15 March, 184-, Holinshed Manor

Lady S- has not been herself since our return from Morocco. Three months on the Dark Continent and she still has not spoken of what transpired in the jungles beyond Zanzibar. At first listless and pale on the steamer across the Mediterranean, upon setting foot back on the Holinshead grounds she became full of an unearthly vigour and high good humour, finding delight in the smallest things. It thawed my heart a little to see her in such good spirits -- I feared during that dark time in Zanzibar I would never see her again -- but under my relief gnawed a worm of disquiet, for however healthy she may seem, however bright the bloom in her cheeks, she is not herself.

This afternoon she spent nearly three hours in the stables, and while Lady S- has always been fond of her riding, I rather suspect she was more interested in the groomsman, Mr. R-. Never have I accused my wife of unfaithfulness, and I feel a stab in my heart at the notion of it, but a blind man would notice the lingering glances she has given some of the servants since our return, the gleam in her eyes, the way her pulse quickens almost visibly in her throat. When she came back from the stables this evening, her hair was dishevelled and straw clung to her clothing, the lacing of her boots undone, as if her feet had been thrust into them in a great hurry. Sweat clung to her body, and her scent was not perfume or rosewater or even horsehair but a rich and primal aroma that recalled the darker regions of the jungles we plumbed together before she was separated from our expedition for a week.

I do not bear her any grudge, for if she has been unfaithful it is not because of any inner weakness or wickedness -- something is wrong with her, perhaps spiritually, perhaps physically. In no wise has her affection for me lessened -- if anything her appetites for my presence have only increased.

17 March, 184-, Holinshed Manor

Lady S- awoke in a terror in the small hours to-day, clutching me hard enough to break the skin on my shoulders -- even now I can feel the stinging ache, and there are spots of blood on the sheets. I have considered dismissing the washerwoman, but I admit I'm not sure how I'd go about the laundering myself. In any event, my concern is for Lady S-, not the wagging tongues of the household staff. (Mr. R- has avoided me assiduously for the last two days, which seems to confirm my fears regarding him.) Lady S- spoke of nightmares, her voice low and trembling, of memories breaking through the waves of amnesia that have obscured her vanishing outside Zanzibar. Pausing to examine a bird of paradise roosting in a low branch, singing its sweet song, she was left behind by the larger group, unmissed until we had been irretrievably separated -- this much I knew. The search parties found her a week later, her expedition gear stripped, her clothing torn. She collapsed into my arms, reeking of that same aroma I detected on her two nights ago, raving of golden eyes and a god of the dark jungle.

Tonight she spoke more coherently, clinging to me, in mortal terror. Somewhere in that fetid jungle, lost and afraid, she stumbled upon a great rambling heap of stone and carved columns, more akin to a remnant of Aegypt than any of the lost civilizations of the inner continent. At first she felt great relief -- fanciful thoughts of ghosts or other foolishness banished in the cold fact of shelter and food and water (fresh streams flowed before the temple stairs; great hanging fruits could be found dangling ripely along its banks). But as she spent the first night there, she became aware of a presence -- a presence as animal as it was man; a presence of a great and powerful panther, a god among leopards, its ageless golden eyes drinking her in with greed, its midnight pelt adorned with jeweled symbols of authority and worship. Before the night had passed it had begun to speak with her.

By the time the sun had ridden high in the sky the next day, it had begun to touch her -- its pawed hands tender and gentle, its hot breath an aching kiss upon her skin.

By the next night it had taken her.

She described it as rape, as unwilling, but her body betrayed the lie. I could feel her fingers curling hungrily against my shoulders, the way her thighs seined against each other, one leg slowly rising to drape around my waist as she whispered her story against my throat, her teeth peculiarly sharp against my skin.

How and why she was allowed to escape the confines of the temple, she does not know.

I wish I could say I believed it to be nothing but a hallucination brought on by dehydration and panic, perhaps even madness would be preferable to the notion of this being reality, but here in the grey dawn, my wife curled on her side and sleeping peacefully once more, I cannot claim anything but belief.

22 March, 184-, Holinshed Manor

This after-noon I was compelled to meet with the Duke of G- concerning the impending engagement of his son to the Lady D-, and -- as I feared -- Lady S- took advantage of my absence to disappear, no doubt to indulge the feverish hungers she has confessed to me since our return to Holinshead. I have dismissed Mr. R- (he made no objection and in fact seemed relieved I was neither doling out my own brand of revenge or haling him before a magistrate), but there is entirely too much temptation even in a small household such as this and in the village itself. But as always she returned to me -- albeit not in a manner I anticipated.

I saw her framed in the bedroom window, sleekly naked, slick with perspiration, clambering in on all fours, regarding me with eyes that reflected the light, huge and depthless black pupils, irises of deepest emerald, not the mild and cheerful hue I have known so well until now. That wild scent drifted from her in waves.

She pounced upon me -- there is no other word for it. And I could not resist. Not when her distressingly long fingernails tore my waistcoat away, not when she sank sharp teeth into the side of my neck, not when she climbed atop me and sank onto my flesh, her inner thighs still slick with the leavings of other lovers she had entertained in her hours abroad.

I never experienced such passion, such hunger. I have always been conscious of how very much younger Lady S- is than I, and I have always striven to be mindful of it, to make her happy -- I have such regard for her ...

[later]

I watch her now, stretched naked above our bedclothes, my body aching sweetly. I cannot take my eyes off her. Down her spine is a slender arrow of leopard spots. I have touched them -- they are soft as velvet, tiny hairs standing to when stroked. Her body arched in her sleep, fingers stretching languidly to clutch at the pillows beneath her head.

I do not know what happened to her in that temple, or if she has been claimed ... but I will not allow her panther god to take her from me.

I got some very nice positive feedback for this way back on Safari Day ... but no real nibbles. Don't be shy, now.