Taurus & Scorpio: A Short Story
Others will keep feeding the beast if the beast continues to feast – a reflection on the cyclical nature of narcissistic abuse.
Taurus paces up and down the corridor at the centre of his labyrinth. The maze is his entire universe and this dilapidated tunnel is at the core of it. He spends most of his days here. It almost feels like home, with the stacks of bones along the crumbling walls and the letters and symbols he has carved into the concrete floor. The space is dimly lit by a single torch, which just about reveals his face as he sits in his Corner of Contemplation and ruminates on his past.
He has a strong, furry brow and a large flat nose with a ring made from heavy steel. In the dim light, the subtle curve of horns emerges from his temples, hinting at his untamed ancestry. His eyes are narrow and have turned a watery green during his time inside the prison, which doesn’t receive any natural light. He stands up and sighs, the air bursting from his flared nostrils. His square jaw tenses and the fur in the back of his neck stands up. Something is afoot.
When they sent his tribute of seven young males and seven young females, he only devoured a total of thirteen souls. One young female still remains somewhere deep in the maze. He is unsure how long she has been here with him, invisible yet distinctively present and more silent than the mice. Days and nights are unimportant down here, but it feels like a long time. She may have perished by now. Though he thought he heard her giggle recently, but that would be bizarre and likely a dream.
When he first laid eyes on her, she looked at him scared, with big eyes the colour of tar. When he grabbed her by the shoulders, he noticed a twinkle appear in the blackness of her irises. She was different from the others. She lacked that sickly-sweet scent of fear. Her presence had made the corridor smell of the wildflower meadows he had faint memories of. His mother was there, though he couldn't remember her face.
He held the young female, only to let go of her confused. Her flesh felt firm yet cold, like an animal corpse left to the elements. Still, she felt very much alive, coursing with energy which he felt pulsating in his palms. For a while, they stood opposite each other in the torch lit corridor. She said she found him beautiful, after which he growled and stormed off.
She stirred something deep within him. He retreated to his Corner, accompanied by the drip-drip sounds of the leaky ceiling. The heavy lump of bitterness that sat in his throat softened. He no longer felt the need to constantly scrape at it. His mind was surprisingly quiet. He contemplated his future for the first time.
He continues pacing, brooding, trying not to think about her long black hair. Suddenly, the air changes and the corridor feels less oppressive. The sound of his heavy footsteps is interrupted by a voice, remarkably low for a girl. It carries a soothing quality that puts him on edge.
‘Why did they put you in this labyrinth?’ she asks.
This is the first time she makes a sound. They speak in different languages but somehow her words make sense.
‘Because he – because they – hate me,’ he says unsure of why he’s engaging in conversation with his food. It been a while since he ate the thirteenth offering and the hunger within him is growing.
She looks at him blankly with her intense eyes. Her eyelashes and eyebrows are light, barely existent. Taurus now sees that she has fine lines around the outer corners. A few strands of grey shimmer in the flickering light. She stands there, observing him, and it makes him feel uncomfortable.
She notices his thick fur gets thinner towards his broad shoulders, revealing his smooth boy skin underneath. She’s drawn to his chest, which is covered in scars and welts, some of which are infected. In this life, he has been stabbed, whipped and shot at, which makes him beautiful to her. She steps forward and softly places her hands on his upper arms, unfazed by him towering over her, and pulls him towards her. Towards the light.
‘Because you’re a monster?’ she asks, examining his face.
He feels exposed, like she is judging him or trying to read his mind. It makes him uneasy that she takes in his appearance, her expression unmoving. She smiles and reveals large white teeth. He hasn’t seen a smile in some time and it feels like a kick to the chest. He turns around and retreats to the shadows of his Corner of Contemplation.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘I have come to you so you can eat me.’
She removes the plain linen robe they dressed her in. It’s a dirty beige, not the crisp white they make the virgins wear. They haven’t adorned her with flowers or a head dress as embellishments would have been wasted on someone like her.
