A Caged Songbird Ch. 01

Lesbian

Hey Readers!

Please comment. I appreciate everything from personal issues with the plot, to simple syntax/grammar errors. This first chapter contains no sex, it is merely an introductory section to allow for character exposition. This is a fantasy story, so it is set in a world pre-condom. Ergo, any sex in this series is unprotected. But don’t get any ideas, we have access to sexual protection so use it. Really.

All characters are over 18. There will be a chapter after this one, most likely.

-KuraiKusai

I took a deep breath in through my nose. I held it, and released it through my cupid’s bow lips, puffing out my cheeks as I did so. I rolled my weight onto my back foot, my long, white (and decidedly shapeless) shift brushing my ankles.

I waited for the perfect moment, that exhilarating rush of adrenaline as the trapeze swung towards its highest point. Then in a motion like the striking of a snake, I jumped forward into the empty air. For a heart-stopping second I simply fell, before the smooth bar of the trapeze swung under my outstretched hands and I instinctually gripped it with a strength belied by my small stature.

I swung with the trapeze as it reached the other high point of its arc. As the trapeze touched its zenith, I continued with my momentum, releasing my clenched fingers and swinging my legs forwards and over my head in a mid-air backwards somersault which left the audience gasping in sympathetic fear. My body straightened into a perfect vertical plane, my feet pointing to the heavens as my nose indicated the direction of my dive: right down to the hard, packed dirt of the circus ring.

I plunged down through the air which whipped my midnight hair across my face. The crowd screamed and shouted, convinced that this performer was to meet her doom. At the last possible instant I spread my arms, and the shift was ripped along my back as two vast snowy wings burst through the material and opened in synchronicity with my extended arms. The air gathered beneath my powerful appendages and I pulled out of my dive to soar up into the top of the tent. I flipped and flicked my body through the air with a careless abandon in sharp contradiction to the careful routine of before. The air was my home, my friend, my lover. It lifted me, excited me, caressed my skin and my heart with electric licks of adrenaline and a building glow of joy. The tight black leotard, (low at the back, to allow for my wings) which had been hidden beneath the boring shift, clung to my body, showing the strength of my slight physique while still allowing the aero-dynamicity I needed to efficiently cut through the air like an arrow.

The crowd was silent as I finally landed; falling forward into a roll to protect my joints and bones after my feet touched the floor. I straightened, and the crowd went from dead silence to roaring applause, foot stamping, and exuberant whooping and cheering.

I grinned, bowed, and retreated out of the ring into a smaller tent along the side of the larger one. As soon as I was out of sight, the large guard hired by the ringmaster leapt forward to clap a thick hand around my shoulder. With a small sigh of regret, I concentrated and my wings shrunk to miniatures of themselves, tiny wings that while unable to carry my weight, were easier to conceal under baggy clothing. Still clutching me, the guard tugged impatiently and lead me out the back.

‘Superb! My dear, what a lovely sight you were. And what lovely coins you bring rolling in!’ crowed Ringmaster Yeful as I exited the tent. He was short, although still taller than I, as I was as petite as a pixie, in both height and figure. Where I was small he was not; the ringmaster was squat and round like a ball, which endeared him to the crowds but not to me, as I was incapable of affection for the cruel creature that was my master.

He had bought me four years before from my own father, a drunkard who had sold me at the first sight of another pretty ankara otele gelen escort coin to feed his habits. Had he known about my abilities, he might have demanded more, but luckily for Ringmaster Yeful my father couldn’t even remember my eye colour, let alone notice that his weird, pale daughter had sprouted wings and was suddenly very valuable indeed. At first, while outraged at my newfound value and newly lost freedom, I thought that my new master looked rather funny and rather reasonable, as far as owners went. However, when I had first questioned his ownership of me, he had simply smiled at me before tying me up and tossing me in a crate for the entirety of their journey to the next town, a few days away. When he had finally released me, I was near insane from dehydration and the humiliation of having lived in my own faeces and urine. Needless to say, I stopped questioning, and eventually stopped speaking at all, requiring only vague gestures of “yes” or “no” to answer my master’s questions, as an excess of information or opinion was rewarded only with darkness and tight spaces.

I nodded to my master, and then stared pointedly at my caravan until he chuckled and waved a hand. My guard walked me over to it, left me inside and closed the door behind him. I peeled off the leotard and threw myself onto the nest of blankets and pillows which was my bed. I found an actual bed too restrictive. Rolling onto my stomach, I let my wings grow and unfold before wrapping them around myself. Once in my own embrace, I relaxed and allowed myself to rest, knowing that the next performance would give me some time to rest before I went back on for my other act.

