Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. <!--ADULTSONLY--> title: Yes, Donora author: Dusty_Grey keywords: FF, nosex "...don't you think?" "Yes, Donora." I hadn't really been paying attention to what she had said. My answer would have been the same, no matter what. 'yes, Donora' this, 'yes, Donora' that, whatever she said, I was vowed to agree with the Donora, the lady of the house. 'Yes, Donora'. My tongue burned to say something else, just once, to speak 'no, Donora'. "You're quite quiet today, Gett." "Yes, Donora." She laughed, the delighted laugh of someone who has been surprised by a joke. "Help me with these sleeves, Gett." She sat at her toilet, the large mirror reflecting her perfect beauty back at her, not showing the faintest of wrinkles I saw at the corners of her black-lined eyes, the tiny creases around the red stained lips. Her black hair hung with only a few obvious strands of silver showing through the neatly combed and arranged lengths. And her sole servant next to her, plain and pale, with horrid nut-brown hair and the presence of a flickering ghost. "Yes, Donora." Ivory lace, layered upon itself and shaped into ruffles, made up the flounces at the top of the black velvet sleeves. The gown was gathered along the central crease, and cut low in the front. It was nearly scandalous, a dress like that on any other woman her age. But the Donora, who had kept her luscious shape even through bearing several children for the Donar's bloodline, managed this dress. Perhaps not so well in another couple of years; but now, she was still striking, her waist and round hips sensuous in the very dress she wore twenty years ago when she had first laid eyes on the Donar. He was having a party tonight, their anniversary. I would attend, of course, silent as a shadow, unobtrusive and present only to keep the Donora satisfied with wine, with food. Anything to keep her pleased and sated. She was to be kept calm, quiet, lulled into complacency, by order of the Donar. I hated them both for that. Later that night, after the party, found him gasping and flopping atop her, her quiet murmurs of encouragement for his benefit only. I knew she was not satisfied with him, never had been. The string of lovers she had had while carrying his children was more than enough proof. The Donar knew of them, but said not a word to stop her. The bloodline of his children was not in question. I waited until they had finished, and he murmured private words into the pink shell of her ear before leaving for his own quarters. They had not shared a bed for longer than necessary in the last fifteen years of their marriage. The dissatisfaction was not one-sided. He would return, I was certain, to the private pool of eunuchs in his own rooms. The Donora would be left alone in her rooms. Alone, but for me. "Gett, are you there?" Her voice was distracted. He had said something that troubled her. "Yes, Donora." She would want a hand to hold, perhaps a foot massage. Perhaps her hair stroked and petted, her scalp rubbed with a soft touch. Anything to help distract her for the moment, enough to let her slip away from the thoughts that troubled her and haunted her dreams. I was there when she woke from them, crying. I was the one who calmed her. "Will you come to me, Gett?" I stretched from the lounge I sat on in the adjoining closet. "Yes, Donora." She lit the lantern as I entered, something she typically asked me to do. Her hair was disheveled, her lips nearly bruised. There was a wild, betrayed look in her eyes. I burned to know. I dared not ask, and break my vows. "Would you like to hear a story, Gett?" "Yes, Donora." "Once there was a girl who had all the silly dreams of silly little girls. She played in the square with the other girls, pretending to be the prettiest, the sweetest, the meekest, all for the attention of the Donar's handsome son. And one day, the Donar's handsome son came by the square, and watched. But it was in secret, no one knew who he truly was. And he watched the silly girls play their silly games, and decided that the one who was best would be his bride. And when they both came of age, it was so, for he was the Donar's son, and no one dared refuse him." I had heard this story before, countless times. She was the promised child-bride, married to the Donar's son only a few short years before the old Donar was killed in a war. "Do you know why the girl won?" She put her finger to my lips, the first time she had stopped me from speaking. "You do not know, Getthesa, do not speak your words. I will tell you, and after, you may say what you need to. "The girl who won at being the sweetest and meekest did it only from jealousy. She was possessed of a terrible secret, and it ate at her from inside. She was jealous of the Donar's son, jealous that the other girls wanted to be with him." She fixed me with her terrible gaze, wild and haunted and half-mad from loneliness and years of dissatisfaction. "She wanted to be the Donar's son, desired by the other girls, beloved by all and refused by no one. She wanted the other girls to compete for her attention, she wanted to woo them and give them gifts. Flowers in spring, ribbons in winter, beautiful dresses for the ball, and to steal kisses from them in hallways in exchange. "But then the Donar's son chose her. And the sweet, silly girls she had counted as her dearest friends all turned on her, in jealousy and hatred, and never spoke to her again. And when the Donar's son took her to live in his high, lonely castle, she was allowed only one servant." Her eyes burned into mine, red-rimmed now, unshed tears thick at the edges. "And that one single servant, granted to her by the Donar, was avowed to say only two words." My throat burned, and I could no longer meet her eyes, mine had closed in shame and sadness for her story. "Yes, Donora." It came out broken as a toad's croak. "Years passed, and the young girl turned into a woman and a mother, many times over. She took her revenge where she could, taking lovers that would anger the Donar, but only when she was assured that no children would come of the union. And all the while, her secret stayed safe and buried within her heart." "Yes, Donora." Why now? What had the Donar told her? How long had she known why I was there? Her fingers touched my chin briefly, pulled my face up. I opened my eyes, or tried to, but guilty tears made them cloud shut once again. "But what the Donar never knew was how the girl felt in her heart. How she still feels." She leaned forward then, and for one mad, dark moment, I was certain she would kiss me. Before I could speak, her eyes narrowed, her tone silencing me. "Is there any time at all under which you say any other words? Choose your tone carefully." How long had she known? I was to report to the Donar any lovers she had, so he could keep track of them, of the potential pollution of his bloodline. But the Donora had been careful. "Yes, Donora." For the first time, I prayed that she heard the meaning in it, that she would hear the yes as it was. Then the terrible realization came that if she wanted, she could have me annihilated for my treachery. Surely the Donar would not care, he could find another servant to take my place. With a shudder, I realized she had removed her fingers from me, and I felt lost. "There was only ever one other person who knew any of the others. Surely, you should have realized, Gett." Should have, indeed. I was a fool. "Yes, Donora." "All of the others who have come to see me have been killed. The Donar sent them to war. That was what he told me tonight. I am not young as I wish I were, and the eyes I catch are not to my advantage or preference. "I will ask you one thing more, Gett. And I want you to consider this offer very carefully. "Getting another servant would be an inconvenience to us both. My inconvenience would be far less than yours, however, you would no longer be inconvenienced by anything. But I do not mean that as a threat, only a simple statement of fact." "Yes, Donora." She was absolutely right. "The Donar only cares about soiling his bloodline. Anything else does not occur to him." The irony of that was not lost upon me. "Yes, Donora." She gripped my chin, hard enough to pull my face directly to hers. I could feel her breath across my lips. Tonight was the first time she had touched me directly since I started serving her twenty years ago, and my entire being was focused on the sensation. "Is there anything you would refuse me, Gett?" Her eyes searched mine, pleading and resolute and wild. I was suddenly all too aware of her nakedness beneath the sheet I knelt upon, how close our bodies were, that I was leaned awkwardly over her, and all she needed to do to change this was pull, or push, and I would tumble into whatever direction she wished. I closed my eyes, feeling her fingers and breath on my face. "No, Donora." She pulled me forward.