‘I’m ready,’ she says resolutely, brushing her straight hair behind her shoulders. He notices how small her frame is, vulnerable. The roundness of her pelvis challenges his hardened self-image. In the dim corridor, a light seems to emanate from the girl, who turns out to be a woman. The glow is as pale and icy as her skin.
‘Please,’ she says and closes her eyes.
The beast steps from out of the shadows ready to pounce. She stands there motionless and shining, serene and accepting of her fate. Then she opens her eyes just as Taurus grabs her by the hair.
‘Wait,’ she says, ‘I can help you.’
He lets go, taken aback by what has just happened. Killing and feeding is what he always does. It's what he does best. But this time, he is failing. His muscles weaken and he feels inadequate.
‘Shut up,’ he says, placing his hands around her neck. This is his favourite method for the female captives.
He stops when he sees his reflection in her eyes – a horned monster bathed in torchlight. A hint of guilt tightens at his throat, the familiar knot of self-loathing swelling anew. It stands in stark contrast to the wildflower meadow scent that keeps plaguing his nostrils. He tries to picture his mother’s face, but all he can see is the girl-woman’s black eyes.
The thought of his mother’s betrayal makes him tighten his grip around her neck. Her skin feels unnaturally smooth and resistant, like thick rubber in his fists. He longs to see fear in her eyes, to make her believe in his monstrous nature. He holds her in the light, baring his teeth, searching her face. Only to find her grinning. Her full lips frame unnervingly white teeth, her expression untouched by fear. A vein rises near her temple, pulsing beneath her flawless skin.
In her eyes, he sees his first kill on The Inside. Not a warrior, not a young male, but a stooped elder who had begged for his life. Disgust churns in his gut. He releases her. She stumbles, calling his name in a hoarse, broken voice as he storms away. Naked, she runs in the opposite direction, her footsteps fading into the darkness – until he hears it. That cackle. The one that has haunted his dreams.
A shiver runs through him. He misses her. He wants her to come back. For the first time in ages, he feels truly alive.
She doesn’t come back, and he has no desire to chase her. He settles for sucking the marrow from a femur bone. He chews on thoughts of Tau, his nemesis. His father. His God. With a sharp crack, the bone splits. He drains the last of the clotted grey mass, then hurls the bone at the wall, watching it shatter.
The other piece, sharp as a knife, he drags across the concrete floor, scratching out words and carving lines. A battle plan. A strategy for Tau, the King, and Master of War. An offering to impress him. He marks the front line, sketching where the soldiers will clash. He circles the flanks, plotting where an ambush could turn the tide. He draws barricades and fallback positions, arrows showing retreat, a skull and crossbones for death.
He tells himself it’s just to keep his mind busy, a way to silence the pull of her absence.
The plan takes shape, and in his mind’s eye, the battle unfolds. He sees the charge, the clash of forces, bloodshed, the triumphant moment of victory and a nod of approval.
Tau will visit soon. It has been too long.
Instead, it’s she who reappears. She runs up to him and leaps into his arms. To his surprise, he catches her, and she clings to his shoulders. The room spins around him.
‘Who are you? What are you?’ he asks.
‘You can call me Scorpio. They call me a witch.’
The torch flares, swelling as if a circus performer has spat petrol onto it. A cold wind rushes through the labyrinth.
‘Why are you doing this?’
I will rescue you. You just have to take my hand and follow me.
The torchlight flickers in the black of her eyes. In her alluring, low voice, she lists all that is beautiful about his face. His entire being is drawn into the orange, ever-shifting shape of the reflection until nothing else exists. Only the flames in her eyes and her lips, close to his now.
The world around him – his prison, the shattered bones, the eerie symbols, the condensation on the walls – fades to black. Until the sound of many feet shuffling on the concrete floor pulls his awareness back.
