* The butterflies emerge * What is in Cambel's grasp? * Noises in the night

* A strange visitation * Three strange women * Speaking in riddles

* A solution occurs to me!

How could I avoid despair? I wondered after all the staff had left me alone with my one true love. I stroked his soft face, drinking in his dark beauty, ravaged by this wasting illness. The door repelled all my efforts and I could not imagine any other methods to attempt its opening. "Will you die like this?" I said to him. "Will we but know one night of unbridled ecstasy, before being condemned to eternal sorrows?" I pulled the bedclothes up that he might be more protected from winter's chill and stayed beside him all that day.

It was late afternoon and I must have drifted off into troubled slumber when I was disturbed by a soft rustling behind me and turned to see what it was. Nothing was obviously moving until I looked more closely at the butterfly cocoons and noticed that on each of the four healthy casings, a long crack had appeared, and from their dark and close confines, the bodies of the fragile creatures were beginning to emerge. A last, late shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and penetrated the window, illuminating the very branches on which the delicate insects paused after shedding the shells which had contained them for these past several weeks. They spread their wings of blue and gold and ivory, still wet from the humid cocoons, and allowed them to dry in the fortuitous sunshine. Then after several moments of basking, they each took flight, one after the other, pursuing a scattered rhythm which only they heard, dancing on the tiny drafts and playing amidst the dust motes. I followed their games for a moment, glad for the distraction from my sorrows, but their path took them behind me and when I turned around, it was to see that they had all alighted on the blankets which covered my lover's form.

Observing them without disturbing their new-found freedom, I was saddened to notice that all four were males, and therefore our little community of butterflies was doomed to a history of only this one generation. I continued to watch, hoping that my gender identifications were mistaken, but I could find no evidence of error. Eventually, their flutterings and flitterings called my attention to Cambel's hand which had worked its way free of its coverings. I reached over to tuck it back underneath the warm blankets when I noticed that his hand was clutching something very tightly, despite the laxity of the rest of his body. I prised his hand open and discovered that the object he clutched so dearly was my own locket which I now realised was not in its customary place around my neck. Taking it as a sign of his faith in my abilities and of his love for me, I roused myself and strode purposely from those chambers and back to my work at the device which kept us imprisoned and sapped the life from my lover.

When my maids came to summon me to dinner, I informed them that I was not hungry, but determined to either solve this puzzle or waste away, too in the attempt. Then I instructed them to move my chambers and such meagre belongings as I had accumulated to the Spring Room, that I might never be far from my lover's needs. They left to obey and I continued at my work until late in the night, finally giving in to exhaustion, and making the climb to my new quarters.

Laying down next to the Count, I willed my body to warm him and wake him and rouse him, that we might ever enjoy such joyous union as we had the previous eve, but it was to no avail, and I fell asleep wishing for a miracle, with tears staining my pillow. Later that night, something caused me to awaken and I stared about the room, trying to discern what it might be. Suddenly, I saw a flickering near the doorway, and at first believing it to be one of the butterflies, I almost resolved to return to my slumbers. But it struck me as strange that a butterfly should first be active at such an hour and second that it should reflect the starlight at me. I pulled on a sheer muslin night-gown and arose from the bed to see what it might be.

Before I could get close, however, the glittering flicker flew over the open transom and out into the hall. I followed, bewildered and curious, and upon entering the pitch-black hallway, I realised that I had no candle, yet I could see as if it were as bright as day. Far down the passageway, in the direction opposite the steps I commonly used, I could make out the flickering object and I began to follow. After passing the doors to the many rooms I had examined, I lost sight of the flicker and had almost resolved to turn around, when I noticed the faint strains of music and a soft orange light coming from beneath the door of the last room on the hall. I walked towards the door, and just before opening it, I caught a glimpse of something shiny on the ground. Bending down to pick it up, I saw that it was my treasured locket that had so recently been in Cambel's hand; it was opened fully, like a butterfly displaying its wings, and I fancied for a moment that it might have been this pendant which I had seen fluttering and leading me here. "Could it be so?" I thought. "Could this be a place of true enchantment?"