The next performer was a woman by the name of Reeda, a sword-swallower. Reeda was tall and shapely, and I knew that many of the male performers would often stare openly at her, or more accurately, the mountainous breasts which heaved and jiggled as she swallowed blade after blade. I felt my own modest bust and thanked whatever gods there were that my tiny mounds, barely a handful each, were not enough to attract the attention of the men around me, for I was a slave, and often heard the lewd sounds of Reeda swallowing a different kind of sword, namely that of our mutual master Yeful. But while I did not envy Reeda’s body, I was not entirely without jealously. I wished dearly for Reeda’s eyes, which were as blue as the ocean. My own were a peculiar shade of grey, similar to that of storm clouds. In addition to that, I kept my black hair in a chin-length bob which followed the curve of my jaw, unusually short for a woman. With my hair, eyes, and wings, I was certainly a strange-looking individual.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was woken by a loud knocking on the door to my caravan, signalling that my act would start soon. I stood up and went through a series of stretches to warm up my body once more, before donning the outfit of my next act.

Anyone looking at it would simply think it to a rather long ivory scarf, but I twisted it around myself until it formed a tight, sleeveless covering long enough to conceal my modesty but short enough to allow for easy movement of my legs, crisscrossing over my back to make room for my minor wings.

After dressing, I left my caravan and made my way to the tent, accompanied by my constant guard.

‘Hush! Hush!’ I heard Ringmaster Yeful coo to the audience. ‘This next act is a real treat. Our angel will be returning to the ring once more to show you an ancient dance, taught to her as a child by the now extinct order of the Genuvi’aan Priestesses!’Bullshit,I thought,I made it up one sunny afternoon almost four years ago so that my master wouldn’t punish me.’Here it comes, folks . . . the Dance of the Caged Songbird!’ I entered the ring as Yeful left it, taking my place in the centre before assuming my opening pose. The okar player on the edge of the ring began to strum his instrument gently, ankara rus escort and I allowed the music to carry me through the choreography of my act.

As I danced, I sung the story of the dance in the outlandish language that I had known from birth, but had never been taught. The strange tongue had come to me in flits and flickers, like a long-forgotten memory, but by the age of ten I was more fluent in it than in Common, the lingua franca of my country. The dancer is a caged songbird, who sings sweetly as she flits around in her cage. But in time she begins to hate her captivity, and throws herself at her cage until she falls to the floor, battered and exhausted. The human lord who owns her, thinking her dead, tosses her out of the window. The songbird sings out in joy, lifting herself up and spreading her wings to her first taste of freedom.

My flexible body flowed through the movements with a grace that was only partially due to training, and partially due to natural ability. My voice was high and sweet, and when I reached the crescendo of the performance as the songbird spread her wings to freedom, so too did my own wings grow and unfurl out behind me in a show of power and beauty, each feather stretched out as if to take the songbird’s freedom for itself.

With my performance over, I bowed and left the tent to thunderous applause. My guard led me back to my caravan, and this time he locked me inside. I would not perform again tonight, and so now I could sleep uninterrupted until morning. Unravelling the white scarf encasing me, I felt the familiar sting of tears. I curled up in my nest, my wings cocooning and hiding me from the world. The Dance of the Caged Songbird held my deepest desire, freedom, and performing it while still in captivity broke my heart every time. But I would not stop dancing. The Dance was my greatest treasure and my sharpest tormentor, and I couldn’t be rid of one without losing the other.

I sang the song of the Caged Songbird to myself softly, until the haunting words blurred into murmurs and I was pulled under a blanket of sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rough hands shook me out of slumber, and I looked up to see my guard bent over me. With a bloodcurdling shriek I instinctively rolled out of the embrace of my wings and spread them out behind me, in a motion so quick that the guard had barely registered I was awake before the heavy impact of my snowy limbs shattered his nose and sent him flying across the caravan.

‘Stupid bitch!’ he howled, clutching his bleeding and broken nose. Panting heavily to contain his anger, he managed to spit out, ‘Ringmaster Yeful calls for you. He says wear the one with the bells. You have five minutes before I drag you to him, clothed or not.’ He cursed strongly as he kicked open the door and trudged out of my caravan.