The torch now reveals an ornately carved sedan bed, with a pompous canopy, bearing the weight of a pointy-faced little man who sits poised upon it. Eight muscular men, their dark skin gleaming under the wavering firelight, carry the litter on their shoulders, gripping thick wooden poles wrapped in silk. They come to an abrupt halt beneath the flickering glow. Their chests rise and fall as they exclaim in unison, sixteen eyes fixed ahead, away from the beast. The delicate-framed man seated upon the bed straightens, then shifts effortlessly, spinning on his hip to let his feet dangle over the side of the velvet-draped mattress.
He wears strappy sandals covered with gemstones and a thick red and gold robe, the colour of sacrifice. On each finger, he has a golden ring encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. On his head sits a comically large golden crown.
‘I thought you’d be happy to see me,’ King Tau says and bellows with laughter.
‘Get up,’ he says. ‘Show some respect to an old man.’
Taurus obliges. He notices how the corridor looks new, freshly built. His markings are gone, and the walls are dry and free of moss. He looks at his hands – they are smaller, less calloused, and unscarred.
‘Chin up. Let me look at you.’ Tau gestures for his wife’s ghastly bastard son to come over and lifts a hand to his horn, tracing the deep grooves along its curve. With a whistle, he runs his thumb along the ridges, then pulls, as if testing his strength. He nods approvingly.
A curious child with a blonde bowl cut appears from behind the silk fabric of the canopy. He picks his nose and tugs at Tau’s sleeve. Dressed in a miniature red gown with a gold-rimmed cape, he looks more like a doll than a boy, the stiff ruffle around his neck at odds with his restless energy. Yet, despite the starched fabric, he can’t sit still, squirming and chortling as he clambers onto Tau’s lap.
‘Are you happy to see us?’
‘Yes, my King,’ Taurus finds himself saying, avoiding eye contact with the child.
‘Call me...’ Tau pauses. ‘Papa,’ he roars and smiles even wider, revealing dark, rotten teeth. The crown makes his head look small, his cheeks hollow. He straightens his pencil-thin moustache, wiping away some spittle from the corner of his mouth.
‘What a fine specimen you have become.’
Taurus looks down at his chest and abdomen. He tries to straighten his back and show off his muscles, but he feels unsteady on his hooves. Heavy shackles bind his ankles, a thick chain mounted to the wall.
‘Come on. FLEX!’ Tau exclaims, rubbing his hands together.
Taurus broadens his shoulders and puffs out his chest. His muscles feel young again, less sore. He looks at Tau for approval. He raises his arms and flexes his biceps, eager to impress.
The King applauds. ‘Marvellous,’ he chants. Then, under his breath: ‘What a buffoon.’
All the while, the men holding the bed stand still, unblinking, wearing nothing but linen loincloths. The mushroom-headed boy bounces up and down on the mattress.
‘Come on, papa, play!’
He jumps on his father’s back from behind and scrambles down from his shoulders onto his lap. The King settles him with a pat on the backside.
‘You must be hungry, dear Taurus.’ The little prince interrupts him by laying his sticky fingers on Tau’s moustachioed lips.
‘Shush, Papa!’ He somersaults off his lap. ‘Look at me!’
Taurus’ stomach rumbles. Since Tau put him in here, he has not eaten anything apart from rodents who dared come near his shackled heap of a being.
‘Yes, very much so, King. Papa.’
Tau claps his hands twice. A soldier marches into the corridor and pushes forward an old man, hunched over, wearing a filthy robe. He trips and falls to his knees, sobbing. Upon seeing Taurus, he starts to plead with his face in his crooked hands.
The soldier produces a silver pipe which shimmers in the light of the fire. The soldier puts the narrow end of the pipe in his mouth and lights a match to the round filigree compartment at the front. He puffs and hands the pipe to The King with a bow. Tau takes a deep drag, holds the smoke while leaning back on the cushions and his eyes roll back. His face is now motionless, blissful but still ugly.
