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As soon as she laid eyes on her, she knew. Oleta drifted through the thrift shop, its tangle of charming costume jewels tugging at her sleeves as she made her way to the end of the aisle. Draped over a silver candelabra tarnished to full black was a necklace. She had a long brass chain of thick loops and, swinging gently in the air conditioning, an amulet. A gold clover with the heart of a ruby. It was likely glass, and the gold was likely plated, but Oleta didn’t care. She knew she was a special piece of jewelry. It was as if she was calling to her. She like ships or nations, something bigger than itself. She was spectacularly stunning, and laying a hand on the cool metal sent an electric thrum through her body, making her head sing.
She bought the necklace along with a handful of jewelry that buzzed against her skin but did not make her head sing. There was something strange about the amulet. There was something more to her. As she thought it, a chill raced up her spine from where the amulet was clutched in her hand.
That night, she clasped her around her neck. She was ice cold, and the poem about warming pearls ran through Oleta’s head. The brass chain and plated gold soaked in Oleta’s warmth, and she awoke shivering in the night. The necklace was still ice cold.
Sleep, something whispered in her mind. It was menacing and smooth. It was not Oleta’s own voice. You need rest to keep us warm.
Oleta did not make a move, but she reached out and drew a blanket tight around herself.
There, isn’t that better? the voice whispered.
It was not. Oleta continued to shiver, but her eyes shut without her input, and she found herself asleep nonetheless. She had strange dreams that she could not remember come morning.
When she awoke, she was chilled to the bone, but she had to see herself. She stood naked in front of a floor length mirror, staring at the bright ruby glass resting on her clavicle. It was so bright, so warm that her skin looked sickly and pale next to it. Oh, but she looked beautiful. The amulet, she was beautiful against her. Oleta felt, for a moment, that she would like nothing more than to be the velvet box that displays such lovely objects.
She pulled on her other jewelry first. A string of false pearls that she had worn so often that its veneer had weathered away rested brightly against the amulet’s brass chain. A pair of red glass earrings brought out her ruby center. It all felt warm in comparison to her own icy skin and the endless chill of the amulet. Perhaps they were so considerate as to try and warm her.
Thus adorned, she got dressed and went about her day. Throughout, she got colder and colder, shivering under layers of sweaters and poly-silk coats. But the amulet, oh the amulet, she beat like a heart against her chest. Oleta’s own heart quickened in response.
Oh, you are so cold, something whispered in Oleta’s mind when she returned home. Shall, I draw you a bath? Would you like that very much?
Oleta would like that very much indeed. Her arms moved of their own accord, and she wondered for a moment, if she tried, would she be able to resist? Would she be able to refuse the bath and sit still at her kitchen table, shivering against the pulling tide?
It did not matter. Oleta would never resist.
Her hands worked knobs and poured bubbles. She appeared to favor her right hand, though Oleta was left handed naturally. When her hands stripped her of her layers, it was Oleta’s own desire that had her stare at her shivering body with its glittering jewels in the mirror before sinking into the warm water.
Warmth. It was too hot. Boiling against her frigid skin. It sent a near-painful thrum through her body. She felt like she imagined a potato felt as it boiled: ready. Ready to be softened and consumed entirely. With or without skin. But always with eyes to watch what happened.
As heat flowed into Oleta’s body, the necklace drew it out, still icy cold. The pendant laid flat against her stomach – odd, hadn’t she been a shorter length earlier? – and pulled the warmth in and in and in, an endless black hole of need. Oleta gasped at the chill.
That’s it. Be warm, my love. Be warm.
Oleta let the water drain and filled it again with water too hot to stand.
In minutes, her breath made visible clouds in the frigid air.
Oleta discovered, once, weeks and weeks after her purchase of the amulet, that the chain had no clasp. Odd, she thought, hadn’t she clasped it when she first drew it about her neck? It didn’t matter. The chain was too short to be pulled over her head, a choker with heavy weight that she wouldn’t dream of removing if she could.
She was never warm now, never. All her warmth belonged to her. The amulet drank up her blood and her heartbeat like she drank up the boil from water. The colder she was, the easier it was to let go and giver herself over to the amulet. Oleta would move in an elegant swirl of motion, never more beautiful than when she was her puppet.
Oleta toyed with the amulet, wrapping her chain around her fingers and back again. She was still so cold. So cold. So beautiful. Oleta thought again about the potato, about being softened and consumed.
When she reached for the clasp, it was there.
Oh, my love, the voice whispered reverently.
Oleta pressed a kiss to the ruby glass, her lips sticking slightly against the cold surface. And then she swallowed it.
She began with the chain, tilting her head back and lowering the brass down her throat. It was the longest it had ever been, she must have wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Warm throat. Cold metal. When she reached the amulet herself, the size was almost too much to swallow. I may choke, Oleta thought.
Allow me, the voice whispered, and all control was ceded.
Oleta felt every jagged and unforgiving edge of the amulet as her throat relaxed around it beyond her own ability. Her gag reflex screamed but was unable to act against her absolute control.
She went down slowly, centimeter by centimeter.
The warmest part of a warm blooded creature was inside, after all. Oleta could feel the ice of her. She could feel the beating of her ruby glass heart, so much steadier than her own. And she felt the wonderful puppet chains latch tightly around her. Oh, the amulet was inside Oleta, but she was the one consumed.
At the thought of it, the shiver that ran up Oleta’s spine had nothing to do with the cold.