“Should we wait for midnight?”
“Wouldn’t it be November then? It wouldn’t be a real horror story if you said it on the the first you’d just look the fool. Hey look, this guy’s telling dumb stories three-hundred and sixty four days too early!”
“It’s a lot better than ‘oh he started the ghost story at nine-fifteen ‘cause he wanted to be in bed before it got too late because he was afraid.”
“You tell me I’m afraid again and there’ll be a new story arising from tonight.”
“The vengeful poultry!”
“That’s it, you’re getting a bucket of worms and spiders and whatever else I can dig up dumped on your head while you sleep!”
“I’ll bet every single one of those marshmallows you brought that you won’t step a foot outside camp.”
“I will walk to the store and even if I only get some old fish guts from behind the counter I will get them just for you.”

The two looked at each other over the central hole of the fire pit. They had dug and filled it with spent branches and wood had collected over the last few hours before the sun had set and they had all agreed that it was better if they did not run off into a forest none of them had visited before without torches or someway to keep in contact. None of them were scared, of course why would they admit that, so the reasoning stood to be cautious rather than foolish and bold. After the sun had vanished beneath the thicket of forest, the fire which warmed them had become their only real light source besides a narrow beam from a hand-held torch lost somewhere in someone’s tent. They moved in closer and closer to avoid the growing sphere of darkness which encapsulated all three of them until they could have stabbed at each other with the sticks that had already impaled several dozen sugary treats.

“A long time ago,” began the third speaker, a relatively small dragon with ruby scales who evidently wanted his story out of the way first so he could go to bed before the early morning forest sounds could stir his imagination, “before everything in the world had basically been discovered it was a race to find it all. To stake your claim on parts of the work unseen before by modern eyes would cement your name in history forever. But,” and his voice took on a dark tone, “there is a reason we don’t live there and instead love our houses with lawns and all.

The man in a khaki hat and matching costume hacked through bushes with his machete but made slow progress through undergrowth that was so thick he couldn’t see the ground where he stepped and he stepped in a rush. Behind him by some way were shouts and instructions thrown in a language he had only just discovered just like the rest of this accursed island. Diplomacy had not been an option right from the very start, for as soon as he and his two companions met the natives on the island they had been accosted a few minutes after landing at the beach. Any attempts at gifts or communication was met with outright hostility. After trying to shake a hand, things had turned messy. Had they tried to get back in the boat then it would have been speared and drawn back by the isle’s fishermen, the only option he had was to run from them into their home and try lose them amongst the trees, and he abandoned his partners without a second thought.

He could survive a night in any jungle, he was no survival slouch himself but running water proved difficult to find away from any small settlement and what food he could see was behind fences in clear eye-sight or indistinguishable from what would likely poison him. He did not risk trespassing for assuredly the punishment for being caught with a chicken or pig would be to substitute for them and become the dinner of the island’s natives. What savages, he thought in fear of them. That intrepid spirit of his would not let him stray too far from their boundaries for the interest in documenting them was still burning inside of him.

Night fell and he needed to be extra careful; his noises would be more easily picked up and on one occasion he was sure that one locked eyes with him with a blaze that may or may or not have been reflected in its glassy orbs from the torch it held. But it moved on and joined a gathering cult that was up to superstitious ways, he was sure of it. He took shelter from where he could see into a circular group with a pit dug in the centre. They surrounded it with enough bodies to make three rows deep and more attached on with every second to see some sort of spectacle. He leant closer to them so that some of him protruded from behind the grassy undergrowth but not enough to be too notable. He could see that the pit was practically a dark hole in the ground which stood out even more than the bodies around it which at least reflected some of the moonlight and stars and torches. Then he heard the screaming. Quiet at first, it was, but steadily it grew in volume until it was almost ear-splitting as figures were dragged across the ground to them. This was no fake movie cry but the absolute terror of a person contemplating their demise!

