The Realms of Thrice (Lesbian Fiction)



The large spherical room was lifeless and unwelcoming as she was led forth, her hands bound by an unseen force. Her feet were shackled as well, but again were weightless and mute with her step. Her usual long blonde hair that framed her face was tied back and the remainder of her hair was flowing freely against her back. An involuntary shiver racked her body as the coldness of the room enveloped her completely. The gravity of her current predicament probably didn’t easy her body’s response. The sound of her bare feet upon the marble ground was the only sound except for the occasional brush and ruffle of clothing.

The guards on either side of her were silent and resolute in their steps. They stopped without warning, and the young woman had just enough time to survey her surroundings. The great room was exquisitely carved floor to ceiling from the finest of pale marble. The spherical design was both modern and regal, yet it held a certain impersonal atmosphere. It was no wonder because many never saw, nor wished to see these walls.

Her body shook once again from the frigid temperature of the room. Her thin white tunic was not nearly enough to retain her warmth and the delicate solid gold bracelets around each wrist suddenly burned at her skin. It was surprising that her breath had not yet materialized in the thin air.

“Please, do step forward,” a calm voice spoke quietly, yet echoed throughout the large chamber.

The guards eased their grip on her arm and gently pushed her forward until she was face to face with an imposing figure. He was seated at the center marble chair. The royal family sat at either side of him. His distant golden eyes focused on hers for but a minute before he stood and gracefully flick his wrist free of his sleeve. With the movement, her hands and feet were instantly unbound, and she rubbed her wrist gratefully.

“Mrs. Dyer,” he began. His voice steadfast and calm. “Do you understand why it is you are here … why you now stand in front of the High Council?” he asked.

She tried to remain calm as her pulse quickened and her bottom lip quivered with anxiety. She lowered her head as she spoke, “I do.”

“And do you realize such an act is grounds for immediate banishment?”

“It was an accident –”

“Premature death by the hands of another, whether deliberate or not, is murder, Mrs. Dyer. I would have expected you to understand this concept considering your age and … occupation.” He spat the last word with much disdain. How were laws and values supposed to be taught to children when their own mentors disregarded them with such blatant actions? “Regardless, I’m certain you understand both the gravity of your actions, and the punishment for such. Therefore, this council has already drawn the necessary conclusion, as well as the punishment.” He finished quickly as he looked passed her and nodded towards the guards.

Her breathing hastened as they both took hold of her arms and began to lead her to a hollowed out section of wall. She locked eyes with the condemner and pleaded silently with him, but his eyes never gave a gleam of hope. Instead it was the same cold expression he had always held.

The guards directed her to the center of the small hollow and released her yet again before stepping back.

Tears that had managed to stay concealed, where now flowing freely against her fair cheeks. The gold bands against her wrists vibrated violently until her hands were forcibly lifted and drawn to the golden grab bars on the side of the wall. She was now contained, like a feral beast awaiting its punishment by lashing. However, her punishment would be far worse than a simple, inhuman and uncivilized lashing.

This was only the beginning, and fear was now raging within her. She was not beyond begging. “Please have mercy, Your Majesty. I am with child,” she pleaded.

He was not fazed by the declaration, and instead continued his pace towards her. His elegant and bright white robes swayed with his step. The gold sash that decorated those same robes glistened in the natural light that spilt through the numerous skylights.

He approached her sobbing form as he reached out and touched the golden bracelets on each of her wrists with the tip of his forefinger. His eyes never once making contact with her own. The bracelets separated and fell to the floor with a metallic ring. Her hands, however, remained bound to the grab bars.   It was only then that he looked at her.

He took a step back and then spoke, “Then your actions have condemned that child,” he stated loud enough for the other occupants of the room to hear. “You know our laws … and the punishment for breaking such. What example do we send to all others when we allow the transgressions of one to pass? We would be just like the other realms – allowing and tolerating mediocrity when we are destined to be the best … the greatest. Your heart and soul are now tainted with darkness … therefore … you are no longer welcomed by the White Realm.” He stated calmly as he approached her yet again and lifted his frail hand to touch his thumb against the center of her forehead.

“Please … it was an accident.” She continued to beg as a slightly unpleasant feeling began to form within her eyes. This was the final step as all identification of her time spent in The White Realm was quickly erased. What was granted at birth over thirty years previous and what took years to create, was now being wiped away within a matter of seconds. One misdeed, one misfortune, had cost her everything. Silently, as the sensation within her eyes intensified, she prayed to Eira, the Goddess of Mercy, that her time spent forth on would be forgiving, but where she was going, the worship of such Gods and Goddess were banned.

