Black smoke. As far as the eye could see, which wasn't too far at the moment, there was nothing but thick, choking, ever-present black smoke. Minerva tried to fan it away, having only marginal success, and eventually had to resort to pulling one of the long, baggy sleeves of her dirty white dress over her mouth, in an attempt to keep the smoke out of her mouth. She dashed across the stone floor, breathing as best she could through her makeshift filter, until she reached the window. Gasping for air, she leaned out the window. It was blatantly obvious what had happened, at least to Minerva. One of Mistress' experiments must have gone wrong again. The woman she called Mistress, for she knew no other name for her, was a great sorceress, one of the greatest in the land. Minerva was honored to be in the presence of such greatness, it was not as though she was not glad to have the opportunity to be an apprentice, but still it seemed that she would learn very little when all she did was manual labor, and the occasional bit of running for her life from a failed experiment. After the smoke had dissipated somewhat, Minerva turned to face the inside of the stone tower in which she lived and worked, and walked quickly across the stone floor, feeling the coldness on her bare feet. She coughed faintly, the acrid smell of smoke was still in the air. She glanced over at the large wooden table and chairs that were the only furniture in this room, and at the thick wooden door at the far end of the room. It was open, and beyond it, Minerva could see Mistress' workspace. She peered through the door, brushing a bit of her short blonde hair away from her face with a frail, white hand. She could see the back of Mistress' head, the long, black hair cascading down, in stark contrast to her golden hued robes. Her hands were raised, she had a wand in her left and a potion in her right, and she was looking into an ornate jeweled box. Minerva knew the box well, but yet, she hardly knew it at all. She knew its exterior, anyway, the large ruby set into the center, just below the latch, the gold that trimmed all of the edges, the small sapphires that encircled the lock, the radiant topaz and emerald that crisscrossed the lid. The exterior made the box truly a thing of beauty, yet, there was so much more to it than that. It was a magical box, designed by a great mage of a bygone era with the power to trap magical energy within it. Mistress used this box to contain magical energy when she was weaving a spell, which she then released with spectacular-- or catastrophic-- results. "Someday," Mistress had said when she first took Minerva into her tutelage, "I will pass from this world into the next. When that day comes, this box will become yours. By that day, you will have acquired the knowledge and experience to make use of its great power. Until then, you are never to touch it." From that day on, Minerva had never touched the box, following Mistress' instructions. She was often curious about it though, for it always seemed that radiant lights, or hellish fires, or one of any number of other things were rising from the box. When Mistress was cheerful, the box would fly open and beautiful butterflies would spring forth. When she was cross, the box would emit hordes of spiders and centipedes, and Minerva had to shoo them away with her broom. Her curiosity was only piqued by the black smoke that seemed to have poured from the box on this day. She peered into the room, hoping to step close enough without Mistress noticing that she could look inside of the box, taking short, tiny, quiet steps towards Mistress. She had done this countless times before, and each time, Mistress had noticed. So, this time, she was extra careful, her soft feet padding silently across the cold stone floor, her hands holding up her dingy white dress so as not to make the slightest ruffling. Still, she failed yet again, for just as she was about close enough to look over into the edge, Mistress slammed the box shut, and turned to face Minerva. "I'm going out for a walk," Mistress said. "Clean up my workshop while I am away." She pointed to the large amounts of dust and ash that had been deposited by the cloud of black smoke on her tables, her flasks, her books and her tools. With that, she walked briskly out of the room, and down the stairs, leaving Minerva alone in the tower. Alone, with the box. She picked up her broom and set to cleaning, trying not to focus on the box, but rather on her task, for she knew what Mistress had said, and she did not want to disobey. She swept the ash away into the corners, thinking about how someday she would know, how there was no rush. She leaned over and picked up a book that had been knocked over, setting it back on Mistress' bookshelf. Look at all of these wonderful books, Minerva thought to herself. If I am finished before Mistress comes back, I will read one. I'll read a book, and lose myself in its words, and this box will scarcely even exist to me. She finished her work, and did exactly what she had planned, selecting one of the dusty old books from the top shelf. She stretched upward on her tiptoes