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A woman returns home to confront the demons of her past.

The show was impromptu, but I gathered had been performed for past queens. The beauty of immortal beings was practice and experience, and tonight those talents would be on prime display. I knew from my readings other queens had also enjoyed watching sexual acts, but in my mind who didn't? However, I had earned a reputation as a voyeur, which could only help me. Partly based in truth, embellishing it would surely be the best path to convincing witches I was as debauched as them. Still, I preferred private, small amusements, but if sitting through grand spectacles let me blend in, I would suffer.
The lights dimmed, music flowed from speakers, and a hush stole over the crowd. The spirit of Caligula was riding high as the curtain rose.

What was on stage was a forerunner of Cirque du Soleil, if Satan had directed it. Wolves writhed in acrobatic feats, almost naked in the barest of costumes as they twisted and turned. All the while various witches narrated, standing on stage right, reading off the introduction that explained the show.

Apparently every elaborate orgy would be telling a story. The first one was supposed to be the famous battle featured in 300, the most unusual take on the Battle of Thermopylae. However, it was a different kind of sword used and the Spartans were played by male wolves, the Persians were female. As an expert on history I found it more distasteful than erotic as the armies clashed, and it took everything I had not to remind my nearly ancient lovers what a disservice it was to the truth.

"Relax," Andre whispered into my ear, making me jump. "The battle is just an excuse for the show, there are more than a few people in this room that were alive at the time and know the truth."

Hell, could he still read my mind? Have you ever done one of these shows when you were forced to stay with Alessandra? I thought at him, but there was no reply or recognition in his expression. Pierre reached over and turned my face back to the stage.

As the "battle" ended and it became a sloppily unscripted orgy of flowing body parts and cries of pleasure, I felt my mood lighten. I could not deny on the dark stage seeing those bodies of every color writhing turned me on. The theater was red and gold, the witches in attendance were still dressed to the nines in jewel tones, and that strange framing reminded me of why we were there, and my emotions became a roiling mix. Almost all the witches had donated most if not all their pack to the entertainment. I fumed at that even as it thrilled me, but once more my pack assured me it was voluntary work.

Once I would have understood. Once in my younger days I had hungered for flesh with nearly unquenchable need, but I had outgrown that. At some point as I aged it had occurred to me I was trying to fill the hole in my soul by stuffing the holes in my body. Hence becoming a statue, because statues didn't have such base cravings.

Now I had love, and it seemed to fill that hole. Oh, with my three wolves I still had variety and as much sexual attention as I assumed any one woman could want, but there was love. It shamed me to be so aroused by what I saw, but my men seemed to understand. It seemed I was always to be victim of my base nature, and perhaps that had to do with my lineage and what I was as much as who I was. Still, love and kinky sex...if it weren't for the world around us and all the drama evolving, I would assume I was the happiest woman alive.

I came back to myself surrounded by sighs of pleasure from all around us in the audience.

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