Suddenly, a cold voice broke her inner thoughts as he stared into her eyes. Long gone was her once beautiful golden iris’s that had been much like his own. Now they were colorless, waiting to be filled with the mark and color of the oncoming realm.

“Helen Dyer, daughter of Aaron and Abigail Sherwood of Whitewood, you are convicted of the slaying of Daniel Dyer, your husband. By order of the White Council, and with my breath, I, Santor Whiteborn, Demigod of the White Realm, sentence you and your unborn child, on this, your thirtieth name day to The Black Realm.” He recited evenly as his thumb stayed in placed upon her forehead, and his forefinger twitching in anticipation. “May the Gods above and beyond give you light in the dark times ahead.” Santor concluded as he prolonged the inevitable for but a moment longer. The ruffling of cloth could be heard over the roar in her ears, and she knew the time had come. The royal family had now stood signifying their last respects, or perhaps not, for their fallen citizen. It was a show of regret, not pity or mercy. In their eyes, she was nothing more than another helpless soul lost to the darkness of the other world. She was yet another lesson to be learnt from. Good always triumphs over evil.

With no prior warning, he touched his forefinger to her temple, connecting the arc, and in an instant, she was no longer a resident of The White Realm.


In a reality far apart from our own, in a place where the sun rose and fell with time, only replaced with shadows cast by the moons and stars, there were three realms: one of light, one of dark, and one of grey. These three kingdoms would represent concepts of good, evil, and the objective. The White Realm would house those of pure nature and heart. They upheld strict moral and ethical values and believed those who violated such moral laws should be banished to the other realms. Once a heart or soul was tainted with evil, there was no redemption, they were long lost and forgotten. Therefore, they were most likely to be sent to The Black Realm as evil was seen as just that – evil.

The Black Realm housed those with impure hearts or souls. They had commented some form of misdeeds that were seen as unacceptable and morally wrong in The White Realm, or less common, The Grey Realm. They led a life of suffering and struggle. Happiness was not something chased nor longed for. This was the realm for lost and desperate souls. It was a realm for the suffering.

Finally, The Grey Realm represented the best of human nature – acceptance and tolerance, especially to those who might be seen as different. In this Realm, neither good nor bad were seen in purely white or black. People and their character were as different and varied as the very fingerprints they kept. Instead of seeing in purely monotone colors, they chose to see all variations in between.

Because there was such a divide in all three realms, an agreement was made to form a council that would represent all three kingdoms in one universal and unbiased setting. This council would become known as The Council of Thrice, and held the highest ambassadors of each Realm. Transcendent Portals were placed in the capitol of each kingdom, but only The White Realm could transcend freely to the others. The Realm of Black and the Realm of Grey had no access except to each other. This was signed as an inter-realm agreement to keep the Realms pure, especially The White. The Spheric Sanctum was the guarded chambers where the Demigods and other sovereignty members resided and handed out sentencing. It was also the location of the guarded Transcendent Portals.

Despite the clashing views of each kingdom, there was but a small ounce of hope. A divine prediction was written by the nineteen Gods of Thrice that one child would be born into one of the three kingdoms of Thrice, but would transcend all realms and ultimately unite all into one, merging light and darkness together for the first time since creation. This child was not seen as a prophet, but merely a messenger of hope and redemption for all of humanity. They would show that evil was not born, but rather created through the struggles and suffering of life. The worlds, and all who inhabit them, were neither dark nor light, but all variants in between.

So began The Realms of Thrice.


In an adjacent kingdom, shadows were quickly encompassing every crease, crevice, and every alleyway and corner. Night had fallen, and with that always came the shroud of evil. The moon, despite shining ever so brightly, did little to lighten the spirits of fellow people, or their homes. Where there was light, darkness was sure to follow and chase it away with vengeance.

The townspeople of Gravens, as well as inhabitants in the surround city limits, were already locked away within the perceived safety of their homes. For the unfortunate many who wandered the streets, the air was thick and rancid with rotting fish from the catches of previous days at the bay. A heavy, lung seizing smoke also filled the air from the many furnaces that powered the massive palace not but a few paces away from homes and shops.

Keen eyes watched from the safety of the palace balcony located several floors up as they followed a cloaked figure as it moved in and out of the shadows below. The woman, who was perched at the edge of the balcony, smirked in delight at the mischief about to be committed. In truth, as Empress of the Dark, she should be notifying her guards at arm of the suspicious behavior, but she would not. Why? Because what was the Black Kingdom without a little mischief running amok. The corners of her lips turned upwards, relieving a sickening smile, as she leaned against the concrete railing, arms spread apart in a power pose. Her shoulders visibly relaxed as she allowed her head to recline backwards ever so slightly.

