Brigitte - a troublemaking maid.

The upper level of the dungeon was well lit and accessible to all who dared to explore it but the lower level was a dark and dangerous maze known only to the margrave and his most trusted servants.

It was well past midnight when Christoph von Kaltenbach finally decided to join his guests. He descended the long, spiral staircases – ever deeper into the bowels of his castle – dressed in a heavy, black leather robe with golden facing. The light of the torches, carried by the two black servants accompanying him, barely reached beneath the noble’s large hood and, when it did, it was reflected by the silvery surface of an unadorned, tin-plated, copper mask. Christoph’s leather gauntlets creaked each time he clenched and unclenched his fists. He felt a tingle of excitement. In his numbed existence that feeling was like a sudden flash of lightning in the dead of night.

They were all waiting for him: three dozen men and women; each with his hand-written, special invitation; each robed in black leather and identical masks; each lead here separately and blindfolded. To each other they were anonymous. Thirty six pairs of eyes focused on the margrave, having recognized the one who called himself the Master by the golden edges of his garments. They bowed almost simultaneously and made way, watching from the shadows of their hoods as he strode silently through the throng towards a crude wooden chair. Only after the Master had taken his seat did his guests rise and gather around his ‘throne’. Eighteen people stood on each side, forming a silent, grim crescent. The margrave lifted his hands in a theatrical gesture and clapped twice. Everyone present followed his gaze to the reinforced, oak door on the opposite side of the room.

The shadows flickered on the bare walls and on the lineaments of the silvery masks as the torch-bearing servants formed a large circle in the centre of the room, standing in equal distance from each other, careful not to obscure the guests’ view. The heavy, wooden door opened with a creak that echoed in the dark halls and yet another robed figure entered to join the eerie gathering. Without a doubt the newcomer was a man (no woman could ever be this large) and his robe had silver facing. He was the second in command, the Hierophant. Without uttering a single word, he bowed to the margrave and took a step to the side, making way for his entourage.

Two muscular Negroes emerged from the darkness beyond the oak door, dragging along a thrashing and pleading female captive. A couple of shocked gasps could be heard among the guests for the two men were naked above their waist – apart from the intimidating, executioner masks covering their faces – while the girl they dragged to the centre of the room was in her late teens, fair-skinned, with an athletic build that matched her petite frame well. The pink nipples on her pert, jiggling breasts were erect (probably because of the cold air). Her pubic area was shaved completely and her healthy, young flesh had most of the gathering mesmerized. The girl’s wavy, dark hair was cut short and was in a mess at the moment. Tears were rolling down her rosy cheeks.

“Brigitte” boomed the Hierophant’s voice as his men let the tired girl drop to her knees.

“I’m sorry” Brigitte sobbed, hiding her tear-streaked face in her hands. “I’ll never have another maid do my work, I swear.”

Someone in the gathering didn’t manage to suppress a malicious cackle which made the girl burst into tears.

“Please, please, have mercy, kind sir. Let me go home and you’ll never have to deal with my blunders again.”

She fell face down on the stone floor, groveling and shaking from uncontrollable fear, sensing that her fate was sealed the moment she was brought here.

“Please,” she sniveled “I just want to go home.”

The Master raised his hand again, his open palm facing the girl. He had decided her fate.