PROLOGUE:  PRELUDE TO REDEMPTION

My body’s endowments had blossomed very early, and I was used to boys staring at me, ever since junior school.  In high school, while a lot of the other girls enjoyed being the object of lust, but I’d never been comfortable with it.  With my height (an even 6’0”), my natural blonde hair, the sapphire blue eyes I’d inherited from my father, and the dancer’s body I’d inherited from my mother, I was admittedly pleased that I’d been dealt an aesthetically favorable hand, genetically. 

And while I worked to stay pretty, I didn’t try to flaunt it or tease the boys like some of my friends did.  My father had warned me that could lead to a certain reputation which, in turn, could lead to trouble.  With my studies and with sports (I played soccer all four years in high school), I didn’t really have that much time for boys anyhow.  For whatever reason, this didn’t deter their efforts all that much.

When I enrolled in college, it only got worse.  The girls were as interested in sex as the boys, and I felt like I was way behind the learning curve, as everyone seemed to have had experience with it.  Pressure was all around.  If I waited too much longer, I might never meet that special someone.  My good friend and roommate, Amy, had been bugging me for the entire first semester to be more social and attend some of the fraternity parties she frequented.  “No pressure, just come out and meet some guys,” she said.  So I went. 

At the third party I had ever gone to, Amy and I, along with four of the seemingly friendly fraternity guys, went for a midnight stroll on the cliffs and dunes next to campus.  I felt as if I was normal, talking and maybe flirting a little bit.  One of the guys got a little rough with Amy trying to get a kiss, and I intervened, pushing him away.  We started to walk away, but things got out of control.  Right there, not 300 yards away from our campus, Amy was raped by all four of these animals, one by one, taking turns restraining me and forcing me to watch it all unfold. 

They left her laying there and turned their attention towards me.  I fought them off, fear and anger feeding my disgust, and hit one of them so hard he had lost a tooth.  They gave up trying to take me sexually, and simply started beating on me.  They took turns, alternating their fury on me and then Amy and then back to me again.   Amy was hit so hard she was unconscious.  One of them said she was dead.  I lay there, one eye swollen shut, the other barely watching their movements.  Had they decided to attempt to rape me again, I would have had to give in.  But with Amy apparently dead, they started to panic, after the adrenaline and alcohol subsided.   

“We have to kill her, too,” one of them said, gesturing towards me.  I tried to crawl, but my body would not cooperate.

They picked up Amy, each seizing one of her arms or legs, and cast her from the Cliffside like garbage.  They approached me next.  I tried to thrash, at least show some resistance, but my arm and maybe a leg were broken.

“Fucking bitch,” said the boy whose tooth I’d managed to lodge out.  “Enjoy your trip.”

I was pitched from those cliffs, and I fell, fell, fell.  Everything turned black.  I didn’t even feel the impact.  When I awoke, I was in a hospital.  The doctors told me I would recover completely.  My parents were en route.  I didn’t want to see them.  When the cops finally left after questioning me, I turned my head and simply stared out the window.  Hatred crawled into my heart.  Men were animals.  Vicious animals with singular purpose.  I thought of them ravaging Amy’s body, and I wanted to kill them.  I really did.

“What if you could?” A voice asked.  I thought it was my own voice, but it wasn’t.  I turned over in my bed and there was a woman standing there.  She didn’t look much like a doctor.  She said her name was Angel, and she had a proposition for me.  That was five  years ago.

Under her tutelage, I would go on to commit atrocities I am sure I will never fully be forgiven for.  But I do believe now that my purpose is to put an end to the evil that Angel represents by rehabilitating the others girls under her control and liberating the horde of miniature men she has taken captive.  Three weeks I ago, with a little help and a lot of luck, I escaped her clutches, but I know she’s out there somewhere. 

My name is Nicole, and I am a recovering giantess witch.

CHAPTER 1: NOSTALGIA

The scene was more or less what I had expected.  There was little evidence that anyone had lived here at all, much less that there was a band of witches who were taking captive tiny men who were forced to worship them as giant goddesses.  Two weeks had passed since the three of us escaped this nightmare, and we were here to try and make things right.  The residual effects of Angel’s magic had subsided; in retrospect, part of that magic may have amplified our bloodlust towards men.  But it’s all fading from my memory, like the details of a dream that dissipate upon awakening. 