It was his companions! The natives had not killed them but captured them instead and now planned to sacrifice them to some god or spirit of the wilds! How could he just watch from a distance when they were being treated to fierce ropes and brutal ways without at least trying to save them? If he had something like a match or a book they would be distracted from this for just long enough to release them, then they could all escape to the boat and get out of here. He didn’t even make a noise. He watched as they were brought through the ranks to the center and pulled to their knees after being hauled from that nearby village and blasphemous words were chanted over their heads to the amassed throng. He strained his ears to hear the words and missed the gentle rustle of bushes behind him until it was too late to react.

Rough hands grasped beneath his arms and across his face with a grip that would leave marks before they hauled him off the ground and out from his hiding place. He cried and he fought them but whenever a hand would leave him another two would replace it and twist his skin to force him down. The crowd roared their thankfulness to the spiritual another in thanks for additional sacrifices, the more the merrier after all. The rocks beneath his feet and knees cut his clothing to shreds and when he was finally put on his knees next to his companions there was red on his legs and tears in his eyes. One, then the other. A swish of a primitive blade too rough on the eyes to make any clean cut. Their bodies thudded at the bottom of the dark well before he even had a chance to say goodbye. And then he was alone with a blade in front of his throat. Maybe if he stood and fought then something could happen. Not likely, and he’d have to climb out the pit first.”

In the silence after Mark finished, the fire crackled and spat when its logs and timbers were taken by the heat into smouldering ash and it was the only noise they heard. Aspen took a marshmallow into his mouth and chewed on it a few times.
“Morbid.” He said and skewered another one out of the bag which sat next to Ivorine with his poking stick and set the fluffballs to roast.
“It’s the season, sorry was it too bad?” begun Mark in an apology.
“Not nearly bad enough!” Ivorine exclaimed. “It’s physical horror which is where most horror films fall down. Half their budget’s spent on fake blood instead of getting the real parts of it right before that even starts. Big ol’ red bags look dated after the first viewing but,” and he leant forward as though to start his story already or to make a point with his stick that had several crisp ‘mallows on it already with one more in his hand to be poked through, “what’s really important is getting that debate about the condition in. Think, think of a story like an essay,”
“I hate school, this is horror already.” interjected Aspen.
“You bring up a point and then the characters act as arguing points around that theme. Then the side you want to win does and everyone calls it the best book they’ve ever read.”
“Are you a writer or something?”
“No Mark, I am merely a horror connoisseur.” He emphasized his point with a wave of his stuffed stick. “That’s why I chose here above and beyond where Aspen wanted to go.”
“It’s also a valentine’s location.” He admitted, “Warmer than this.”

“You instead focus on things about the spirit like theft and stealery.”
“That’s not a word.”
“That’s besides the point, as a critic I’m allowed to invent words because I know how they work and how to break them.”
“What’s the definition then?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the definition of stealery then?” pressed Aspen.
“I don’t know, I guess it’s a little like burglary.” offered Ivorine. “Can I go on with my story then, only if you’re done with yours, Mark?”
“Use it in a sentence.”
“I just did!” retorted Ivorine.
“Share the sweets before you scoff them all and I’ll let you.” There was a scowl between the red dragon and orange hybrid the which resulted in the bag being tossed over the fire and then being torn into. “Alright, good choice of candy.”
“The minotaur was one of Greece’s most popular legends, said to be half-bull, half-human and stalked an infinite maze beneath the city. While it was there originally as a method of sacrifice to avert wrath or a plague, what it could also do was guard things that no one wanted found, and unimaginable treasure would await those who braved its depths and retrieved it.

Down here the stones themselves were covered in eternal damp. Lack of sunlight and water trickling in streams from level to level of this infernal labyrinth meant the sheen reflected darkness from other passageways and tricked the mind into believing there was a path when there was none. He, alone on his quest and interested in the treasure deep down there, stepped with silence about his toes. The sole inheritance would be all his without a partner to distract him and then falsely claim half his bounty. It was a spot where he had been burned before.

