Hesitating, she knocked at the enormous double doors exactly three times, just like the woman in red had instructed. Then, she swiped the black keycard on the digital lock and twisted the amber knob.
The woman, standing before the unbolting doors, dressed in a black skirt and crimson sweater, was a writer in her early twenties who had been drawn to the hotel by a rose on the ground.
In the middle of the night, when she was heading home after an editing session with her best friend, she had found it on the road. It brought her up right before the woman in red.
The woman in red explained the reason for her being there, as well as the way out of there, with great seriousness and serenity. But the writer did not believe a single word, until she was reminded of the way she had reached that hotel – in a flash of lightning, and the possible fulfilment of her long-held desire.
No one in this world could make it come true. But that woman, and that minor incident, showed her a fleeting possibility.
So, watching the heavy, gilded doors unbolt, with a heavy, clenched heart and body, she hoped her gamble would pay off.
But how could it come true? How can something so outrageous ever be true, in any world?
The doors fully opened and exposed an enormous conservatory behind, pulling her out of her mind. She was stunned to her feet, her eyes dilated, looking at the large glass walls lined in a circle, and colored green with plants crawling up to them, reaching the globed ceiling.
The sun was beaming right at her face, through the glass. The sweet scent of different plants slips into her senses like a cold snake.
She scoffed with astonishment and smirked at the lottery won. Like always, fear residing in the back of her head and the front seat belonged to the curiosity, which pulled her inside.
The doors bolted behind her, her eyes roaming all over the place; the different colours, height and scents of the plants, and one more peculiar thing.
The bed in the heart of the conservatory, covered in stark white bedding, and a mountain of roses, as someone had just dumped them on it.
Curiosity had caught her now, and even she did not know what she might do next. But one thing remained the most obvious.
Fixing the glasses on her sharp nose, clutching onto her black bag and the rose, she strode in with a clear goal in her head — that enormous bed, where more than twenty people could sleep.
She had never seen a bed of that size.
With each step of her long black boots, her fingers traced the leaves of the plants, and the petals of the flower, her nose taking in the sweet and bitter scent of them all.
Although the bed was large, its height remained the size of normal beds. She traced her palm over the roses, smiling, before she sat near the head of the bed.
The bed was soft as a feather, intriguing her in the weirdest way, and she ran another soft touch over the blanket of the roses, when she saw something peculiar peeking through the roses —white, and tail-like.
Without thinking twice, she ran two fingers on that thin reptile-like thing. It was cold and leathery against her skin, almost as if it had been under a block of ice for ages, wrapped in the skin of an animal.
Then, suddenly, the mountains of the flowers moved like the waves in the centre of the sea, urging her to her feet, a few inches away from the bed, eyes widened yet again, tremor coursing down her spine.
The roses rattled some more, then something popped out of the mountain, which froze her muscles.
"What. The. Fuck?" She breathed with a taut throat.
It was an enormous, white, sleeping serpent.
Its head was five times bigger than hers, its eyes sealed in a tender slumber. It purred with a satisfied smile, head resting closer to the edge of the bed.
Yet, instead of running away, she hesitatingly moved closer to the bed, pressed her knees to the mattress, hands in the air like a scarecrow and inched closer to the sleeping head, hovering over it.
She glanced at his neck, stretching out of the mountain of roses behind, and froze in her spot, cold sweat coating her skin.
She should have run away right then.
She did tell herself to; that she would run away, but after just a touch, she could not leave the place, when finally she had witnessed her imagination, living in the real world.
Clenching her fist back and forth, blinking hard with a clenched jaw, she brought her fingers down to the head of the serpent near her knees and traced its head below a few inches of the back of its neck.
The snake reacted rather tenderly to her touch, leaning and nuzzling against it. Goosebumps scattered all over her body, fear ringing in the back of her head. Leave! Her head screamed, yet she stayed and continued tracing her fingers up and down, at the same distance.
Suddenly, the sleeping eyes of the snake unbolted like the gates of heaven, green, drowsy and majestic, and looked up at her. She was wearing black leggings around her perfect, thick thighs, a tiny black skirt, a red, fluffy sweater, and a messy hair bun over her peanut-sized, beautiful face, secured by a silver bodkin.
He saw her fall on the floor, the bodkin falling off her silky brown hair.
That is when fear took the front seat in her head. Her hands and feet froze on the glass floor, her body turned cold, and her eyes popped out of her skull, watching the serpent rise up so high that she had to crane her neck.
Her hair looked a beautiful mess, enlightening her white skin the night around her mind. He was delighted to finally see her. The serpent had been waiting for her and fell asleep while waiting.
He had many imaginations in his mind; imaginations where she stroked him, kissed him and told him how good he had behaved. But she was on the floor, not on the bed beside him, looking at him like she had seen a ghost.
Suddenly, she got up on her feet, turned to the door, and dashed, losing the rose in her hand.
But as soon as she slightly opened the door, he flapped his long tail, crumbling the mountain behind him and slammed the door shut. He wondered, why did she do that?
It prickled his tender, old heart.
Why would she do that to her fizzy?
He waited for her to come back to him, stroking his head a little more, his tail resting at her foot. But she just stood there, facing the door.
She had made a great mistake going to that place and agreeing to the woman in red. She should have known red means danger. That woman was screaming danger with that fucking dress, lipstick and everything. She should have known!
Why are you just standing there? Fizzy thought, tilting his giant head at her back, the strand of his patience slowly coming loose. Then, when he saw her make no movement, he wrapped his long, icy tail around her slender waist and carefully lifted her to him, on that enormous mattress. He just couldn't wait for his Manasa to come to him anymore.
He lay her in the centre of his circled body, and rounded his head near her face, hissing his tongue out in pure affection as he nuzzled into the curve of her neck, grazing against her chest and abdomen in the process.
He didn't notice the shifting tone of her skin, which had turned paler, or the numbness in her body and brain. She was practically lying dead on his body.
When he received no stroke of affection on his head, he pulled back and hovered near her fragile face, looking straight into her dazed, black eyes under those black-framed glasses.
He stroked her cold face with his tail and hissed in a worried tone, grazing his face against her neck once again, as if waking her up. "Manasa?"
The raspy and heavy voice, hissed out by a giant serpent, pulled her back into her body, her eyes staring at him, "you speak?" She asked, darting her pupils at his relieved and delighted eyes.
He tilted his head, looking into her eyes with a new emotion —confusion, "What?"
The serpent was an exact copy of the character in one of her novels, which she was soon going to publish. This was the idea she wanted to experience so badly that she ended up writing a book on it.
The confusion on the serpent's features reminded her of the things that the woman in red had said, "anything you want, we make it come true."
"Why are you acting like that? I've been waiting for you." He nuzzled back into the curve of her neck, tingling her skin with his scaly skin, "I fell asleep, waiting for you. I'm sorry, Manasa. If that's why you're upset."
So, he was the character from her book who was madly in love with his domme. He was a sweet, tender-hearted serpent from centuries ago, who now lived for his Manasa. A name he'd given to her — goddess of the snakes.
She recalled the devotion and love of the serpent for his master and smirked to herself, like she had won a lottery.
END OF THE PART
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