Braydz/TheLadysChamber

The Lady dreamed.
She dreamed of a cluster of people bathed in satin candlelight. Piles of naked flesh, shaking and undulating with moaning, sighing, and wetter sounds, and the Lady lay at the center of all attentions. Then the crimson sheets turned to royal blue, and the pile was merely a couple. The light was brighter, sharper, and he was taking her roughly from behind. The Lady was filled with anxiety, not because she was being taken against her will, but because... because of something. Just as quickly though the scene fragmented and melted back to the subdued light and sounds of the orgy, but just for a moment because the man with short brown hair and rich brown skin returned, grunting as he took his paler, black-haired lover. The blue had been made black in places by their sweat, and her heart raced not from pleasure, but because she remembered this place. She needed to remember this place. She must. Where am I? Why do I know this? Why do I KNOW-
Her need was cut short by another dream. She stood on an obsidian precipice before a roiling black storm, the winds pulling at her long jet hair and the edges of her sheer black robe, left open, exposing her slender ivory form. The storm spoke to her, its voice full of malice beyond that of its substance. "Do you think that I do not know what you do? You can hide nothing from me."
"I attempt to hide nothing from you. I am merely searching for the answers you will not give me!" The Lady's voice took the tone of a thrice scorned lover as she railed against the Storm.
"YOU DEFY ME!!"
"You have forsaken ME!!"
The wind suddenly gripped the Lady's throat and lifted her off her feet, choking her 'til red spots danced in the boiling black clouds before her. "Remember that you are nothing without me, little girl. Remember it well."
She choked out, "I remember, Master."
The wind dropped the Lady. As she landed on the precipice she sat up in her bed, finally awake. She hugged her knees in the death-shroud light allowed by the black lace canopy of her bed, breathing deeply to calm herself (a habit she could not quit herself of), and thought. She muttered to herself with a conviction not found in any slave, "More than ever do I remember, 'master.'"