The problem was that all these corridors looked alike; dull, cream-coloured stone with entrances and exits to rooms that held nothing but more wall-mounted torches lit by some unknown means. A waste, an absolute waste they weren’t leading him deeper and deeper. He had not even heard the roars of the beast which trod these hallways and no doubt knew the pathways more accurately than he knew the route in his own home, it was said to be hundreds of years old with the magic of the Gods keeping it eternally hungry and long-lasting. Finding him would be nothing new and perhaps more interesting than the walls, he knew he would think the same if the roles were reversed.

Down. Here the sun had never reached with its tendrils of bright fire and never would even with assistance, and so the only light was that of the flickering torches stapled to the wall by which he navigated. He was effectively blind and he could not help subdue the subcurrent of fear which ran through him from rising to the surface. Sweat trickled across his brow even though the stone beneath his sandals was cold and droplets fell down his chest in a thousand separate races. Somehow his breathing seemed to affect more than it should; an exhale caused a flutter which raced down the hallway and echoed as though it were a hundred times louder. Perhaps it was just his imagination. But the minotaur would hear it if it was not and that only made him breathe faster. It was panting now, like a horse moving from a walk to a trot to a canter as time went on and on. What was the path of the sun above him? Was it morning only a few hours after he had gone in, or was it closing in to dusk and he had lost track of time wandering aimless and vulnerable.

He could never say he felt alone. In the same way that one can feel something just before their fingers close around it an object can be sensed, and in the same way you understand that the object does not disappear if you close your eyes or turn away you can say it still exists. Maybe he had heard it but his mind had put it out of his thoughts. Focus on the treasure, that enticing life-settling amount of gold, keep that in the forefront of your thoughts, he told himself. It must be here somewhere, it must be further down or closer to where the beast lay in wait. There could not be nothing, what would be the point of such a maze otherwise?

Down. Again. There were no torches down here and it was as dark as pitch. Fear rose in him and urged him to turn back away from invisible horror. How would you find something when you can’t even see it? Retreat, the myths were all falsehoods to trap you in here for its meal. His footsteps were nearly silent but with nothing for them to be muffled by they rung out in startlingly long echoes. He clung to the wall and stopped every few seconds to lean down and feel for that pile of gold coins, and each time he expected the clink to pass between his fingers. His breathing was rapid, an in-out in-out cycle which make him almost delirious. There must be no fresh air down here any more and it clogged his lungs. Oh how he wished to see the light and feel fresh air upon his face. There! His heart jumped. A flicker of amber in the darkness. He followed it, walked straight to the discs of gold with a smile on his face and happiness in his heart. The minotaur feasted.

“You got good towards the end otherwise I feel you’ve got a thing for describing architecture.” mused Mark.
“You can’t just jump straight into the horror,” Ivorine refuted, “you need some sort of build-up or else it’s just jumpscares!”
“I love jumpscares.” Aspen goaded and caught a fish on his hook.
“You, get lost! They’re one of the worst things out there, no tension, no spark, no creativity just a loud noise and something startling! That’s not horror that’s just cheap! Cheap! I can think of a hundred different things right now that scare me more, actually scare me instead of make me jump. Horror is all about knowing what’s going to happen but not knowing when.” Ivorine caught the fact he had been had far too late and let out an exasperated sigh when Aspen fell off his stool onto his back from laughter which had been building behind his hand.
“You’ll fall for anything.” He said from the padded down grass and lifted himself back up after it was obvious neither of them were capable or willing to help him.
“You think your story will be better, Aspen?” asked Mark who did not look entirely comfortable sitting there. He kept looking past the trees which surely only spooked him out further.
“Hang on, hang on, talk about mine a little!”

“You want to discuss your story Mr. Horror Critic? Like it’s a real movie or such?”
“Yeah yeah, talk about my themes and how they worked.” Ivorine almost begged.
“So, my story is more about the mental side of horror, there’s no real history happening here and,”
“Hold on a second! Don’t just change track on me like that!” But he had already forged on, and Ivorine was forced to return to his bag of marshmallows and after that a rattly plastic bag that he shook during Aspen’s story in a failed attempt to distract him.
“The setting and scenario don’t make all that much sense, I mean you wouldn’t be awake or even alive when they did this to you. But the imagination doesn’t care much for ‘what ifs’,” he continued, “in fact that’s its favourite topic, that’s where it’s truly unrestrained.” If there was a later he would smile at that little joke.

