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Bold, quick steps carried the Matron Mother across the private temple, her bare feet whispering against the polished stone. The empty black pews loomed in rigid rows, their lacquered surfaces drinking in the dim light, reflecting it back in dull, distorted glimmers as if they watched, as if they judged. Silent witnesses to her failures. To her House’s failures.

The walls rose high and suffocating, draped in heavy tapestries whose threads shimmered faintly with old enchantments. Scenes of sacrifice played out in woven shadow: daggers poised above bound figures, priestesses bathed in divine ecstasy, blood rendered in glistening crimson thread that seemed almost wet in the flickering gloom. Their stitched eyes followed her passage, unblinking. Bowing her head in deep respect was instinctive, what followed was not. Breathing deep to steel her nerves, the full-bodied Matron stooped low.

Prostrating herself.

Decades of riotous **** at the hands of elder priestesses had taught her mastery over pain, how to wear it, how to hide it, how to transform it into something exquisite.

Not this time.

A gasp tore free, raw and jagged, shattering the suffocating quiet of the chapel. Multiple phantom icicles pierced her volumptious breasts, belly, and anywhere else her skin was pressed against the floor. Her heartbeat, once slow and controlled, thundered wildly, each pulse sending fresh waves of agony crashing through her. Frost bloomed across her skin in intricate, crystalline veins, glittering like shattered diamonds against obsidian.

As the pain ripped through her, she bit down on her lower lip to stifle a scream, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Her voice, strained and ****, clawed its way out her throat, carrying her plea to the Abyss.

“Lolth, hear me!” Her voice clawed its way free, ragged, ****, echoing unnaturally in the vast chamber “O Spider Queen! Mother of Lusts!”

The air shifted.

The bite of cold deepened, coiling across her back, spreading like a living thing. Ice formed and reformed in delicate, glistening patterns, crawling over her like a lover’s cruel touch. Her skin glittered like a thousand diamonds upon a sea of black.

“Lady of Chaos, Mistress of Lies! Hear my plea!” Her throat constricted, invisible pressure tightening like a silken garrote. “Queen of the Demonweb Pits!” Lancing hot pain filled her core as one of the invisible tendrils of power slammed into her tight, ash grey cunt, causing her to slump forward as her legs lost all feeling.

“W-Weaver of… D-… D-Destiny!” The aura of her dark goddess, an ever present if faint feeling, crowded every inch of her being. Raw unbridled divinity seeped into her pores, threatening to destroy the very fabric of her mortal form.

“I… I offer you everything! All of it! A g-grand sacrifice!” The cacophony of a thousand distinct laughs rattled her mind, streams of wet blood poured freely from her pointed ears. “I only ask for… one,” the roaring laughter ceased, “thing…”

Unchecked fury radiated from the idol, permeating the air with vehement hatred. The ice coating her fair face vaporized as blisters started disfiguring her unnaturally alluring face. How dare a pathetic mortal ask a goddess for anything. Ever.

An invisible hand jerked her head up, the crack of bones grinding against one another snapped through the room. The cold, dispassionate gems acting as the statue’s eyes looked through her, straight to her core. Black soul effortlessly snuffed out if her goddess so desired.

Silence reigned.

No pain, no further punishment. Turning to face her palms up towards the idol in supplication, the Matron Mother continued. “Everything,” a thick splatter of red accompanied that breathy word. She reached deep and ignited the only source of energy she had left. Her vitality surged, a dark, blazing current flooding her veins, burning away weakness, devouring hesitation. Abyssal fire coiled through her, hungry and exultant, lending strength to her voice as it rose once more, clearer now, resolute. “My House has never followed all your established traditions and ideals. Yet, you, O Dark Mother, have graciously allowed us to sow chaos in your name.”

The Matron Mother couldn’t help but question her own intentions, even now. Was she truly doing this for the greater good of her House or was there a hidden desire for power and control that drove her actions? Firmly rooting that perfidious thought from her mind the instant it came to her, she focused on the altar before her even as raw divinity squirmed with such ecstasy inside her.

The jet-black idol did not move, but a flicker of amused self-righteousness buffeted the mortal’s mind and body. Her hair fell, splayed across her bare chest as the vice-like grip of her goddess vanished. Ice raced through her blood as another voice, a mortal voice, cut through the temple. Never taking her eyes off the altar, the Matron Mother embraced her fate. Her enemies had chosen to strike while she was at her weakest.

The venomous sting of a whip scourging her back never came. With a start, she realized that melodious timbre was coming from her own throat. Avaricious flickers of divine energy crawled from her heart to her throat as words she had no comprehension of were ripped from her very being. The cackle of Abyssal darkness thrummed in the air as something was invoked.