                But the two of us were mortal now, normal young women with no powers save the protective talismans we wore around our necks.  My companion, Leila, one of the other survivors of our great escape from this place, stood close to me, surveying the living room.

                “Where do you think they all went?” Leila asked me.  “The other girls?”

                I shrugged.  “More than likely, Angel’s enchantments wore off on them, too.  They probably went back to their lives, confused and ashamed.  Or it’s possible they’re starting it all over again.”

                “You really think Angel is still out there?” She asked.

                I nodded, lifted a fallen lamp and adjusting its shade.  “She’s endured centuries, from what I can tell, and the effects of what we did to her probably wore off, too,” I said, approaching the basement door.

                “But it’s been quiet.  No disappearances matching her profile,” Leila reminded me.  “Spade’s got his ear to the ground.”

                Spade was the nickname we gave to the private investigator (after Sam Spade, the fictional detective) who had inadvertently got involved in our escape.  The effects had worn off on him, too, and he’d forgiven us for getting him involved, shrunken, nearly killed literally in Angel’s hands.  He ended up being essential to our escape, causing Angel’s enchantments to backfire upon her and giving us a window to escape.

                Frankly, it seems obvious he has a bit of a thing for Leila, but she’s too young and maybe a little scarred to see it.  In any case, Spade’s been running point for us from afar, digging deeper into Angel’s origins and keeping an eye open for any signs of giantess witchcraft activities.  Angel wasn’t the only one we had to worry about.  There was the green-eyed sadistic Jayne still out there, and from what we last saw, she had run off with Angel’s amulet, no doubt inflicting misery on tiny helpless men to her great pleasure.

                Spade’s research also revealed a bit about the amulet itself.  He obtained some old talismans that had similar markings.  The lady in Chinatown who sold them to us said they could ward off that type of magic.  I was hoping we would never have to find out.  I put my hand on the basement door and pushed it open.  This is where Angel kept the collective.  I surely didn’t think it would still be there, but it was worth

                “Nicole,” Leila said, startling me.

                “What?”

                “Just… just be careful.”

                I stepped slowly into the dark, groping for the light.  I wasn’t sure what I expected to see.   As the room illuminated, so did the memory of the first time I saw a room just like this one…

*****FIVE YEARS AGO*****

                “What is this place?” I asked, putting down my bags.

                “This is my… playground, I suppose,” Angel said.  “Your room is right over there, next to mine.  Whatever you need, do not hesitate to ask, love.  I want you to be comfortable here.  Consider this your home.”

                I had met some of the other girls on my way in.  Mostly around my age, give or take a few years.  On the way over here, Angel said they were all just like me, victims of violence.  She had starting rounding up a sort of sisterhood, united by a singular thought: justice.  I wasn’t sure how that would be achieved, but Angel had promised to help me deliver those boys to justice and for whatever reason, I trusted she would do just that.  Just being around people who could relate to me made all the difference in the world. 

                When I wasn’t at the hospital, my parents panicked.  I did call them later and told them I was okay, and that I needed some time to myself and not to worry about me, and that I would resume my studies after some time away.  They objected strenuously, but I couldn’t face them.  Somehow what had happened to me made me feel tainted.  There was hatred in my heart, and I was ashamed of it there.  Amy was the one raped, and yet I still felt violated.  The feeling of powerlessness.  Helplessness.  I wanted those boys to feel that very much.  I looked up and saw Angel watching, suddenly wondering if she could hear my thoughts.

                “When you’re settled, come on downstairs.  I’ve called a family meeting,” Angel said.

                “What kind of meeting?”

                “What you came here for: vengeance.” 

                “You mean justice,” I corrected.  For a fraction of a second, her eyes narrowed, but then she laughed.

                “Yes, of course.  Just come down when you’re ready.  It’s a special meeting..  We call it ‘The Draw,’ and this one is dedicated to you, love.”  She turned and walked away.