The night was growing late as her body screamed for needed sleep. She, begrudgingly, was still in her evening wear, not yet having the time or desire to change into something far more comfortable. Her nettlesome daughter had just been put to bed by her nursemaid because she simply did not have the patience to deal with such foolish obligations such as bedtime stories or motherly bonding time while tucking a brat into bed. No, she had far more important tasks at hand, and by the telltale nearing steps outside her chamber doors, she knew one of those was about to come to light. Sure enough, three loud knocked were placed upon the wood doors each exactly one second apart.

The Empress moved from her place at the balcony and entered the chamber common room through the parlor doors. She smoothed the silken material of her dress with her hands as she beckoned the impending visitor to enter.

One heavy door was opened slightly as a thin and frail man stepped forth. He was donning a black robe with a long, unkempt and dingy gray beard that looked as if it had years of stains, knots, mead, and particles of food mashed within its course strands. He had a slight hunch in his back around his shoulders, and he walked with a severe limp in his right leg. His cane clicked methodically against the stone with each labored step. His breath coming out in harsh gasps. A result of bad lungs from years of working in the crematories as a lad.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted as he bowed as far as his back would allow. He waited patiently with his head down and eyes up for her signal to continue. With a single wave of her hand, he spoke again. “It has begun.” The Empress’s constable, Drago, stated as he stepped into the spacious room.

“Excellent,” she acknowledged. A wicked grin marred her otherwise attractive features. She turned swiftly from her place and moved back to the edge of the large balcony, as her elegant and elaborate dress flowed effortlessly with her movement. She stood still as she contemplated her next move. Long manicured nails tapped in a rhythmic motion atop the railing as she stared straight forward into the night, her lips pursed in thought. “Why don’t we give our new resident a proper greeting? She must feel welcomed after all.” She stated with much contempt as she turned on spot to face her trusted constable.

“Of course, Your Majesty. We are most known for our gracious hospitality,” the old man stated. His voice gruff.

“Indeed,” she confirmed with a menacing grin. “It’s quite comical.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Those in The White Realm see themselves as pure beings with a sound moral heart. But their own Demigod would father a child through a married woman and then banish both his lover and unborn child. Morality at its finest. But his loss is our gain. We will have a powerful Whiteborn Demigod at our service soon enough, mark me. Then they will know the true wrath of The Black Realm when we march into their Sanctum with one of their own by our side … willing to fight to the death for this beloved kingdom. Yes, the White and Grey will finally see how we are. We will finally gain the true nature of our name. They think us below them, but this will undo it all. We will show them that The Black is a force to be reckoned with.”

“A brilliant plan, Your Majesty.”

“You’re excused now. I’ll be down shortly to see to our new member.” The Empress instructed as she turned back to gaze across the dark cityscape.


Her head was spinning as she opened her eyes and was confronted with an eerily dark and damp space. The walls were composed of old chipped cobblestone that had turned black with splotches of green from the filth and grime of the world. Her breaths were quick, but she inhaled the stagnant and heavily damp air. It smelt of mildew and damp, rotten wood. She glanced around from her current place, noticing the fine sheen of condensation coating the stone floor and walls. Several torches were lit and braced against the supporting walls and a small wooden table and chairs were crammed in the far left corner. To her right, was another small table with various tools, liquid concoctions, and metal fittings. Not to mention the sickening stains of blood which had seeped into the course grains of the wood. She had nothing to compare to her current experience. For the second time in no more than a few hours, she truly feared. In The White, fear was not something often felt, at least not realistic fears. Maybe fears evolving around status or keeping appearances, perhaps even pleasing parents or other elites of the community. But this was unlike anything else. This was genuine heart-stopping, throat constricting fear. The type of fear often experienced by young children awaking to a dark room from an all too real nightmare. For them, the fear is as true as a mother’s word.

Her breaths quickened to an unreasonable state. Panic was hurriedly settling in. Her stomach turned violently as it threatened to heave up what little contents remained. Her sight blurred as tears gathered within her eyes. She must have been transported to the dungeons. Fitting perhaps. The few torches that were lit were enough to illuminate the space and ward off any reservations about the dark, but the ghosts of shadows taunted her. Moving with the flames of the torches, like that of a dance between friend and foe. One giving and one taking, step after step, moving seamlessly and in tune with the other.

