eBay orror-Hay

Here's this week's horror blog-a-thon story--go to Gatochy's for more info and Mariana's story.

It was a scent unlike any other. It bloomed on the skin, and went through a series of changes, depending on the mood of the wearer. It started somewhat spicy, with a hint of jasmine, ripening into a musky sandalwood, unless the wearer grew bored or vexed- then, it took on a hypnotic aroma—so powerful that anyone within a few inches of the wearer was powerless against them. This had come in handy for Rehzeenah, the favorite courtesan of a powerful but stupid Emperor.
Rehzeenah owed it all to her pet perfumer/sorcerer, the mysterious and handsome Ali. Many a night, she had entertained the young magician in her chambers, while the emperor slept off the effects of one of his potions. But feelings may change as quickly as fashion or politics, so when the Emperor began to curry favour with the infidels from Europe, with their meek sacrificed god, Rehzeenah said nothing to prevent her handsome lover’s public execution. He was to be burned at the stake—a popular fashion among the Europeans. They had been persecuting all suspected of dabbling in the art of magic, and expected any potential allies to follow suit.
Ali knew he had no real hold over Rehzeenah. Her heart was as cold as a desert night, so no amount of begging would move her to help him. He only asked for one last, brief audience with her.
She met him in his cell some hours before daybreak, disguised as a servant. Her doomed lover gazed on her with a mix of sorrow and something else. With a courtly flourish, he produced a small, exquisite vial from his robe. The vial had been carved from a deep green emerald, the stopper was a deep red ruby.
“Take this, and remember me always. I only ask that you wait until I am gone before you wear it—I could not bear the combined beauty of your face and this, my sweetest, most magical perfume.”
Rehzeenah was like a greedy child with a tray of pastries. She couldn’t believe her fortune---a bottle of such beauty and power!

She considered her promise to wait, but what was a promise to a dead man? She resolved to wear the perfume to the execution, happily anticipating the expression Ali would no doubt wear when he caught the scent of his parting gift over the stench of the smoke.
As dawn grew near, she rose and began her morning regime. She applied her paints, dressed in her brightest silks, and at last, she dabbed a touch of the perfume behind each ear and between her breasts.
The scent was a heavenly blend of amber, patchouli, and musk, with just a hint of something citrus like. She inhaled deeply, and smiled with pleasure. Her eyes became glazed for a moment, and when they cleared to their usual limpid-pool like state, there was a new expression—colder, more cunning.
The walk down to the public square was like a dream. She felt as though her limbs were being controlled by a puppeteer. The Emperor smiled fondly in her direction as she took her place at his side, along with the European priests.
Ali, chained to a cedar felled for the occasion, stared hard and unflinching into the face of his former lover. As the executioner approached with a torch, Rehzeenah’s hand moved of it’s own accord toward the Emperor’s ceremonial dagger, as ever sashed at his side. Like a sleepwalker, she watched as her arm raised the weapon high, and plunged it into the Emperor’s throat. Again and again, the blood stained dagger sought warmth in the flesh of ruler and cleric alike, until only she was left, watching the flames consume the doomed magician. She never saw the blade of the king’s body guard as it sought to separate her head and body.
Being high born, she was entombed with her possessions, rather than being left for the street dogs to scavenge. The emerald and ruby bottle lay in her tomb for several centuries, until a later, less pious age dawned, and her tomb was plundered for its treasure.
The emerald bottle was eventually auctioned to a rich industrialist, who gave it to his young second wife. She had born the brunt of his first wife’s anger, and he wanted to reward her, as well as to endear himself to her, as many of his more humiliating peccadilloes had been exposed to her by his angry ex.
You would never believe what damage an anorexic blonde can do with a butter knife and a pair of lobster tongs. Not pretty.
But you can bid on the crime scene photos on my eBay site. I’ll even include a photo of the bottle. I photographed it before I put it up for auction.

Horror-o-thon Fun---thanks to Gatochy's

Mariana is sponsoring a writing exercise. Join in, and flex your horror-writing muscles!!
Go to Gatochy's for more details!
Day 1
....... and downstairs is my private bar. I got everything off eBay--it was some kind of estate sale. See that painting? When you position it just so, it looks like a mirror--see? Everything on the bar is there in the painting! How cool is that? Now, lets have a drink, and go check out the new pool..........

Day 3
........because I really need to know more about this lot I bought from you........yes, the bar.......oh, it's all quite lovely, and in great shape for the age it all is..........it's the painting I'm wondering about---it kinda spooks me out a little...........no, nothing's happened.....why? Yes, I understand---I'll call back later........

Day 5
.........really not funny. Where the hell is the blender? I put it right there on the bar, and now it's nowhere to be seen! A brand new blender, gone! I may be rich, damnit, but I don't think I should be expected to replace appliances the day after I purchase them! Who the hell took the blender! I'll sack the lot of you if it is not returned immediately! What!? Right over there? Where?...........that's not the blender....that's in the painting..........

Day 6
.....no, seriously! Someone is fucking with my head! They stole my blender, and painted its image, exactly as I left it, in the mirror painting! I appreciate talent, damn it, but this is just weird and annoying! Hire extra security, and put a camera in the bar. I'm going to get to the bottom of this........

Day 7
..........and now the security camera is gone off the wall, and there is a painting of it, just like with the blender! Some damn prankster is not only stealing my things, but they are defacing an antique painting! I tell you, I'll spend the night sleeping on the bar if that's what it takes to catch this little punk............

The next month
.........and finally on the block, originally part of an antique bar owned by occultist and author Aleister Crowley, this painting of the bar, with the figure of a very surprized and distressed looking gentleman laying on the bar............