It was the contest no maiden on the island wanted to win, but no-one really
wanted to lose. They said it was a great honour. They said only the purest,
most beautiful, most innocent was chosen. Each year, one virgin maiden.
year, one young woman sent forth to the ceremony. And yet, it was
each year one maiden who did not return. The boys would joke and laugh
gory speculation over what happened to the honoured virgin. The young
would try to barter safety and protection for a quick fuck, for only virgins
were accepted for the ceremony.
Frost fair, she enters the darkened chamber. A low altar, surmounted by a
cloth of blood red, is the only feature in the stygian darkness. Her head is
light from the fumes which hang heavy in the air of the chamber. She
feels the ropes being tied around her body, confining her lest she try to
break and run. Hers is the honour, the victory in this year's contest. To
the victor, the prize... but is the prize to be death?
Her head swimming from the drugged air, she struggles helplessly, a band
tape preventing her even calling for help. Though there is no-one in the
chamber to hear her cry... when the ceremony reaches its climax there will
be screams, and the people of the island prefer not to be reminded what
of pact they have made. Still innocent, the virginal maiden has no inkling
of what her victory will cost her. Nor of the life she will lead when the
creature comes to claim her.