to reach the shelf, for she was far shorter than Mistress. Her thin, frail little arms stretched upward as far as they could, and with her fingertips, she just barely gripped the book, pulling it out and letting it fall for a second, before catching it in her hands and pulling it to her chest, pressing against her small breasts. Once she had the book, she took it back into the other room, closing the door behind her, and sat down at the wooden table to read. She opened the book, and stared at the writing. She stared at it, but she did not read it, for her mind was not on the words written in the book, her mind was still on the box. She tried to read, a few words entered her mind, but her thoughts always wandered. Almost not of her own volition, she kept looking at the wooden door leading back into Mistress' workroom. The curiosity was eating away at her. Just one look, thought Minerva. One look and I will close it up tight. She was sure that any power that was contained in the box now would have been used up in that awful display of smoke, and it would be empty. She just wanted to see it, to see the empty box, to prove to herself that that was all it was, just an empty box. Minerva opened the door to Mistress' workroom, her pulse quickening in anticipation as her bare feet padded along the cold stone floor towards the box. Her palms grew sweaty as she neared it. The last few steps towards it seemed to take an eternity, even though she quickened her pace as she approached. Finally, it was before her. She spent a long moment just looking at the bejeweled exterior, examining the box as she would examine something completely new and unknown to her, even though she had seen this box, at least the outside, for nearly every day of her life. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dingy dress, and extended her frail, pale arms, gripping the sides of the lid of the box. She took a deep breath, she could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest and she could hear her pulse in her ears. Again, she hesitated, with her hands on the lid of the box. I have come this far, she told herself. I have to do it, I may never have this chance again. And so, with a push, she threw open the lid of the box. It was empty. She had been right. There was nothing there. It was just an empty box. Its inside was plain and dirty, nothing but charred wood. Minerva breathed a sigh of relief, and reached over to pull the lid closed again. She pulled on it, but it did not move. It was as though there was some force holding the box open. She tried to lift the box, but she could not. She tried to close the box, but she could not. With that, Minerva started to worry. Mistress would know that she had opened the box, for she had closed it before she departed, and it was now open. So, Minerva reached out, gripping the lid with both hands, and pulled on it as hard as she could, trying to force the box closed. On her arms as she pulled on the lid with all her might, she felt a small warm breeze. Could this subtle wind be the force that was keeping the box open? She pulled, and pulled, and slowly the lid started to give, but the wind grew stronger as she pulled the lid closer to being shut. Sweat formed on her brow, and she gritted her teeth as she reached the halfway point, now pulling against a wind that could launch a ship. Three fourths closed, Minerva felt as though she was opposing a hurricane, but she now had the upper hand, and could put the entire weight of her small body into pushing on the lid, trying to slam the box closed. It was very nearly closed when a wind whistling out of the small crack left turned into a tongue of flame. Minerva screamed in pain as it hit her in the chest, and flew backwards. The lid, of course, immediately flung itself back open, the flames turning into a great inferno spewing from the box. Minerva hit the cold stone floor hard, her hands cradling her chest. She felt a searing pain, and saw a hole burned in her dress, and her breasts underneath, red and swollen, aching from the assault upon them. She gasped and pulled herself to her feet, for though there was pain, there were also greater concerns, like the fountain of fire that was now rising from the box. It made a horrible roaring sound as it rushed out, and left an ever-widening black circle on the ceiling as it climbed upward. Minerva dashed about frantically, trying to find something to put out the flames. Surely there was some spell, some potion, something on hand in the case of an accident like this. As shocking as a sudden sound is the sudden absence of sound, so when the roaring of the fire abruptly stopped, Minerva turned to face it. Sure enough, the flames had stopped. Minerva was relieved again, glad that it seemed to just have been a temporary incantation. Perhaps there was some energy left in the box after all, Minerva thought, and that was just it being released. She stepped over to the box, confident that this time she could close it. As it turns out, the fire was not extinguished, but its source was plugged. Plugged, Minerva saw, by something smooth and black. It appeared to be the end of