Can you imagine being alone yet surrounded? Being so close to someone that could physically reach out and touch them but some force prevents you from doing so? This was a nightmare I had once that still doesn’t sit right with me. I must have fallen asleep one night after coming home late and the Ancient Civilisations documentary was not enough to keep me awake. When my eyes did open it was to the pressure of my body feeling like it was caving in on itself.
“Third person.”
“Huh?”
“These things are in third person.”
His body felt as though it was being squeezed from all directions at the same time by something far more powerful than himself. His eyes flashed open and his jaw was set to drop in a loud cry of pain which he would have followed with an accusatory statement at a roommate, yet instead he found himself upon a stone plinth perhaps three feet tall and long enough to rest his whole body on with space for his ears and hooves. No cry came forth from him and only a small sound was heard, that of a weak whimpering grunt. He rocked from side to side to perhaps fall from his granite bed but as with his mouth there was no response from his body. An empty room shaped like a pyramid with its cap straightened off was all he could see through his eyes as they were the only thing which obeyed his commands. After looking down he found why.

His body was wrapped from head to hoof in so much linen that the shape of him resembled more of a rough formation than anything detailed much like a sculptor’s first pass. He could not see his arms folded across his chest yet he knew they were there beneath the fabric which was so tight against him that breathing was ragged and force had to be used to inhale anything more than a mouthful. It seemed to stretch too and as he inhaled it fit to him better than before until it was a losing battle heading in the direction of mere woven fibers. Panic set in as his bonds seemed to winch around him to hold his legs together and then around his neck until he had seemingly lost oxygen with which to fight with.

On the instant that he slumped back and tried to regain his breath there was movement ‘above’ him. His eyes flicked to it and figures paraded in a mournful march to either side of him. Four flanked him, two per side, and two more took positions by his head and hooves. They brought with them a sarcophagus so intricately detailed that it would have taken him the rest of his life to understand it all. It was opened next to him. His eyes bolted wide open as understanding dawned and his struggle begun almost the moment that it had faded. He was choked by the bondage which clung to him closer than air and could not stop their hands from reaching out to him. Four held him, one more pushed at his hooves and they worked together to feed him inside with care. He fought with the last vestiges of strength he possessed but the manipulation was beyond him and he disappeared first into the narrow coffin.

It was cramped, it must have been the wrong one, far too small as the sides pushed against him as he was nestled inside with external cries for help rendered into muffles sounds that his bearers did not listen to or perhaps ignored. He kicked, he swore, he wailed, but all power has its limits. The lid was another piece of solid granite and slid over the top with such a deep grinding that it must have weighed a ton, certainly all of them were needed to move it and they showed much more effort than they had with him. His ears filled with the scraping of stone and then a thud as it settled. Then all was dark and still. Air would fade soon enough and his consciousness with it. Just how long until it was over. Forever?

His listeners shivered. No cool breeze had wafted in from any direction and the fire had kept their extremities warm even if they had not been in thick socks. In the dark of the forest with flickering shadows distorting everything’s appearance their imagination ran wild and unchecked and what that tree could be was a hundred different things depending on how its bark wrinkled and catch patches of darkness.
“You make me not want to get into a sleeping bag.” mused Mark.
“It’ll be the last thing ever get into, wooo, scaaaary.” Aspen waved his hands as if casting some cheap incantation.
“Was not.” said Ivorine and dismissed it as easily as he dismissed a scrap of plastic which was torn from the next bag of marshmallows.
“You’ll get sick if you eat too many.”
“Who are you, my mom?” He stuck two in his mouth without even bothering to put them in the fire. The next few sentences were thus muffled. “A little twist on being buried alive and you even had the creepy cultists come in at the end so it’s not bad but you missed out the part where the guy was being mummified; I wanted to hear about the organ removal and then the bandages before you got going anywhere else.”
“Here, you have my stomach as well.” said Aspen.
“Can I have your pillows too? I forgot mine.”
“We’ll switch tents, mine’s far too small.”