I tried to dismiss that thought, despite all the evidence I had encountered, and instead opened the door to the room I stood before. The scene inside was wholly unexpected: candles burned on every surface, but instead of flooding the room with the brilliant yellow light I would have expected, the illumination was coloured with a deep orange cast, giving the place an unearthly glow. I had been in this room before, and I was certain that there had been no plants in there, certainly not such a lush and verdant foliage as now occupied the room. Indeed, I felt as if I were amongst the tall trees of the forest and the floor was carpeted with, what felt to my bare feet to be a thick grassy rug. The ceiling too, seemed to be painted with the representations of the constellations, and as I gazed, tracing their familiar shapes, the sound of the music became louder.

Through the impossible tree-trunks, I could make out a clearing and motion in that meadow. I suspended my disbelief and struck out along a well-worn track to the open place beyond the woods. The sward was indeed populated, and with three remarkable women, one with golden hair, one with walnut and one with locks as fiery as my own, dancing around a low-burning fire. They were naked as the day they were born, and that in itself would have been an amazement, but their bodies were so splendid and so enormously fat that I began to grow dizzy watching all the permutations of rhythms within their bountiful bellies and breasts and thighs and bottoms.

The variety of their bodies was also astounding, for they each personified a type. The golden-haired woman had the form of a young maiden: a bosom which was more akin to a roll of flesh; narrow hips barely padded; a belly which protruded, fat and firm, a great distance before her; and a massive rear which stood out behind her as great a distance as her stomach preceded her . The red-head's face was hidden by her glorious locks of hair, but it was clear that this was the body of a mature woman, at the prime of her life: her breasts were full and ripe; her hips seemed the equal of my ample hips twice over; her stomach was round, folding over her womanly parts in a deep paunch; her rear was a broad landscape of ripples and texture; and her thighs were thick as tree-trunks. The dark-haired woman was old and wrinkled, yet the fineness of her skin reflected experience and joy rather than age and decrepitude; her breasts hung low, bearing the memory of many a suckling child; her belly was deep and thick, swinging like an apron pouch against her thighs; and her posterior was vastly wide yet flattened by gravity's pull.

After several moments of staring at them in an aesthetic rapture, they seemed to notice me, and without interrupting their dance, they beckoned to me, the maiden saying, "Look, another fine, fat lady come to join our circle. Please dance with us, for we are filled with joy!"

"I wish I might," I replied, "but I feel no joy within me. I feel only sorrow and despair and I am afraid I might taint your happiness with my misery."

"We know of your sadness," the golden-haired woman replied. "Indeed that is why we have come."

"Have you come to free me, then?" I asked.

"No," the crone replied, "for that is something you must do yourself. For you and for your lover."

"I fear that I have failed at that task," I said. "Try as I might, I cannot comprehend the workings of that device."

"The answer is within you, my daughter," the red-haired one said, and I looked up to see my mother's unmistakable face beaming at me.

"Mother!" I said. "But... how can this be? Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming!" Nonetheless, I ran over to her and pressed my own softness into her cushiony embrace, losing myself for a moment in her warm fleshiness.

"I am your mother and all mothers," she said. "And dreaming or not, we are here to help you find your way. For happiness lies on the other side of that portal and you must pass through it."

"Then tell me how to open it," I said, "for I am past all hope of inspiration."

"Your flesh is your solution," she said. "In your flesh is your freedom."

"I do not understand," I said. "Am I to reduce? Even if I were as small as the tiniest babe, I do not believe that I should be able to fit through that tiny door."

"That is true," the golden-haired woman said. "You are too big to fit through that doorway, but you are too small to fit through other doors."

"How can one be too small to fit through a door?" I asked. "That seems to be nonsensical!"

"Perhaps it is," the dark-haired woman said, stopping her dancing. "But, I believe that we should continue this discussion over supper, for our guest has not eaten all day." She clapped her hands together sharply, and a splendid table miraculously appeared in the sward. The table was set for four, but there was food enough for twenty. They each took their seats and motioned me to mine, opposite my mother.

