The Feeding

The Feeding: Complete

When Jameson found consciousness, the smells of food greeted his nose. The scents permeated the
room, wrapping around him, and stimulated his appetite until his mouth began to water. He never saw
such an assortment of food before. Meats, cakes, and breads... everything he could possibly dream of
was piled right in front of him.

He turned around, sparing a fleeting and not-so-entirely-interested gaze at the burgundy curtains,
the diamond chandelier, and the mahogany furniture. Portraits lined the walls depicting scenes of
ballroom dancing, lovers walking amidst rose gardens, and mythological beings. A wall sconce marked each interval between the portraits, the candles casting a halo of warm light on the stone walls.

Although exceptionally beautiful, these things paled in comparison to the feast.

He shifted in his seat, and it made a rickety creak. The smells seized his nose, forcing their way
through, going straight to his head. His stomach growled in protest, and a spell of dizziness stirred
through him.

He vaguely remembered being seduced by a mysterious woman in a nightclub, but that thought
led to a dead end. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here.

All he could think about was how wonderful the food looked. Surely nobody would miss just one
piece. He extended a hand, feeling a rush of excitement go through him, and before he could think, snatched a roll and shoved it into his mouth. It was delicious. Just as he was about to grab for another, a noise startled him, making him quickly withdraw.

An ominous creak cleaved through the heavy silence, and he found his limbs nearly tingling in
anticipation. The large door swung open, letting in shadows.

Half a dozen people came through.

Their movements were lithe and dance-like. They seemed to exude grace the moment their feet brushed the ground. It was almost as if, beneath their swaying skirts and robes, their feet weren't touching at all, as if they were merely floating about.

Jameson leaned toward them, peering closer.

Their appearance clashed against the room's opulence. They were towering in height. Their hair was unkempt and their clothes severely worn. The raggedy material seemed to hang from bare bone, like they hadn't eaten in months. Jameson was baffled. Here was this bountiful meal, and yet these people were malnourished.

Those issues didn't distract from their incredible grace. He got a closer look as they drew near, and noticed that their faces were simply breathtaking. It was as if their complexions had been sculpted from
marble. They were so smooth and pristine. Even the half-moons under their eyes didn't steal away from
their beauty.

Without so much as a word, they each took a seat at the table, folding their hands onto their laps. A
dank smell hit the young man's nose, and it wrinkled in repulsion. Unperturbed, the crowd remained

silent and unmoving. He sat centered between a man and a woman. Turning to the woman, he tried his
best at a smile despite the growing perplexity.

Her hair was russet, frizzy, and tangled. She had prominent cheekbones, and a pointed chin. Her
eyes were lowered, eyelashes pointing down. He never saw such long lashes before. With each blink
they hit her skin like the beating of butterfly wings against a white flower.

"Excuse me, miss." His voice surfaced with a crack.

She glanced up, greeting him with large, black eyes. The shade burned out of her pallid
complexion, demanding that all attention be pulled to them. He struggled to speak.