“Speaking of tents,” interrupted Mark, “I’ll head to mine and then to bed.”
“Lightweight.” muttered Ivorine.
“I had to get up at five this morning because I have one of those things called a job!” He retorted. “I’m sleepy enough as is and if I hear any more stories then I won’t be able to get any rest!” He stood, said his goodnights, and disappeared into his tent. “And don’t you mumble about me, it’s so quiet I can still hear what you’re saying!”
“I said you own a cat!” Aspen called back.
“Are you challenging me, horse?” asked Ivorine who had crossed his arms and was looking particularly smug.
“A horror off? I wish I could say I’ll bring my best.”
“I think what you think of as the best is nothing but the most overripe tripe. C-tier! D-tier! It wouldn’t even be released on VHS.” They laughed and distributed a few more marshmallows between them, two-to-five. For a moment they were silent and merely listened. Far from the city limits and an hour from a small town there was none of the usual noise to greet them. Just the rustling of leaves overhead as a small gust of wind pushed the branches aside, a distant noise of a bird, and the crackling fire at their feet. This was nice. Ivorine could see why people chose to live away from the constant din of cars and horns and trains. He felt like he could breathe.

“Do you want to start?” He asked Aspen.
“I just went, you go first.”
“Alright, prepare yourself for the tale of the Lone Camper.”
“But but but, bathroom break.” Aspen spoke up before Ivorine could begin with a story that was most likely invented up on the spot, he stood from his little chair. He yawned and stretched, “when I’m back you’re going down, give me a sec.” He strolled away far enough that just a part of his body was visible against the noir shades of the forest as dancing shades of orange. Plastic crinkled, fire crackled, and horse tinkled.
“Catch!” called Ivorine as he flung a slightly molten marshmallow with decent accuracy across the dark distance. It splattered across the back of Aspen’s shirt as he was zipping up.
“Ahh, what the hell!” He reached behind him to touch the gooey mess.
“The trees are attacking, we’re in danger!” Ivorine laughed out. He would not lose this battle of fear to Aspen of all horses. Never missing a chance to show off Aspen slid his fingers beneath the lip of his shirt and practically tore it off in a single motion. The cool air breezed past him and he wished now that he had not been so hasty but this was a challenge and one that he would not lose. Any faults here would be a disadvantage later on.

Ivorine saw Aspen turn with that incessantly smug expression on his face as he would no doubt return to the campfire without a word just to infuriate his attempt at popping the bubble. It would, of course, turn it back on Ivorine himself. But it would be the last time that he would be gotten the better of. He noticed then that Aspen was not looking at him any more, and not in a sense of him glancing from side to side as if small things caught his attention which might have even been more damning, but instead he seemed to stare past him and had stopped in his tracks.
“You’re not going to get me with the oldest trick in the book, y’know?” dismissed Ivorine and he reached for another marshmallow only to find the bag empty. Drat, he thought, wasted the last one. It was when he heard a scream that Ivorine’s eyes shot back up. Yes, there was the horse with that same expression but he seemed to have disappeared like a magic trick; his legs were not visible and as Ivorine looked with curiosity the torso up to the chest vanished as well.
“What’s going on? Help!” cried Aspen as he toppled with added weight. No, he had not disappeared but something had instead blocked off parts of his body from sight. Now that it had been noticed it did not need to hide any longer. A trail of bone-white faded into view and started at whatever was around his neck and continued down in loops like a drop of ivory paint. Every few inches it branched out in a perpendicular line which tapered to a rounded point and seemed to curve around the shape of a cylinder. Streak after streak appeared out of nothing before it and seemed to continue on into the trees behind him.