"Food is the least of my concerns," I said, sitting down nevertheless. They seemed not to hear me as they began greedily devouring the food on the table, laughing and revelling in their gluttonous abandon. Their bellies swelled as they gorged and no scrap of food was allowed to hit the floor or the table without one of their hungry mouths licking it up from wherever it fell, whether it land on stomach or breast or thigh.

"Are you not hungry for anything?" my mother asked, when most of the repast had been devoured.

"I am hungry for freedom," I said, "and that is all. What care I for earthly delights when my love lies dying abed."

"As we have said," the golden-haired girl answered me, standing up and moving close to me, rubbing her hands over her prodigious paunch, "your flesh IS your freedom and your hunger is the road to the solution. You must use your hunger in any way you can, for hunger is just hunger, no matter what form it takes."

"You speak in riddles," I said, my frustration mounting. "And I do not understand."

My mother, too came closer, as did the older woman, and as they surrounded me, my night-dress inexplicably vanished and I stood amongst them, naked as they. Their engorged stomachs pressed against me, encasing me in a cocoon of fat, and my mother said, "If you hunger for freedom, then you must feed that hunger. It is something you must do yourself, for no other can gain your freedom for you." They began to dance again all about me, their flesh never losing contact with mine. Despite my frustration, I could not help but become aroused by this fleshy massage, closing my eyes and losing myself in the sensuality.

Eventually, I became aware that the motion had stopped, and when I opened my eyes, I was all alone in the dark and dusty room, naked, and clutching my precious locket in my hand. The whole encounter with those strange women was replaying in my mind, and I knew that they had truly come to guide me through my conundrum. Intending to go back to my bed that I might dress and sleep on their words, I absent-mindedly wandered past the entrance to the Spring Room and down the staircase to the mysterious door.

I stood on the threshold of that entryway, staring at the device which had for so long confounded me. I moved close to face it's blank countenance, placed my hands on the twin handles and let my mind wander to the wonders I had witnessed in the room with the three women. "Flesh is freedom," they had told me and I wracked my brain to draw wisdom from that statement. I leaned forward against the door, my hands still gripping the iron handles while my soft belly made contact with it's cold stone surface. Suddenly, I felt a motion and I realised that contact with the skin of my stomach had been sufficient to engage the pressure plate in the centre of the door.

With three of the latches engaged, I dare not move, but looked over my shoulders to see the placement of the other two latches. I leaned my hip to one wall and when it contacted the pressure plate there, I felt that catch give way, but my stomach could not maintain contact with its device and so that catch disengaged. It was in that moment that I understood what the three strange ladies had meant in their riddling and how I must open the door.

I marvelled at how foolish I had been all along, and how my blindness to the solution had so injured poor Cambel, that even now, with the key to our freedom at hand, his recovery was not assured. A smile came to my face, and I slumped to the cold floor, amused at the irony of the situation. Eating, after all, was one of my greatest pleasures, and I had grown fat over the past year for no reason other than my pursuit of pleasure; had I but known that growing fat should be our salvation from this imprisonment, I should have tackled the task with all my vigour and appetite.

Unnoticed for several moments, a butterfly had alighted on my bare knee. When finally I took note of its presence, it was to observe that this specimen was not one of the four insects which had hatched only the day before. While those individuals bore the same markings as this one, it was obvious that this female was somewhat larger and more robust, although of the same species. I had not time to examine the butterfly before the creature suddenly took flight. I leapt to my feet and began to chase its agitated flutterings, following it's seemingly random path through the hallway and up the stairs and into the Spring Room, where it finally came to rest on stricken Cambel's outstretched hand. Whereas, several months ago, I would have attributed this behaviour to merest coincidence, today I was certain that there was meaning in this performance. My certainty grew when, moments later, the other butterflies began to gather around this lone female and they began performing their delicate courtship dances.

(Continued)

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