something fairly large. She had no idea how it could all fit in the box, but she did not care at this moment, for instead, she was grateful that the flames had stopped. The black shape started to rise, until part of it had emerged from the box. It was indeed far too large for the box, for the shape rose and rose, more and more of it became visible. First the smooth, rounded edges of something that appeared to be almost like the body of a squid, only rounder, and appearing to have an exterior of polished black leather. Then, one large, yellow, bloodshot eye. Finally, attached to the body of this cyclops-squid-thing, a forest of tentacles, flying this way and that, probing, feeling, thrashing about as though they were caught in the same wind that had been escaping from the box. When the last tentacles had exited the box, the flames resumed, for their obstruction had been removed. The beast seemed to not be harmed by the flames, but it seemed to have no particular fondness for them either, as it quickly moved out of their way. Minerva gasped in horror, she could not even scream, and though momentarily paralyzed with fright, she now started to back away from the horrible visage that had emerged from the box. When its single eye locked onto her and started to float towards her, she turned and broke into a run, dashing for the wooden door. She had to get out of her. She would worry about closing the box and explaining this to Mistress later, for now, her only thought was of escaping this room. She had almost escaped, but then a cold, rubbery, black tentacle lashed out from the beast and wrapped itself around one of her ankles. She stumbled, falling to the cold stone floor with a soft cry. Another tentacle flew forth, wrapping around her other ankle. The creature began to pull her towards it. She grabbed onto cracks in the floor, onto the legs of tables, anything to try to slow her progress towards the evil creature, but each time it pulled and pulled until her fingers slipped, or the tables broke, or her weak, frail arms could simply not hold on any longer. She was lying on her stomach, on the floor, helpless. She looked over her shoulder, seeing the silent beast floating just above her now, two of its tentacles holding her ankles tightly. They then began to pull her upwards by her ankles, pulling her off the floor. Again she tried to grab onto anything, but again she failed, and soon she was hanging upside down. The flowing skirt of the dingy white dress fell downwards, falling over her upper body as everything from her waist down was bared. She tried once more to get free, kicking her pale, smooth legs, now perfectly visible, but she could not escape. With the dress now inverted and covering her face, she could not even see. And yet, part of her thought it might be better to not see. The two tentacles that held her legs open now pulled her legs apart, exposing her soft, pink womanhood. She let out another little cry as this happened, fear gripping her so tightly that she could not have screamed-- not that it would have done her any good, for she as alone in the tower, save for the tentacled beast. Another tentacle slid up her soft leg, across her thigh, brushing her inner thigh, the tip of it caressing her pink lips softly. Minerva started to cry. Her cry turned into a scream as the black tentacle violated her, forcing itself inside, stretching her. She screamed again as her little ass, also spread open, had a tentacle violating it as well. Her whole body shook as the massive, thick, black tentacles filled up her holes, thrusting deep inside of her. She cried and gasped as they started to slide in and out of her stretched, gaping holes, tearing into her. She felt like she was being torn in half. Another tentacle came forth, lifting the dress away from her face, and lingered for a moment right in front of Minerva's face. Her cries faded, replaced with a terrified gasp as she saw the black mass hovering before her. Without a sound, it plunged into her mouth, nearly gagging her. Now, she could not even scream, she could only writhe and squirm as the three tentacles slid in and out of her frail little body. She occasionally tried to kick one away, or bite at the one in her mouth, but it was all futile, the creature that was raping her anywhere there would seem to be access did not even notice her attempts to fight back. Finally, save for a few little sobs, her body went limp, the last vestiges of her fighting spirit left her. The black tentacles continued to rape her until, with but a soft whimper to mark her passing, Minerva died. Even after she died they continued to rape her limp, lifeless corpse. When Mistress returned, she found the flames still spewing forth, having ruined a good deal of her books and tools, and the beast, still floating in the center of the room, having its way with the sad remains of Minerva. Mistress banished the beast, she closed the box, and she held poor Minerva's body in her arms. The apprentice had disobeyed her, and for that she was angry, but a fate like this was not deserved, and because of that, she shed a single tear as she held Minerva close to her.