Discover more from TullipR - Detrans Man
A fable of Gender Affirmation
The Necromancer is one who specialises in death. He’s driven by long deceased ideas, resurrected and repackaged as rebirth. His rituals hold no grace, nor beauty, nor is there any delight in the outcomes, aside from his own sadistic self-satisfaction.
His pursuit for power is marinated in a deep selfishness, driving an iron will of self-preservation that should not be underestimated. Whatever it takes, no matter the cost, just so long as he does not pay the price himself.
A group of lost stragglers wonder in the cold, dark forest, until they see a flickering light in the distance. Unbeknown to them; it’s the Necromancers Lair, and he knew long before they did, that they were coming.
They’ve been wondering for some time now, aimlessly, and just as they were mere inches from giving in to the darkness of the forest, the warm glittering light of the lair catches their eye just in time, almost as if fate ordained it.
“A light in the distance. Finally, Hope!” One of them cries, rallying the group to press forward, quickening the lost stragglers former lethargic pace.
As they approach the welcoming light in the distance, the darkened forest becomes muted, fading into the background with only the warm orange light occupying their gaze.
Before them is a large open doorway, revealing a fire pit as the culprit of the light source. The group stand frozen for a moment, pondering their potential salvation. They’re no longer concerned about the bitter cold air of the dark forest.
None of them say a word; they just stand, staring into the fire pit. The aura of warmth, permits them to release their arms from shielding their bodies, slowly reinstating their natural posture.
The radiance of light, aided by the wide-open doorway, welcomes the lost stragglers. Leaving their inhibitions by the door, they step inside without hesitation, nor question.
The roaring flames danced uncontrollably. It looked as if they were going to explode in ferocity, yet instead, the display gave life to otherwise lifeless objects in the room, whose shadows had now joined in on the dance.
Wet, cold and damp, the stragglers began to feel the benefit of the newly found warmth, as they dried themselves at the foot of the fire.
Unnoticed, standing just out of sight, an angelic outline of a tall figure is adjacent to the dancing flames. Facing the group, no one can see his face, aside from occasional tells from the firepit, which wildly adjusts the rooms lighting at an almost predictable tempo.
A noticeable smile is present on the tall dark figures face. The other new arrivals are preoccupied from warming themselves, though one of the stragglers becomes transfixed on the smile of the tall dark figure. Upon further examination, the smile appears to be more of a gleeful grin, like a predator about to pounce on his prey.
“Please sit, refresh yourselves.”
The first words spoken by the mysterious figure are welcoming. As he speaks, he gradually extends his right arm outwards, but only just slightly. The motion draws the attention of the group to a large table, as if it appeared from thin air. Laid out in a spectacularly inviting fashion, the table was filled with cooked foods, fruit and even deserts.
The reflections of the dancing flames, could clearly be seen in the now widened eyes of the stragglers, as their starved bodies ponder the feast upon them.
“Please…sit. Eat as much as you can.”
Continuing in the soft welcoming tone, the dark figure reasserts his offering.
All but one of the stragglers take a seat without hesitation, sparing no time in decimating the buffet that lay freely before them. One slightly younger group member, overwhelmed by the feast begins to laugh in uncontrollable glee, and suddenly stops himself as he realises that all but one of the stragglers hasn’t joined the table.
“What are you doing! Come on, theres enough for everyone!”
The dark figure say’s nothing, he doesn’t have to. He watches the once-defiant outlier’s shoulders drop, alongside their gut instincts, telling them something is wrong, to get out.
But they don’t, instead, they finally take their seat at the table.
After watching for some moments, the dark figure joins the group, claiming a seat at the head of the table, moving tactfully as to not fully reveal his face in the ambient light, only giving away the pupils of his eyes that scan the room carefully.
Slowly, he observes each member of the group, who are now picking at all parts of the feast in sheer hunger, as if it were about to disappear before their very eyes. At this moment, whilst standing up to signify an upcoming announcment, he breaks his silence with a new offering to the group, whom are all largely focused on consuming the feast.
“Your journey has been long, and not without significant struggle. How tired you must be.”
The roars of his low voice offered an unspoken assurance of authority.
“But you should know, it doesn’t have to be this way, you could feast forever. Be warm forever….Live, forever…
I can give that to you.
Pausing his offering for a brief moment, the group also stop to listen, with only an occasional pop or crackle from the fire pit that assured everyone, that time was still moving.
All it would cost, is a mere pound of flesh, nothing more….Trust me, you shan’t regret it”
The confidence in his pitch, enchants the stragglers. His word’s rang true with each of them, even the most defiant of the group. Yes, they have been wondering in the dark forest for so long, and yes, their struggle has been cumbersome.
One of them stands up, still chewing whilst wiping their mouth, which was now stained from the varieties of foods from the table.
Not before letting on one final gulp, do they nod at the dark figure, following the direction of the dark figures motioned arm, which is leading him towards the other end of the room.
