The Pressing

Alicia was led down into the cool, dry basement, past row after row of the heavy oaken vats, her smooth, silk smock gently caressing her legs with each stride.

“Don’t be afraid,” the Olde Vintner said, his smile kind and comforting as he helped her to lie on the couch. He fastened the mask apparatus over her nose and mouth and connected the spirit trap. He lightly tapped the gauges before saying, “Your sacrifice will set the standard of spirit-wine for a thousand years.”

Alicia sighed happily as the drugs took effect and she exhaled deeper with each breath taken.