing affairs, the broken promises. It was all nothing but a bad dream.
Something hard hit her leg and she yelped. “Ouch.”
Her eyes opened with a start. Her mother, the kitchen, and the house disappeared instantly. She stared into the darkness, clothes clinging to her sweaty body. Fuzzy moonlight outlined the bed, the nightstand, and the clock. That struck midnight. Amara realized that she wasn’t at her mother’s house. She was at Sazan’s mansion.
It had all been a dream.
A tear rolled down Amara’s cheek, a remnant of her dream absorbed by her hair. She brushed it away. Sheets bunched around her exposed legs. Her nightgown had hiked up to her hip. The ornately decorated bedroom had a four-poster bed. One of her legs had hit against the edge, waking her up. A large mirror and more pillows and bedsheets filled her space. Sazan had brought her to his mansion in Inferno City. It was a period house with six bedrooms.
Earlier that evening, she had sent a coded message to Felix revealing her location. She didn’t think they’d come for her before dawn. That left her alone with her thoughts in the middle of the night. Silence enveloped her. She’d never had that dream before. It had felt so nice. Enveloped in her mother’s warm embrace, she had forgotten the weight of her burdens. The world was perfect for one bright, glowing moment. Until it all vanished.
Unshed tears burned in her throat. She should cry, but she didn’t want to cry. No matter how much she cried, nothing changed. Her mother could never return. Life would always be slightly disappointing, a little dark, and painfully lonely. Meeting Sazan’s wife must’ve stirred up old memories.
She didn’t want to think. She wanted to lose herself in the heated oblivion of sex. She wanted to feel her body contract and explode until the only thing she could feel was the orgasm coursing through her. She wanted to scream out in ecstasy until she felt alive. Anything to dispel this heavy sorrow that had settled over her heart.
Abandoning the pretense of sleep, she sat up. There was no sound in the hallway outside. The servants were probably asleep. Amara briefly considered venturing out but vetoed the idea. She didn’t want to make Sazan suspicious. She should read something. Mr. Garett’s letters. They brought her comfort. But when she glanced at her bag, she remembered that she was in Inferno City, playing the part of Ruby.
She reached for the bag that she had brought. It contained some clothes, some innocuous tools to open locks and doors, and a novel. She pulled out the book, hoping to amuse herself with a story. But then, she looked at the title and realized what it was.
The Merchant’s Virgin Flower
It was an erotic novel she had purchased from the red-light district. The shopkeeper assured her all young ladies owned one of these. Being a good spy, Amara had wanted to portray her character realistically. Plus, she also liked reading raunchy novels. She'd heard a lot of good things about this series.
This would get the job done. She had two perfectly functioning hands that would bring her pleasure. Coupled with the fantasy the book painted, she’d forget her dream in no time.
Settling back on the bed, she undid the buttons that ran all the way to her throat. One by one, the delicate little circles came off, leaving the center of her chest exposed. Cool air brushed the valley between her breasts.
Hmmm…that felt good. All this heat and sorrow was making her go crazy. She flipped a page, beginning the rather uninspiring tale of a sexual encounter between a merchant and a maid. After three pages of setup, they finally moved to the part where the merchant disrobed his ‘virgin flower’.
The robe slipped over her porcelain shoulders, revealing her breasts. They hung over her body, ripe as melons. The merchant took them in his hands and squeezed.
“My lord…” the girl’s voice was thick with desire like fog on a winter night.