He comes to and with red eyes he says: ‘Go on, eat.’
Taurus pulls at the shackles on his ankles. A wave of nausea washes over him and he wants to run off to the safety of the shadows, but the chains are forged of the strongest steel.
Tau sucks deeply on the pipe and he claps his hands again to which the soldier grabs the man by his few remaining strands of hair and slices at his neck. Blood pours out and he clutches at the wound. Screams have now turned into a gurgling sound. Before long, the man keels over, blood forming into an expanding puddle in front of him.
‘Kneel,’ The King says to Taurus, and the beast does what he is told.
With a sweeping and graceful movement, like a hawk diving down to catch its prey, Tau jumps off his elevated bed. And before Taurus realises his keeper has moved, he feels a hand on his left cheek. Tau gently pulls on his jaw, angling his bull face upwards to meet his gaze. There is a soft quality to this touch, like a mother brushing away a stray eyelash.
Tau, standing above him, shadowed and untouchable, then places his hand on top of Taurus’ head and smiles his wide grin.
‘You exist because the gods willed it,’ Tau says, his voice calm, absolute. ‘And you remain because I allow it.’
‘Thank you,’ Taurus says.
‘You are such a good boy. Now eat.’
Tau pulls him forward by the head into a deep bow. Taurus catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror-like surface of fresh blood. He sees his long, furry jaw, his bulging brow, the weathered ridges of his horns, and the tusks protruding from his bottom lip. A freak. A monster.
He grabs the lifeless body and feeds. The odd little prince claps with glee. Tau has taken his place back on the bed, puffs another drag from the pipe, and watches the spectacle.
‘Feast so you may live!’ he exclaims.
When there is nothing left but bones and robe, Tau claps his hands again. His slaves masterfully turn the litter, and they march back the way they came, following a glittering piece of yarn along the floor.
Taurus looks up, his vision blurring. He watches his self-proclaimed Papa depart through a film of red, blood caking at his cheekbones and eyelids. A tiny hand waves from between the drapes, followed by the helmet-haired, gilded brat’s face. He blows a raspberry, cheeks puffed, eyes gleaming with mischief and entitlement. Taurus could pounce on the entourage, tear through them with ease, but he doesn’t.
‘Don’t forget, you are down here because I love you,’ Tau says, his voice trailing off.
Taurus rubs at his eyes, but his vision stays red, clotted with floaters.
He blinks in short bursts, and the red starts to take shape. He tries to focus, to make out what he’s looking at. He feels woozy, but somehow content and full. The red shape is soft, round and shiny. Lips that part, revealing white teeth that blind his eyes. He suddenly feels warm and safe, a feeling he’s not used to.
When he finally returns to his senses, he realises he’s being held. The bleeding man, the diamonds and rubies, the oversized crown and the black teeth now feel like a distant memory. Her small hand strokes the back of his neck. She looks at him, eyes like black holes.
‘Poor Taurus. There has been so much suffering,’ Scorpio says. ‘Let me show you the way out.’
She kisses him, her tongue licking the underside of his top lip. The tension in his shoulders disappears, and he gives in to the feeling of release, like exhaling after holding his breath for too long. She feels triumphant now that the beast has embraced her.
Still, Taurus hears an echo. Feast.
Her fingers twist into his fur, tracing slow, circular patterns. A puddle nearby holds their reflection, the sight of them together makes her pause. He looks good on her. She presses her nails into his chest, relishing the contrast of pale skin against dark fur, how his roughness makes her feel cleaner, more delicate, more magnificent. He is power embodied, and she feasts on it.
He lifts her without effort, but it is she who guides him, her grip firming around his neck, her legs tightening around his waist as if drawing the life from him. He is blissfully unaware, drifting off in her beauty. She is softness and warmth with flushed, silky skin, the curve of her breasts pressed against him. He drinks in the scent of crushed wildflowers as it ripples through her hair, flowing like water around them.