He turned to follow where it went. The darkness of the forest swallowed up its path but he could still see the rough direction and he also understood in an instinctive way what exactly it was. For a while his mind was unable to truly comprehend it and the mere idea contested against his understanding. It couldn’t be that large, he thought and he was, of course, wrong. Though the trees had blocked it and his poor night vision had made anything more than a few feet from the edge of their campsite dropped into utter darkness Ivorine had figured it out. He felt the breath in his throat seize up and the pulse of his heart shift into double time. A sensation of instant panic settled in similar to the slow approach of deadlines at work when time is not kind, sweat would have trickled down the back of his neck if anything with scales biologically could. He trembled in the heat of the fire’s reach and although he wanted to stop himself from turning as though it could undo the reveal, momentum had took him far and his head could not send the information to his neck quick enough to stop. His violet pellets met the blazing amber globes of the monster.

“Help me!” cried out Aspen one last time as the tail had entirely encircled his lower body to the point of complete obscurity. His waist and chest were next to be taken into its hold with that ivory strip as the reminder that it was covering him in several loops that were evidently enough to engulf him. The monster stabilised him upright and he believed it was helping him for the shortest of moments, yet when it drew him across the ground towards its head he lost all hope for that. Both he and Ivorine saw its face at the same moment when the light which flickered from their camp caught beneath the jaw and the advancing wave of bone-white illuminated the skull. Were it not for the eyes, those eyes, then Ivorine would have sworn it was entirely skeletal. Well perhaps not, for Aspen was surely entangled with more than bone and the monster was looking directly at him with a tactile, blazing sensation. Its head was as long as he was down to his knees or, instead, up to his shoulders and perhaps the width of his arms outstretched to the elbows. It was not something he wished to test in person. The light also caught the black body which the fire reflected against between the pattern, though Ivorine was not looking at that any longer.

The thud of the gigantic serpent’s body across the tent which Mark had disappeared into, a sizably large impact enough to break the plastic struts with a cracking boom, should have made him immediately step back into his own tent. That would have meant breaking eye-contact.
“Mark!” Aspen cried out just before a coil of scale and muscle nestled around his throat and winched it shut to silence him with immediate and efficient results. His entire body was lost in the swirl of the snake until he was reduced to a head complete with bulging eyes and roaring mouth devoid of sound in a hold tight enough to threaten basic functions. Ivorine was not sure what help he could have honestly been as there was nothing in either tent which he could think of that would have been any assistance to them right now. Typical things like bear-spray would not work on something that had eyes like that, nor would anything in his backpack help their case of self-defense. A thought struck him out of the gold, what if it was just a wild animal and attacking it or screaming was just angering it? Yes, that seemed about right. Serpents did not usually fear direct eyesight and so if he kept looking then it would see that he posed no threat to it.

Aspen was hauled from where he had been first caught all the way towards its head. Up close it seemed even more stupendously sized than before and it could have been his perspective beneath it or it could have simply been that more poured in like a waterfall from behind the coils to secure the wrapping around him and continued long past the point where he was immobilised. Besides the loops constricting his body, two lengths trailed down in the same way a knuckle sits next to a clenched fist on either side of him, which would mean that he would need to push that away in addition to the rest, as the serpent had positioned its neck across the back of his head to force his throat against its topmost coil.
“Relax, horsey, it’s not here to harm us.” Ivorine said in a calm tone that was typically reserved for scratching behind a sleeping dog’s ear. Aspen and the serpent watched from almost the same spot as he stepped forward with what seemed to be a fading sense of fear. Not once did he even look across to see the straining expression positioned just beside from where his eyes never seemed to stray.

In Ivorine’s head he was still afraid of the snake. Yet as he continued to stare he found he was not as terrified of its particularly inviting eyes as the rest of it and in that moment realised that he was a stag standing in the middle of the road as the twin golden beams raked over him. The gaze was intimidating and unsettled him deep down in his bones. He shuddered. To escape that stare became a primary goal in his life that swept over him and became as important as the innate reaction to keep his head above water. But where could he run to from here? Back to the car and drive away with his companions left behind to the town to get help? Run through the forest towards a river or perhaps a cliff where it could not chase him. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. A voice thrummed through his head with the resonance and bass of a plucked bridge cable. He did not hear it directly through his ears but instead through his body as if the ground was a subwoofer.