After a few deep breaths, I calmed the primal terror I had felt at my awakening, and did as instructed. “The one with the bells” was a simple translucent fabric edged in tiny bells, which I wrapped around my hips to fall to my ankles. While the cloth was transparent, it was layered enough to hide me. I grabbed another strip of the fabric to tie snuggle around my chest, leaving my arms and midriff bare.

Wait,I thought with sudden panic,why would he want me at this hour? It is far into the night now, and I have already performed.My heart skipped a beat as I considered my situation in a new light.Why would any master call his slave to him in the middle of the night, dressed in a cloth too flimsy for any kind of activity?’Oh gods,’ I moaned aloud, distraught. ‘I can’t do that, not with him. But I can’t run either. They would box me up again.’ I worried my lower lip as I thought, before finding a wave of disgust and with it, conviction. ‘No, I will not flee. I will go to him, and if he wishes to bed me, I will fight.’

Having made up my mind, I set my shoulders, and strode out. The hardest antakya escort part of a decision was making it. Carrying it out was the easy part, even if you failed. I walked over to the caravan of Yeful, pausing as I heard his drunken laughter echoing through the camp.

‘O, my friend, you will not be disappointed! I am so glad we could come to an agreement,’ came the slimy voice of Yeful as he gushed over a guest I could not hear. I resolutely entered the caravan, before folding onto my knees and bowing my head respectfully. ‘Ah, my lovely, you’ve come. Here, have a look at my new friend,’ he giggled and slurred, and I obediently raised my head to look at the man sitting cross-legged opposite Yeful. He was thin and rangy, with a strong jaw, a crop of shoulder-length blonde hair and brown eyes like the molten chocolate Yeful so often indulged in. And despite his non-aggressive stance, he looked every inch the sleek, deadly predator. His eyes locked on mine as soon as I looked up, and I felt a shiver of primitive fear along my spine as something within me whispered that he had been watching from the moment I entered the tent. I met his intense stare, my own eyes wide, and his face broke into a smile which hinted slightly of madness.

‘Don’t be shy, my lovely. This here is Da’aramus Kol. He just bought you from me, so I guess he’s your new master.’

A slight widening of my already large eyes was the only indication of the deep shock I felt. A new master? No. Impossible. Yeful needed me; I was the main attraction of his bloody travelling circus. Only an obscene price could have pushed him to sell me. That meant the man staring at me as if I were game, was affluent. Disgustingly wealthy, or maybe not anymore, now that he had paid for me.

Yeful appeared to become very bored with the silence of his company, and so he belched before grunting out: ‘Alright alright, a trade has been made. Go ahead and take her.’ After snorting loudly, he leaned out of the caravan and screeched to his guards, ‘Hey! More mead! And bring me Reeda!’

Da’aramus Kol gracefully rose from the wooden floor. He slid his hands under my arms, and proceeded to lift and carry me out. I swallowed down panic, not wanting to anger this strange man. He continued to grin at me as he walked towards a large bay horse which grazed peacefully on the hard yellow grass on the side of the road. My new master dropped me onto its back, and then vaulted up to settle in behind me. He wrapped his cloak snugly around us both, shielding my mostly bare flesh from the night’s chill.

I felt a shock as, for the first time in all my nineteen years, the touch of another human being brought with it a flush of heat to my abdomen. My nipples made hard points through the material of my wrapping, and it was only partially from the cold. My face flooded with colour and heat as I reacted to my arousal with instant embarrassment and confusion.

‘What is your name, little bird?’ I almost didn’t hear him. Despite his intimidating build and crazed smiles, his voice was soft, and it vibrated in his chest behind my diminutive wings.

I was silent. Nearly four years of perfect muteness filled my mind, and my heart ached softly in recognition of the lifelong isolation I had endured. Shunned by my community, abandoned by my mother. Ignored and sold by my father, caged by Yeful. My life had taught me one thing: separate yourself from others before they do it for you. I was a drunkard’s daughter, a motherless child, a pariah and a slave. The things that stood me apart from others were both a gift and a burden. And this man, this Da’aramus Kol, what did he want with me? I was not attractive as Reeda was. Maybe he was one of those men I had heard of as a child, the ones who took perverse pleasure in the violation of children. With my slight stature and innocent appearance, he might have mistaken me for a child. Or maybe he wanted to keep me to explore my wings, ripping them from me and slicing me open to reveal the secrets of my body. Maybe he merely wanted something to torture and lock up in small spaces. There was no way of knowing what horrors this man might have in store for me.

Actually, no. There was one way to find out.

‘Mari. I am Mari.’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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