He feels the strength in his deltoids as he holds her, the tension in his biceps as they tighten around her torso. For once, he is not lost in thought. He is body, movement, sensation.
The walls of the maze loom around them, their rough stone slick with moisture. Shadows shift and stretch in the dim light. His teeth graze her throat, and she groans as the labyrinth blurs at the edges.
Something sparks. The energy between them hums, moving in a steady current, looping back and forth, an unbroken circuit from their mouths to the centre of their bodies. It pulses, expanding and contracting, their breath syncing until they are one, their lips fused, bodies moving in perfect rhythm. And then, weightless, they sink into the freshly cut grass, wildflowers brushing against their skin.
For the first time in as long as he can remember, his body softens. His grip around her relaxes. He does not know where she ends and he begins, black hair tangled in fur, matted and damp. Sleep comes easily, the warmth of her pressed against him, the sun stretching across his face.
But in the quiet before waking, something inside him pulls tight. The maze is waiting, grief taps at his shoulder with a familiar hand, and he turns towards it, drawn to the comfort of what he has always known.
He wakes up to the familiar drip-drip of his corridor. It’s cold and dank and she is gone. He goes back to his Corner, shoulders hunched, head hanging heavy with the weight of himself. He doesn’t know what he craves more – food, to rip flesh off bone, or an answer to why everyone always leaves.
But then she materialises again, seemingly floating, still naked, translucent. The contrast between her soft beauty and the rankness of the maze is jarring.
‘Where were you?’ Scorpio whispers.
‘Here. This is where I belong. This is who I am.’
‘I can offer you freedom, beauty, instead of this draughty maze,’ she says, her hand outstretched. ‘You belong with me now.’
Taurus stumbles forward, drawn by the roundness of her hips, the way her thighs connect to her pelvis, to what lies between.
‘You just have to follow me. All I need is for you to take my hand. Together we can end Tau and all the suffering he inflicts.’
Her flesh becomes more opaque as he feels a force pull him toward her. Still, Taurus hesitates. He lifts a hand to his horn, tracing the deep grooves along its curve, running his thumb along the ridges. Then he pulls, like Papa had.
‘Why do you need his love, his respect, when you have me?’ she laments.
He swallows and stutters, speaking quietly in a boyish voice: ‘Who am I, if not Taurus of the Labyrinth?’
‘You will be Scorpitaur and you will have my love.’
Taurus howls, chest lifted, arms raised, gathering his strength before driving his fist into a pile of bones.
‘I’ll leave you here then, a prison of your own making,’ she spits, feet now firmly on the floor and turning away.
‘I can’t leave, but please, stay here,’ he pleads.
She scoffs, pressing her palm against the wall. A ripple spreads outward, the stone trembling beneath her touch before shattering in a cascade of dust and light. The air rushes in, crisp and foreign. His breath catches.
Beyond the jagged opening, a vast expanse unfolds. Taurus drinks in the sky, the forest, the shimmer of water in the distance. She looks small against it, yet somehow more powerful, standing at the threshold of everything he has never touched. Her world, her rules. Lips pursed, teeth clenched, a woman scorned.
She steps backwards through the hole, holding his gaze. The sunlight strikes her hair, catching a sapphire reflection of the sky, making it infinite. She is beautiful now, cheeks flushed, eyes glinting. He bends down, nostrils flaring at the scent of fresh earth and open air. Was it really this easy all this time?
With a sweeping and graceful movement, like a hawk diving down to catch its prey, Scorpio cups his left cheek, fingers pressing into his fur. She tilts his head upwards, guiding him to meet her eyes. The touch is deceptively warm, the way a father’s hand might rest on his son’s shoulder after a battle well fought.
Then, her fingers slide higher, resting atop his head. A gentle pat. Her smile spreads slowly, stretching wide, like two fishhooks have caught on either side of her mouth.