The High Priestess

BY : Knorg
Category: Fairy Tales, Fables, Folklore, Legends, and Myth > Myths
Dragon prints: 64
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

The High Priestess
By Knorg

Description: A brief tale of how a vampire earned the enmity of Apollo in the days of old.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Story Codes: COMPLETE FF MCD MiCD Oneshot Violence

Author's Note: This was written in late 2003/early 2004 and has had some minor amendments but is left mostly as rough as it was.


Centuries ago, Hellas enjoyed a golden age. It was a land of wonders and warriors, monsters and mysteries, heroes and gods. The great cities varied between states of peace and war, fighting to honour the Gods and themselves. Hellas, a generation before the fleet sailed for Troy, when the tales of Hercules were first spreading across the city-states. There stood in those days in the city of Thebes, where Oedipus would later rule, a fine temple of Apollo.  

The sun was hanging at its highest in the sky when the stranger came to the temple. She was dressed well; the style of her clothes and her body – especially her fine blonde hair - marked her as a foreigner. The exceptionally tall priest Thyroidedes, who had travelled widely in his youth, thought he recognised something of the barbarian tribes who lived far beyond Hellas’ northern wilds in the woman, who now paused at the bottom of the steps into the temple.

“What do want, stranger? Do you come to offer sacrifice to great Apollo? Or seek our hospitality, perhaps?”

Insects buzzed in the deserted street, few ventured out at mid-day if they could avoid it. The stranger said nothing as she climbed the steps; it was only close to the old priest that she spoke,

"I seek the High Priestess. I have come to end her family line.”

The old man’s eyes grew wide as the stranger spoke her heavily accented Theban.

“You dare…!”

The stranger reached out casually, gently, and broke the old man’s neck with a single hand. Without relaxing her grip, she pulled his corpse into the temple’s cool dark sanctum.

The sun was dropping as the High Priestess Photine returned from her other duties of tending a family shrine to Morpheus; a task her mother had once, before the old lady’s death, told her mattered more than all her duties before Apollo himself. There were still few people in the street and she took the nods of respect to her status as her due. She climbed the steps into the great temple of Apollo and entered the building.

She was faced with carnage. Old Thyroidedes’ broken body lay across the sacrificial altar, a slick puddle of blood surrounded the torn apart bodies of the junior priestesses and handmaidens. Photine fought back the urge to vomit as the stench of spilled blood flooded her nostrils, and she turned to run into the street.

“Oh no, my pretty. Your mother’s mother hid you from me well, but now I shall take my vengeance upon you for the time crimes of your ancestors.”

Photine backed away, further into the temple. The stranger came forward, smiling sharp canine teeth at the sickened, terrified priestess.

“You… you have defiled the temple of Apollo! The sun god strike you down, the mighty power of the sun will burn the skin from your bones, your suffering…”

“MY SUFFERING? Since your ancestral witch killed my child, all I’ve done is suffer. MY CHILD! Not of my blood, but MINE! To each of your line I’ve allowed a child, then brought rightful, vengeful death to the parent until your grandmother… Enough. You shall have no child. Your line will end here. Now. I care not for your Gods – I am a true immortal.”

Photine searched for inner strength, reaching deep into her mind for her courage, her power. It seemed to her that she heard a voice,

‘She has made an enemy of the Sun for all her people. Drive her into its light and she will perish. My daughter, become my hero as Perseus is to my sister.

The stranger tore at Photine’s dress, dropping it to the floor. The High Priestess stood naked. Photine felt the stranger’s lips upon her neck and then pricking teeth. A cold hand pressed against her breast, just holding her in place, and suddenly the High Priestess was inspired. Photine was of above average beauty with fine olive skin, black hair as fine as a Goddess’s and firm, shapely form, it was true, but her greatest asset was ever her mind.

“Wait… please… I have one thing to ask of you...”

The stranger broke off, Photine’s blood about her mouth, and whispered in the High Prestess’s ear, “And why, why should I wait?”

Photine gently caressed the stranger’s breasts through her clothes, timidly and without experience. She kissed clumsily at the woman’s bloody lower lip as the stranger regarded her quizzically, “because… because you’re beautiful. You have shown me the lie in Apollo’s power in defiling his temple without retribution. Please… let me repay my ancestor’s crimes in life, not death… let me…”

Photine kissed the murdering stranger more forcefully and felt her heart leap as the kiss was returned. All she needed was a chance to run into the street. As if wilting in the stranger’s arms she near-fell, and twisted around until the door was again at her back. Blood trickled down her shoulder as she hugged the murderous woman to her, ‘regaining her footing’. She felt a cold hand rub down her stomach and squeeze between her legs. The High Priestess reflexively closed her thighs on the hand, and then released their grip. Gave the cold fingers room. She pushed her hands up between their bodies, widened their gap, to caress the stranger’s breasts through her garment with greater ease.  

The stranger’s fingers stroked Photine’s virgin womanhood as their kiss slowly broke. The High Priestess continued to fondle back with inexperienced hands as the stranger closed her eyes and sighed, softly, “I wonder… should… should I let you live?” The stranger’s only touch on Photine was the hand upon her crotch, the street door entirely to the High Priestess’s back.  

“If I do… I will have whored myself for my child’s memory… for…”

But naked Photine was already running, away and into the street. A sharp tug as a few hairs remained behind in the stranger’s hand. Screamed rage tore the air the stranger followed her, changing to sudden, urgent pain as the sun’s rays bathed the killer. Photine looked over her shoulder to see fire engulf the woman. A loose stone on the uneven road tripped Photine, and she landed naked upon the hard ground. Turning painfully, ash settled over her. The woman was gone.

Photine wept.

The End
On behalf of 15 years ago me, I very much appreciate any reviews given on this old work. I do not have a forum account under this old pen name, so thank you in advance for your time.

This one started as a dream. I still remember waking up and feeling as if ashes were settling over me. I'm many things in my dreams.

Citation: "The High Priestess" is a card of a Tarot deck.



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