You cannot run. The words wrote themselves on his ideals. Natural reactions rose and brought his muscles up to speed to let him dart away when it was required. He took a step. A slow invasion began to take hold in his head that turned instinctual behaviours against their owner; terror began to be turned down from its peak until the fear was no more than a buzz in his ear as a shadow of its former self, curiosity grew inverse to that and spawned thoughts and responses that he would never had thought himself indulging in. Somehow it had managed to open his memories up to see through them and what his traitorous thoughts had offered up was both a lens and newfound awe.

What Ivorine adored about horror movies was the creativity that went into designing and creating monsters that only had to look real after editing and skilled puppeteers had done their magic but here was a practical marvel. There was nothing piloting this and certainly no controls that he could see which directed it to capture his campmate and practically flatten another. Not even programming could do that. And what eyes it had been gifted with as once again he was taken back by how large they were. Dazzling, enveloping, they were each like a sun and since both were pointed right at him, he exhaled with heavy emphasis, was it the campfire that was blazing beside him? He could not sweat but he was internally assured that he was going to burn up if he stood beneath that gaze for too much longer. Ivorine needed out and he thought to turn his head away, but his neck was locked stock straight at the serpent when he tried.

“Do you see?” thrummed the serpent in private tone and public volume to the wheezing equine. “Forget the writhing for a time, save the strength - watch, as he seals himself to me~” Its tail-tip drew up the side of his head like a finger with the width of his forearm and possessed infinite more flexibility, before it settled above his brow with a trail between his eyes and down over his muzzle there to rest idle. The coils ensured he was looking forward at the scene as it played out before him. Ivorine had taken his comfortable hoodie off and seemed visibly more at ease for a fraction of a moment. "I dislike feeling under-dressed... and I assure you - it will be best for you to have as little as possible on, as well~".”
“What are you going to do to us?” whimpered Aspen as the muscular coils rendered him helpless.
“Keep watching.” It answered.

Ivorine believed it was impossible. After undressing he felt even warmer than before and that swelling sensation in his chest had not diminished. He exhaled again over the course of a few seconds and on top of that his head swam with pressure. Those eyes never blinked as they gazed right at him, and Ivorine believed that it could be nothing other than those amber globes that was causing this. He needed somewhere to go where he could not be seen yet he had been told he could not run with eternal pursuit becoming an eternal destiny. Where then can I escape to? Yes, that... that would be it.

His trousers came off next and last in a move that Ivorine would not have even done on a dare if either of them had asked him beforehand. His orange scales were close to the colour and warmth of the campfire with patches of grey hair on his head, chest, and groin with the latter continuing down a tail that was as long as he was tall and always kept out of trouble. There was only one place where those powerful eyes cannot see me. Ivorine stepped again and found himself within arms reach of the serpent’s tremendous head. He was looked down at along the dark-orange snout with prominent ivory highlights, which together created the jaw-dropping appearance of a skeletal snake.

Closer would lead to further. Aspen watched with stunned eyes as Ivorine neither stepped back or showed any signs of fear when the monstrous snake’s maw opened directly in front of his features. In fact, the expression on his face was more along the lines of happiness. Ivorine had won against the heat and the eyes for no longer did his body feel as though it was being immolated and the heavy pressure to keep up gazes had also dissipated the instant its maw had opened. But the damage had been done to him already; his ability to recognise danger was insignificant in the wake of the power which had been flowing throughout the air to him. Its tongue, which flowed like a river and was coloured like ink, spooled around his neck and anchored him in place. It did not use any of its body to bring him forward at least not of the outside, not yet.

