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The Lovecraft Affair |
Disclaimer
This is a work of amature fiction, no contravention of copyright is intended and no profit is made from this endeavour.
Ariadne's shriek of outrage did not go unheard. Almost immediately, there
was a thunderous hammering at her chamber door before the barrier flew
open with a bang. "My Lady!" one of the obsequious retinue implored.
"What ails thee? We heard you cry out!"
Ariadne's eyes blazed with malificent fire. "I did no such thing! And how
dare you enter my chambers without my leave!? Get out!"
"But, Mistress--"
"GET OUT!!!!!!"
The confused retinue chose discretion as the better part of valor -they
got out. Ariadne's ample bosom heaved with laboured breaths as the
last of her toadies made their escape, the door slamming behind them.
Plan...she had to plan. That which she served did not forgive failure
...especially in those that owed it the most. She rubbed the pale, pink
mark where her wedding ring had been, eyes widening as she was
suddenly aware of the roughness of the skin there. She spread her
hands before her.
No...
Ariadne leapt before the ornate mirror that dominated the room.
No... Amongst her lustrous tresses was the first sign of her
punishment -a strand of grey that had not been there moments
ago...that and the subtle tightening of the supple skin of her
hands. "NO!" she shrieked to the empty air. "I need time! You
promised me *time*!"
"You have time," came the mocking, seemingly sourceless reply.
"But not as long. Remember that."
"NO!!!!!!!!"
********************
Elsewhere, another cry echoed Ariadne's scream of fear and
outrage. "Mmmm..." Illya felt like a pampered cat; contented,
comfortable, and warm. "Mmm...much nicer than an electric
blanket," he observed sleepily.
"I should hope so, my Illyusha," Napoleon replied a trifle
smugly, wrapping himself all the more completely around the
slighter form. Illya snuggled closer and despite the horror of
past while, was soon asleep. Napoleon sighed -like this,
his lethal Russian was so vulnerable, so helpless. How could
he hope to protect him was their enemy was so great? A whim
tickled at the back of the senior agent's mind and he slipped
off his pinkie ring, hesitating only a moment before he placed
it where that damnable wedding ring had been.
Yes. That felt right. It *was* right.
Napoleon cuddled closer, sleep calling to him as well even
though another thought nagged at him. This sweet interlude
would not last. They had to plan.
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This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit. |