Post by account_disabled on Dec 24, 2023 6:21:15 GMT
The wood was of the best, carved to create a pattern of leaves and flowers, and the brass finishes embellished it. The coffin he had built was a waste of a corpse, he thought. He didn't want to sell it. Even the interior lining, lined with satin, was a jewel. Silk pillows would have welcomed the remains of the Marquis De Fabi... filthy rotting flesh that would have outraged his masterpiece! In the silence of the study that night, he caressed the wood, following the inlays with his fingers, as if wanting to imprint them in his mind.
The massive lid was divided in two, with hinges that would have allowed the coffin to be kept semi-open, for the final farewell in the funeral home. Once closed, he would seal its macabre contents forever. He could not accept that work rotting in a pit together with the satiated worms of the marquis's decomposed limbs. He could not allow a lifeless body to lie in that soft Special Data embrace that he had created, that its stench of death would pollute the scent of the fabrics used. The marquis would not have had a new coffin, the man thought with conviction, he would not have been the first to enjoy that treasure.
The creator had the first touch, a sort of ius primae noctis that not even a nobleman could escape. So he placed himself inside, closing the lower half of the lid. Below him she felt the softness welcoming him, kissing her body. It was a tribute to the coffin to feel those sensations. She lay down, also closing the second half, to enjoy the darkness of death. When he tried to open it, he couldn't. He struggled in vain. No one heard him scream, nor heard the muffled blows from the upholstery. He was buried in that same coffin a week later.
The massive lid was divided in two, with hinges that would have allowed the coffin to be kept semi-open, for the final farewell in the funeral home. Once closed, he would seal its macabre contents forever. He could not accept that work rotting in a pit together with the satiated worms of the marquis's decomposed limbs. He could not allow a lifeless body to lie in that soft Special Data embrace that he had created, that its stench of death would pollute the scent of the fabrics used. The marquis would not have had a new coffin, the man thought with conviction, he would not have been the first to enjoy that treasure.
The creator had the first touch, a sort of ius primae noctis that not even a nobleman could escape. So he placed himself inside, closing the lower half of the lid. Below him she felt the softness welcoming him, kissing her body. It was a tribute to the coffin to feel those sensations. She lay down, also closing the second half, to enjoy the darkness of death. When he tried to open it, he couldn't. He struggled in vain. No one heard him scream, nor heard the muffled blows from the upholstery. He was buried in that same coffin a week later.