The tall dark figure, chaperoning the first straggler, moved in an way that seemed as if he floated, with no elevation in his walk whatsoever. Hidden by line of sight, the first volunteer and the tall dark figure are now stood at the foot of a large decorative wooden door.
Upon examining the intricate details of the wooden door, the first volunteer is overcome with an unusual sense of familiarity at its demonic theme.
Before they had a chance to process the feeling, without mechanical influence, the door opened on it’s own, revealing a bright luminous green tone from the other side in a perfect strip of light. The thick door had been muting the now loud sounds of clattering machinery from the other room. Pipes whistled and pistons marched. Beacons bubbled, and tubes of different coloured liquids mixed in a seemingly rehearsed fashion. Despite opening lethargically slow, the thick heavy door quickly slams shut, producing an echo that even the group on the other side heard.
As the stragglers find themselves full from the freely available feast, they lost how much time had passed since their friend had left with the tall dark figure, not before the familiar voice fills the room in a single reverberance.
Holding the wooden door open with one arm, obscured by the light behind him, the first volunteer slowly walks under the archway created by the dark figures arm.
The pace of the first volunteers movements were notably lethargic, like an animal that had been wounded in a fight. Reclaiming their former seat at the table, carefully moving as to not inflict any more pain on the fresh wound, a small whimper is mustered from their lip as they catch themselves on the table.
The younger member of the group, who laughed at the feast earlier, was one of the few smiling at the returning volunteer, without giving any credence to the clear discomfort of his friend.
With an eager smile on his face, he spares no time for the first volunteer before asking;
“Well? How do you feel? Do you still feel hunger? Do you feel lost?”
The returning straggler’s eyes are heavy, locked on the half eaten plate he had left behind. Unconvincingly, they lift their head and force a smile, and simply say nothing.
But this doesn't discourage any of them. For they have all been sold on the promises of the dark figure
“A pound of flesh. Nothing more.”
The tall dark figure repeats himself from the shadow, offering much needed reassurance to those who still remained at the table in hesitation. One by one, they do as the first, and return after a brief… painless procedure.
After all is said in done, the varieties of food on the table no longer seems appealing, with each of them staring down at half eaten plates. The fire pit, which had originally provided much needed warmth, had now laced the room in an uncomfortable humidity.
In the same fashion from which they entered the warmth of the lair, they all leave, taking separate routes back into the long dark of the forest.
Years have passed. The stragglers are no longer the group they once were. Some have succumb to their grief, others to their anger, and some wonder aimlessly still, but all remain lost.
Encumbered by the crushing weight of self-blame, most find it difficult to move forward. Yet there’s always one, always one who hesitates, and one who remains defiant. Still wounded, yet determined and confident that not all the blame is his, he makes his way back to the Lair.
As he approaches, the unforgettable familiarity of the flickering flame, fills him with a dread he would rather forget. He’s terrified where his own anger will take him, but he presses on still and takes small cautious steps through the doorway of the lair.
A familiar resonating hum emits from the machinery inside the now wide opened wooden door. Inside, haphazardly laid with pipes and tubes leading to a single source, scream and bellow as the tall dark figure is about to start another procedure. The apparatus are now in full swing, with colliding brass and iron making up the ambience of the noisy room.
The tall, dark figure is hunched over a large thick bed of metal, with restraints clearly designed to keep arms and legs in place. The straggler says nothing, and watches as the figure turns, in an uncomfortably slow fashion, pausing his actions.
Noticing the returning straggler, the dark figure turns carefully, neatly placing a scalpel on the small table next to him, whilst gently correcting it as to align with the other rusted blades laid out in perfect symmetry. At that moment, the bustling of iron and brass come to a drastic halt. The light of the room takes on an almost ungodly, deathly green tone.
The dark figure cackles.
Now, he has what he needs, he doesn’t care if the straggler see his true form.
Stunned by the reveal, the straggler defaults to self blame. How could he be so blind? How could he not see the tall dark figure for what he was before?
“You chose to enter my lair.
You gave your flesh willingly.
You demanded it.”
The echo’s of the Necromancers voice reverberate with a sense of familiar authority, that has now taken on a more dread like tone. His words wrapping the brave stragglers thoughts, like vines, overtaking the original meaning, playing on repeat, like a spell, casting doubt and self-blame once more.
With no opportunity granted to process the betrayal, the necromancer spares no time in instructing the straggler, in an almost frustrated tone.
Do not return.”
The straggler begins to feel as small as an ant, overcome by the truth of the harsh words of the necromancer.
He did choose to enter the lair after all, and he did volunteer his flesh and even demanded that the stranger, he barely knew, take it from him. Who was he to confront anyone, he thought.
After a short pause, the Necromancer turns his back on the straggler, as he does so he picks up the scalpel from the table aside to him, continuing on with his work whilst the machinery restarts in perfect synchronisation.
The straggler leaves unsatisfied.
Alone, he roams the dark cold forest, only this time, he’s no longer concerned about being lost, nor does he shields his body from the blistering cold.
Only now, he’s cautious of any more flickering flames that may catch his eye, in the long dark forest.