Raven's Roost

The storm tore through Crescent City, Ohio, thunder roaring over the neon-lit brewery district. Rain lashed my penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows, streaking crimson and violet across the black marble floor. My gothic fortress, a glass-and-steel cathedral atop a skyscraper, pierced the January 2020 sky. Crimson silk drapes swayed, glinting under raven-skull chandeliers, their amber light casting jagged shadows. My dark purple silk robe hung loose, nothing beneath, my pale skin glowing, shoulder-length black hair tipped dark purple shimmering like dusk bleeding into night. My raven tattoo pulsed above my cleavage, emerald eyes soft, obsidian wings with fiery orange embers folded tightly, their heat a faint whisper. The loft above the decrepit church—my first throne—was Sister Sable’s now, a gift to my disciple. Sarah, my ex-wife from Richard’s life, sat on a black leather chaise, sapphire hair cascading, demon-red eyes dim, her naked body adorned only by a silver chain with a raven sku...

The Ohio split-level was a suffocating crypt, its beige walls peeling like faded scars, trapping the heavy scent of Sarah’s lavender candles and the bitter tang of my overbrewed coffee. I was Richard, 49, a hollowed-out shell, my life a relentless slog—dinner at six, sitcoms by eight, a bed where love had crumbled, the mattress creaking under our indifference. By day, I drowned in ink-stained spreadsheets, my fingers smudged black, eyes aching behind scratched glasses, my faded grey suit sagging on my gaunt frame like a funeral shroud. But at night, my laptop became a portal to a secret world, feeding a fetish rooted in my youth. At 18, I’d hidden comics in my cramped bedroom, their pages alive with superheroines turned vampiric, capes swapped for crimson satin corsets, eyes glinting with malice under a desk lamp’s dim glow. *Electra Woman and Dyna Girl* reruns on a grainy TV sparked fantasies of leather-clad corruption, spandex traded for glossy black vinyl, smiles twisting into seduc...

 **Chapter One: The Faire’s Strange Magic** The air hummed with the scent of roasted meat, sweet mead, and the faint tang of leather as the four friends wove through the bustling lanes of the Renaissance Faire. Laughter and the clink of tankards spilled from canvas tents, while minstrels plucked lutes and merchants hawked their wares—hand-carved staffs, glittering trinkets, and velvet cloaks dyed in jewel tones. The sun hung low, casting golden light across the sprawling grounds, where banners snapped in the breeze and the distant ring of steel from a jousting arena echoed faintly. Mira, Lila, and Tessa moved as a trio, their skirts swishing over the trampled grass. Each wore a corset laced snug but not punishing, paired with flowing skirts that danced around their ankles—Mira in deep emerald, Lila in sapphire, and Tessa in a rich burgundy that caught the light like spilled wine. Their hair was loose, adorned with ribbons and small braids, practical yet fitting the Faire’s charm. T...