An Ode To Elizabeth




Author's Note:

This is an Ode to Countess Elizabeth Bathory, who has been an inspiration for a while. No, I'm not pro murder and slaughter. But I do find her to be a fascinating person and character.

In this piece, I tried to get into her head.

Also, most of the violent descriptions are taken from the historical accounts and the Countess' private journals. They are, unfortunately, not the great product of my imaginary skills.

Elizabeth - Rest In Peace, so that I may find my nights peaceful again.




"Picking them one by one through the market in the center of a gloomy town. Looking forward to my planned fiesta. Watching their innocence. They dont know whats coming their way. I eye my guards, nod then leave back home.

Later on at night, when all living souls have gone to bed. I enter my chambers where black candles burn like the fire within my soul, deep beneath the earth. There, they wait for me. One by one.

Chained to the cold stone walls, frightened. I take delight in the sheer terror that lurks through their eyes. They have no idea the horrors that soon will come. Horrors I conjure up with my fantastical desires.

My first.
A young girl, not older than 15, not younger than 13. I pace towards her and stand a few inches away from her. I stare into her dark brown eyes. They reflect innocence and purity. My favourite kind.

"Her!"
I yell.

She is brought to me. Her eyes full of tears now.
Brilliant.

"Please, Madam!" she begs, “Have mercy on my poor soul!”
"Shhh..." I whisper in her ear.

Then I stroke her soft golden hair, play with it, and kiss her on the cheek then on her lips. Constantly looking into her eyes. I place my hand on her chest. Her heartbeat speeding, I can feel her blood rushing. Pure blood.
I feel her calming down a bit, giving her trust to me.

Fool.

She never noticed the pincers in my hands. I then grab her neck and pull her into the inner room. She barely struggles, though I can feel her trying to gasp for air, slowly choking. I pin her down onto the floor and rip a piece of her flesh straight off her thigh. She screams. Most beautiful poetic scream.
Aroused, as the blood comes flowing down her leg, I lick it all over never letting go of her neck so that I may feel her strong pulse fading. Then, I reach up to her breast and bite it with force, loving her moans tangled with aches of pain. When I'm done tasting her, I stand up and watch her spirit dangle between life and death. She has lost much blood.
Possibly too much.
Sloppiness is NOT an option.

"To the tub!"
I scream.
My servents will know what to do with her.

I throw away the pincers. Time to get creative.
I pace back into the main chamber and enjoy my maidens whom are now silently crying. Wise little girls.
Weep, pretty ones.
Weep silently.


That young blonde chained in the middle tickles my inner lust and kindles my darkest fantasies.

She will be next.

Setting her up inside my orb, oh how wonderful!
My orb, spiked inside where she is hung, now swinging from side to side like a great big metallic pendulum telling of her doomed destiny. My angel, drilled by the sharp spikes and her blood drained onto me in a shower of erotic purity that will enhance my youth and vitality. Standing underneath the hanging swinging orb, my orb, I lift my hands sideways as if I was crucified with her blood.
And I bathe.
Baptizing myself with her soul.
Christ himself could not put on such a marvelous show.
Such a holy show.

When the last of the blood drops has landed on my skin, I wipe my face and lick my hands.
Sweet poision.
Sweet life.
It WILL make me beautiful.
I WILL be gloryfied yet again.

I set the third on fire.
She seems older than the rest, not so pure. Possibly not a virgin.
Whores.
They are all whores these days. You have to pluck them while they are young, innocent and naive. Otherwise the magic is gone.
The smell of her burning flesh arouses me. So I masturbate to the sound of her loud screams that fill my dark chambers. Knowing that I have three more virgins at my disposal mixed with the excitement of this one's torture and pain brings me to climax and I laugh as I orgasm.
Such satisfaction.
Such perfection.

When I have relaxed a bit, I go back to the large main chamber. It seems that the girls have drifted into sleep, but as I walk into the hall they wake up realizing where they are and the doom that is awaiting them.

The fourth, I drag outside to my inner court. Large torches now fill it. As if they were an audience impatiantly waiting for the show to begin. Dragging her by her hair, I hear her cry out with pain. So I stop and slap her.
Bitch.
She immidiately shuts up and starts crying.

"Shhhh... Don't be scared my dear."
I say to her.

Then I lock my lips with her, kissing her passionately. Her warm red lips abide to mine as if they were my slave. Her toungue boldly reaches for mine. She's a naughty one, this one. Our tongues dance a little dance as she slowly submits to my arms. A few moments later, I pull away and drag her further. This time she walks with me, never letting a sound out of her mouth. And all along I can feel her infatuated gaze upon my face.

Now with her back pushed against a tree, I hold her by her neck with my left hand (by now I'm sure you've noticed its my favourite spot to hold them forcibly) and I slide my right hand down her stomach, her thighs then down to her cunt. All the while staring into her eyes.

Touching her.
Rubbing her.

Feeling her breath become heavier. I smile at her, and she smiles back. Innocent little thing. And as she is drowning in her own whirlpool of pleasure, I take my own pleasure at the next scene of this grand masquerade.

My masquerade.

I glance at my old servant, whom stands there indifferent to the events. He’s used to my midnight games by now. I nod at him. He then paces closely yet in perfect silence. And holds up a large nail. I run my left hand from her neck down to her arm and caress it.

"Raise your arms for me, my beauty", I whisper to her.
She does as I say.

I thrust deeper into my young brunette mistress as her arms are nailed into the tree behind her. Her eyes go into a state of a shock, yet as I reach into her deeper, she crumbles with pleasure mixed with the chaotic pain of the iron sharp nail being driven into her bones. As I drill into her deeper, so does the nail.

Deeper.
Deeper.

I only stop when she lets out a divine scream and when she does so, I grab her jaws, and tear them apart untill I hear the heavenly sound of her neck breaking and snapping.
Ripping her head apart.
Letting her soul out of its cage.
Watching her body collapse and left hung by the nail.

The crows will finish her off by tomorrow at noon.

By now I am tired and aching for a bath. The hour is late and the first rays of sunshine are finding their way through the embrace of the cool black night. So I order the last two girls hung upside down over my golden tub, and have their throat slit, as I stand naked infront of them, watching their blood flow down into it.
Now full of crimson silk fluid.

Dead Virgins' sacrifice that breathes life into my aging Soul."

(c) Michelle Koren, 2005