However, her attention was swiftly gained at the sound of approaching footsteps. The faint click of a metal object against the stone floor echoed through the numerous tunnels with ease. Her heart’s pace quickened at the sounds and her whole body seized up, silent. Not a muscle, limb, inhale or exhale of air was made. The only movement came from her eyes as they scanned the lone doorway rapidly, twitching in a sense, and the sweat gathering at her brow and small of her back. Finally a figure walked through with a black metal cane supporting his right side. A guard not too far behind.

“Ah, here she is,” the constable spoke sickly as he pointed his cane in her direction. “She’s a beauty,” he said to his guard. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb here, deary. It’s not too often we’re graced with the presence of one from The White. You must have committed an atrocious act.”

He approached her with a malicious smile exposing his yellow and crooked teeth. He tossed his cane upwards with one hand, catching it a few inches below the handle and used it as a tool to poke and prod at her body, examining every inch of her. The top of the handle rested underneath her chin, lifting her head to look at him.

His blood shot eyes and red iris scanned her face, and proceeded lower until they fell upon her barely protruding belly.

“Oh,” he said with malicious delight, his eyes widening and a sadistic smirk stretching across his deformed face, “and she is with child,” he stated in awe. It was one thing to be told of such, but to actually see a plan at work was something completely different. A sense of victory was felt within his blackened heart. He reached out to place his hands upon her belly.

“Don’t touch me!” she spat forcefully, but the quiver of her lip betrayed her.

“Being the marking process,” he instructed to the guard that had remained stationed at the door entry way. “Our Majesty will be down shortly –”.

“I am here!” the Empress greeted as she gleefully motioned to her being with her delicate hand, yet the wicked smirk painting her flawless face deceived her jovial tone.

She was dressed in a fine evening gown of crimson taffeta with black velvet embossing and edging. Her raven hair was pulled back from her face and her eyes were dark. The dress fit her immaculately, accentuating her womanly curves. But the red of the dress brought out her striking eyes. Despite Helen’s terror, she couldn’t ignore the simple fact, that the woman, the Empress, entering the room, was enchantingly beautiful. Her posture, clothing, and aura spoke volumes of her title and also of her heartless qualities. She was beauty, and with that came all the power of the world. There was no doubt she used it in her favor.

She strolled up to Helen with her head held high, and her eyes never once faltering. “I do apologize for not sending you to one of our finer transpondents. I imagine you’re used to more glamorous settings,” the Empress stated as she gripped the woman’s chin with long fingers, polished nails digging into her flesh. Red eyes searched out colorless, awaiting them to make contact. “However, the marking process can be quite … messy here. If you understand. We wouldn’t want to ruin the finer parts of our establishment, now would we?” she asked with mirth as she reached out and released one of Helen’s hands from the grab bars. She examined it closely and turned it over numerous times within her hands. “Such beautiful skin. Flawless,” she said. The Empress’s own skin looked much like Helen’s but that was common for royalty in all Realms. “Best to make you more fitting for our world,” she spoke as she placed Helen’s hand back to the grab bar. “Welcome to the darkest of the realms, Mrs. Dyer. The Black Realm is now your home,” she stated ominously as she back up and tore her gaze away from the beautiful woman to look at her Governor. She then made her last instruction. “Mark her.”

“As you command, Your Majesty,” he stated with a smirk as he motioned the guard to fetch the Marker.

Before too long, screams were heard echoing off the damp walls of the dungeon. The Marker had begun his lovely, yet barbaric task of marking the upper limbs. Where Helen had worn beautifully simple golden bracelets around her wrists, the dark realm was much more gruesome in their application of the receptors. The receptors were steel bars driven into the flesh of one’s palm and sealed with two primitive metals discs: one on the face of the palm, and the other atop the back of the hand. The one inch bars were enhanced to inflict pain, but not permanently damage the ligaments, bones, nerves, or muscles of the hand. The hands would be completely functional and would not be hindered by the receptor. The receptor also held a specific material compound that filtered through the bloodstream and turned the resident’s irises blood red. The symbol of The Realms of Thrice, three interlocking rings, which are tattooed within the iris throughout all realms, was not affected by any process.

Once it was all over, Helen was thrust outside the palace walls. She was in absolute agony in a foreign and completely different world from that of which she had spent thirty of her names days. How long would she live? Would she and her unborn child even survive past the night? The Palace gates closed with a resounding echo and so her life, thereon, began in The Black Realm.

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