“The Passion of Her Sleep” in Uchronia: An Anthology of Alternate Histories & Alternate Worlds

A woman encounters an ethereal beauty at a peculiar gala.

A Poe-inspired f/f love story, eerie, erotic, and sweet…

Madeline grips Ashtophet’s hand and aches like she is torn in two where she stands.

But in the ache, she feels ready. Almost. She knows what she desires, knows that it is not forbidden. The room full of embraces encourages her without noticing her. Ashtophet desires—her arm slides now around Madeline’s waist—and not only will Madeline forbid her nothing, her heart pounds with eagerness to give her anything, everything.

Her vision is a blur of bare skin. Marked. Glistening. Wet with the nectar of arousal, with saliva, tears, sweat. The burning perfume is overcome by a tang of metallic sweetness and salt. Drops descend from brows and shoulders, flung from the tips of hair.

Falling, it looks like rain.

And, having fallen, it is blood.

It stains the purple velvet crimson. Incongruously, Madeline is reminded of an empress’s words—Purple makes the finest shroud.

“Ashtophet—”

Their hands find and grip each other—pale and deep brown, clammy with sudden fear, but so far unmarked by the crimson drops.

A lull falls across the room, then digs a deeper silence. The lovers stop moving, stop touching, and only look at each other.