Resurrection

With shaking hands did Bonnie Murphy unfurl Charlie's bandages. With hands careful and clinical, she removed his casts, straightened his arms and cleaned him down with the narrow supplies she had.

Only the most superficial of wounds could be seen now, but he was cold as a chunk of ice. Lying there, his head bandaged, his wet black hair splayed out about his crown like dark tendrils.

Bonnie knew that there was no putting it off any longer. Tonight she’d break the promise she’d made to herself long ago, so that a newer, greater one may take its place.

Collected, calm, resolute, Bonnie reached behind her back. Although she had already discarded her dress, her lacy white bra and matching panties highlighted just how utterly beyond her expectations tonight had become.

“Try to shack up with your gay colleague…” She unclipped her bra, allowing it to fall away. Her pert breasts, each dotted with a spray of light freckles, shone in the low light. She checked them promptly, finding herself satisfied before moving on to her panties. “...Walk right into a nest of fuckery and death…” She stepped out of her panties, placing both those and her bra, neatly folded, by the foot of Charlie's bed. She moved over, touching his face meekly.

He looked still, calm, almost peaceful in a drained-of-all-life sort of way.

“...This still is gonna be the weirdest thing that happens today, despite all that. Come on big guy, let’s get this done, eh?” Bonnie flew into a feverish action as she made moves towards the objects required.

With the chalk in hand she got to work. Much to her luck, the floors were a grainy texture, allowing her to mark it with ease. She was grateful for this, for the white marking she etched into the floor, around the bed in a circle, then splaying out in a neat procedural pattern, was very complex and by the time she was done, her back hurt a little from bending over for so long.

Rolling her hips to remove the uncomfortable crick, she proceeded to place seven candles within specific parts of the sprawling ivory mosaic, lighting each one by one before standing back to check her work.

The great diagram interconnected throughout the base of Charlie’s bed, all about the dark flooring, was a circular depiction of the male anatomy. Like the Vitruvian man, its arms splayed wide and in all the possible directions that natural axis could follow.

She was starting to feel it now. Spiraling through her veins like the sticky sap of spring. A soaring wind howled through the cracks in the tall windows and a supernatural hum reverberated through the room.

From there, everything became as natural as walking in an open field. Like a cat, she mounted the bed and crawled decisively over the icy living corpse of Charles Drake. As she rested upon the cool skin of his hips, straddling him in a stance of embrace, Bonnie kissed her teeth.

Each hand gripped a tool, each tool a catalyst for the exchange as her mother often liked to call it. The first came up and washed down into her gullet, burning like an old friend stubbing a cigarette out in your throat.

The Jack Daniel’s was sharp and harsh but she made sure to take twelve long gulps, a belch escaping her as she leaned over and washed the other item - the box cutter - with the bourbon, the dark liquid splashing on the floor.

She shook like a broken washing machine as she became engrossed with the thick scar on her left palm. Yet, there was no kicking it off without this most undesirable step. “Fucking craven coward, fucking dickhead, you better appreciate thiiiiiissssss aaagh mssssss!” Her palm flowed with red.

The room was alive with static before, now it was insatiable. The windows rattled, the winds speeding, the thunder outside striking savagely at the earth. The light intensified, sparking in and out as the shadows lengthened and swelled.

A slither of gold began to gleam deep in Bonnie’s veins and then in her skin. The Blood which she drew anchored upon the worst of his wounds: his broken arm, his overstitched chest and his battered legs, his dry forehead and just above the chambers of his still heart. “You deserve this, Charles…” she began to whisper in a voice that was hers and from something far beyond. “This wouldn’t work if you didn’t. All those days you’d come visit me, all the times I’d lick your wounds, wishing I could do more…” The Abyssal light of White, orange and gentle gold began to seep from her skin as she caressed it into him.

There was no ground she did not cover, the light had been directed by the candles on the diagram which began to burn a wrathful gold. There it hovered, suspended, ready to make the connection… she need only….

With her free left hand, as light mingled with the dark and the skies outside roared in protest… Bonnie wrapped her hand around Charlie’s still flaccid cock and began to slowly stroke. “...I can feel it now, all of that darkness tucked so deep inside, You will not die here, Charlie, You will live and show me this wicked world you have cast me into…”

It was slow going, but luckily, slowly - but eventually - eagerly, Bonnie felt his member engorge in her silky palms. A smile escaped her, for she was not entirely confident that he would respond, dead as he was. But Artorias was right, he was still in there and he was still hungry.

The smallest of grateful moans escaped her lips as she teased the head of his pulsing, wanting phallus against her own glistening entrance. There was a spark as their skins touched, his so cold that it burned and hers the loving embrace of the mother and the sister, of the lover.

As she prepared to take him inside, to pleasure him, nurture him, resurrect him - Bonnie leaned down, capturing his face as she began to whisper “...You can’t be dead, handsome one, You cannot be dead, because you have my adoration, and none in this world who feels my warmth may perish. Wake up from your rest, sweet man, you have to wake up… because I love you.”

Arching her back and melting with bliss, the lights gave out and they were plunged into the roaring shadow as she pushed his head into the radiant grasp of her glowing pussy.

And Charles Drake was reborn.