Aspen had been standing upright for the most part, though not by his own will, but as the serpent lowered jaws which could have dwarfed the span of his arms he began to sink down to the grassy floor beneath and the coils of sheer muscle ceased only to constrict him though the serpent did not miss the opportunity to winch with progressively tighter bands of flexing muscle around him. Spots appeared in his vision from the lack of oxygen reaching his brain via lungs that could not expand. As such he did not see Ivorine’s last moments in the flesh, but more ivory appeared next to him.

The orange scales were damp and reflected the glow of the campfire with a shimmer like the refractions off a midday puddle. It was not sweat, and Ivorine had not doused himself in water to break the spell, but instead the snake was tasting him. Its tongue had practically bathed him as it scored along the line of his chin and then down his chest. Where it painted across him a trail of glossy saliva stayed to trace its path across his body and in a manner of seconds the single path was joined by a second and a third and a fourth until the balance of wet and dry shifted to favour the former. He exhaled once more. Around his face was the salmon shaded maw of the voracious predator now he had moved past those golden eyes, and any direction in which he wanted to look was the same except for directly ahead. Further. Ivorine lifted himself onto his tiptoes as the mouth moved down his body until his head was funneled by the slick surface towards the entrance to the throat and the long internal dark where muscles would ferry food down with slow, deliberate pace. The snake exhaled and closed its maw around him. Ivorine’s world became dark and wet as the top and lower palette pressed together with a wet squish that had become musical to his ears.

He was pulled off his feet and lifted to a horizontal, elevated, position. The momentum slid him forward and Ivorine collided with the narrow entrance but did not enter just yet. His body still needed more tasting and resulted in the tongue sliding up and around his legs which were the only parts still exposed to the cool air. The heat of the mouth poured through him with the same throb and ache but a completely different burn than before. It was welcome this time. He invited it to engulf him, entirely and once the head tilted back and the throat opened, he was swallowed whole. From the wide space of the entire forest and the comfort of the fireplace to the narrow and weighty flesh which now surrounded him, Ivorine never felt so relaxed. It helped that the muscles were taking him deeper and deeper with each second that passed and with each new inch progressively controlling his movement with added efficiency until he was practically statuesque. His toes with dim purple claws on each one disappeared into the clenching depths of the snake’s throat and the jaws closed as an added obstacle if any on the outside were trying to retrieve him.

Aspen would have screamed one again from the sight that was approaching him from inside the serpent’s body had its tremendous strength not inflicted an all-encompassing crush to stop him from breathing with predatory efficiency. He could not even shift his leg or move his arm as the pressure sealed him inside a cocoon of flexing muscle. There were layers to its hold on him that would have made extraction nigh on impossible; two or more restraining lengths which looked wider across than Aspen’s shoulders, were pressed against the tall stack of scales and the capacious neck was perched above and behind his head. Once he began to slip down to the ground it became more than strength as the sheer weight of several coils were draped over him. They creaked as they held their next meal. Aspen believed that its neck would now move to smother his face and choke him out to make consumption that much easier, but that thought disappeared from his head and his mouth opened to cry out as a bone-white shape worked its way down the body and right over his eyes.

It was Ivorine! It had to be his body being pressed down the throat’s interior towards a far-off stomach. The snake was so large that he would usually have only made a small extruded shape in its body but something that it had done showed Aspen the skeleton as it was swallowed with near-deafening gulps. Aspen flinched as he noticed it and tried to pull his head away from the skull which descended in slow lunges towards him. He was prevented from even turning away as its coils restrained any sense of movement. In fact, the opposite happened to what he wanted; he was pushed and pulled closer until his face distorted from the shape of the first meal. Eyeless sockets stared back at him through the throat, muscle, and scales of the serpent and despite his terror Aspen could not look away. It was like looking forward in time since there was no doubt now in his mind that this would happen to him as well, it would happen to anyone who was found.
“I shan’t need to hold back as much... with you, do I?” whispered the serpent into his other ear. Aspen tensed immediately and was rewarded for his obvious reaction with another round of severe pressure.