Into the crypt

You may as well commit utterly to the abbey. Besides, risking crossing the town so close to sunrise is simply stupid. You adjust your captive on your back and skitter down the side of the building. No doubt you would appear a strange sight had any looked at the wall, but such a possibility is negligible, and soon you find yourself on the abbey grounds. A wall separates it from the rest of the community, the area filled with lush trees blooming with life. And amid all this, the stone house of the entrance to the catacombs.

You move quickly through the grasses and to the sepulchral door. Images of skulls and ancient grey stone bar the way, but are quickly dealt with as you push on the door. Surprisingly it gives way, the stone moving stiffly, but your strength easily moves it aside. You move down the steps, shoving the entrance closed behind you. Darkness engulfs you.

Such a thing does not particularly impede you. A soft glow seems to surround you giving you some command of your location. A hero’s trait, you hear, useful if one forgets to bring a torch when dungeon diving, and an attribute your mother evidently passed on to you. You chitter in amusement and delve deep into the tomb.

Stone stairs make way for ancient passages. The road is narrow to your large form, and you frequently brush alcoves where corpses lie, arms crossed in eternal sleep. You ignore these, taking a greater interest in the webs which cling to corners and bestrew the ceiling with gossamer threads like a fog. There are torches down here as well, always lit, flickering shadows in skulls tossed carelessly on the floor, shining on your golden fur, though by the dust on the floor no one comes down here to light them. Curious, but only another aspect of the zone you suspect.

You travel deep, deeper than you thought such a small abbey would have use of, until the cold of the earth and sepulchral stone has you grow wary. Now and then you cross paths with side chambers, mostly filled with sarcophagi and clay urns layered in dust. In the end, you choose one of these to make your nest.

The chamber you choose is spacious indeed. There isn’t a sarcophagus, but rather a single large slab in the middle of the circular room. The alcoves carved in the walls sport not bodies, but stoppered jars. This is perhaps a room where they once prepared the bodies, but looking around, you doubt they do much of that anymore. It will do. You take your victim from your back and place her on the slab to not impede you, and begin to spin your web. You work diligently, festooning the walls with your thick threads, surrounding the room in a thick cocoon of whiteness.

Finally, you are satisfied. It took hours, but the room is now covered in webs like a true layer should be. Now all that’s left is to decorate them. Greedily you return to your victim and undo her bindings. Your webs fall away from her naked form like a shroud revealing her feminine figure in all her glory. You shiver in pleasure and brush her ample hips and narrowing thighs before grasping her and bring her to the wall. You shackle her with more thread to the greater web, tying her wrists and ankles spread eagle on the wall. Her head slumps forward, her hair cascading over her pendulous breasts, nipples erect in the chill air.

You step back, mandibles rubbing against each other hungrily. She’s yours now. To do with what you please. You prepare to wake her, but before you do, you notice the journal you had brought lying on the slab. You consider this thoughtfully.