The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. The photos used in this story are created by AI and are therefore not subject to copyright. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Titel: The circle of Ylmarach (Swedish fear)
Autor(in): LaLia
Info: Another story that I started in German in a rough outline but then abandoned. Now here in English with a few adjustments. It's fitting that it's Easter, and the little name suffix in the title was intentional. I'm publishing it in English specifically for someone here, especially since you might like the topic.
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Chapter 1 - The Easter Bonfire
The fields flew past them in lush green as the car took the final bend. The sun hung low over the treetops, golden wisps of light danced across the windshield, while an old sign appeared in the distance: Falkenrade – 2 km. Emma drives the car, her hands loosely on the steering wheel. Stina sat next to her, and Linnea took the back seat. Their best friends. Since childhood. They had gone to school together, shared secrets, analyzed first kisses, suffered and laughed together. And now, years later, on a little road trip in a country that was still foreign to Stina and Linnea – it felt both familiar and surreal.
Hamburg lay behind them – big, vibrant, breathless. Stina had hardly been able to tear herself away from the Elbphilharmonie, while Linnea had strolled fascinated through St. Pauli, between graffiti, sooty bars, and colorful shop windows. They knew Stockholm, Malmö, Gothenburg – cities full of life, charm, and history. But Hamburg had a different size, a different impact. And a different darkness. "Växjö, in comparison, is really like a dollhouse," Linnea had laughed at breakfast on Friday morning. Emma had just nodded, feeling a little wistful inside. Hamburg had become part of her everyday life – she knew the trains, the cafés, the language no longer sounded foreign. And yet… when she thought of her German grandmother, the old black-and-white photos in the wooden box under her bed, Germany still felt like a search for clues. As if she were here to find something she couldn't even name, and in doing so, she missed her Swedish homeland.
Now, over Easter, they wanted to get out of the city. Fresh air, nature, no subway tunnels, and no sirens at night. On the way to Heide Park, an adventure park, Emma had discovered the small village of Falkenrade. A place hardly anyone knew. A castle ruin, an inn, an Easter bonfire – nothing more. But that was exactly what they were looking for.
"Is that the castle?" asked Stina, as a half-collapsed wall appeared between the trees.
Emma nodded. "That must be it. According to Google, it dates back to the 12th century."
"Kind of romantic," Linnea whisper, pressing her smartphone against the window to take a photo.
When they parked the car next to the inn, it was quiet. No street noise, no people, just the rustling of the forest and the distant barking of a dog. The building was small, with dark green shutters and a weathered wooden sign above the door: Gasthof Waldeck. It seemed plain, almost desolate – but cozy in an old-fashioned way.
"Nothing special," Emma said as she got out. "But cheap."
Inside, they were greeted by an older woman with a gray bun and a smile that seemed polite but tired. She spoke with a thick northern German accent – fortunately, Emma's German had improved after her first few months in Hamburg, although she still had that typical and very charming Swedish accent. The lady gave them the key to a three-bedroom upstairs and pointed to a hand-drawn map of the town hanging on the wall.
"Tonight's fire is up in the clearing. Just follow the path behind the house. It starts at eight."
Emma thanked her, but the landlady's gaze lingered on her for a moment.
"Are you alone here?" she finally asked.
"Yes. Just the three of us."
A brief looking. Then the woman turned away, almost too quickly.
The room smelled of wood and old linen. The windows offered a view of the edge of the forest. Golden rays of sunlight cast long shadows across the ground. Stina flopped onto the bed, Linnea took off her jacket and went to the window.
"There's no Påskris," she said. "Not even a hint of color. Just forest and... shadows."
Emma smiled slightly. "But there's an Easter bonfire. And we know that, too."
After unpacking their bags, the three friends headed back to the ground floor of the inn. The menu was small and rustic—fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, and a simple stew. But after the long drive and the hustle and bustle of the last few days, the simple meal tasted like a small feast. The landlady barely spoke a word as she brought them their food, but her gaze kept lingering on the three of them. scrutinizing. vigilant. Or was it just her imagination? No, the few other guests also eyed the three women curiously.
When they returned to the room later, Emma quietly closed the door behind her. The hallway was dim, the wood creaking underfoot with every step. Old, but charming, she thought. It took a while for all three of them to shower and change. The small room was now warm from steam, the scent of shampoo, and the soft music from Linnea's phone. Despite the cramped space, they felt comfortable – just like they used to when they met as teenagers in one of the small rooms in Växjö to meet up to get ready for a school party or a trip to the movies.
When they finally looked at themselves in the mirror, they had to laugh. "We look like the Nordic version of Charlie's Angels," said Stina, tossing her braided hair over her shoulder. She was the tallest of them, almost 5'9", with a narrow face and light blue eyes that seemed almost silver in the twilight. Emma stood next to her, barely shorter, her long, loose hair falling softly over her shoulders. Her features were softer, with a touch of melancholy that often made her seem older than she was. And Linnea – almost the same height as Emma, with a cool elegance that often gave her an air of unattainability – was just putting the finishing touches to her eyeliner.
They were best friends, but if strangers had seen them, they could have been mistaken for sisters. Three blondes, tall, attractive – the cliché of Scandinavian beauty, as it could have been in any advertising catalog. And yet, none of them were superficial or concerned withstanding out. They knew how they came across. But they didn't take advantage of it. All three wore simple jeans, no rips, no frills. Their tops were simple – white shirts for Linnea and Stina, a thin long-sleeved top for Emma. Their leather jackets were already hanging over the chair, ready for the evening. No glamour, no glitter – but that was precisely what defined their style. Unfussy. Natural. Authentic.
"Ready?" Emma finally asked, putting on her jacket.
"Ready for the fire," Linnea replied, smiling. "I just hope we don't smell like smoked ham afterward."
It was now dusk outside. A milky gray lay over the village, which was slowly falling into shadow. The narrow path the landlady had mentioned led directly behind the inn, through dense undergrowth that now reached into the path like dark fingers in the twilight. The three walked side by side, talking quietly, laughing now and then.
The forest suddenly opened as they took the last few steps up the ascending path. Suddenly, they stood in a wide, open clearing, lying like a bare island amidst the dense greenery. From here, they had a sweeping view of the small village of Falkenrade, whose roofs were barely distinguishable in the twilight. The first lights flickered in the windows, as if the entire village had decided to light candles at once. But out here, it was already brighter than anywhere else.
The large Easter bonfire in the center of the clearing had just been lit. The flames moved greedily up the stacked logs, sparks hissing into the darkening sky, as if imitating stars taking flight. A faint scent of burnt wood hung in the air—mixed with something sweet that Emma couldn't immediately identify.
"Wow," Linnea murmured, stopping for a moment as if trying to memorize the image.
Small fires flickered all over the clearing. Some weren't quite lit yet, others were already ablaze, and families with children had gathered around them. The smoke rose in fine clouds, and the shadows of people danced on the ground like shy animals. To the left of the large fire stood three simple wooden huts with open window shutters. The smell of steaks, melted cheese, and freshly baked stick bread hung in the air. Children ran laughing between the adults' legs, while soft music blared from a loudspeaker – strangely foreign to the three of them, but somehow charming at the same time.
"Coke, water, or...?" Stina asked half-jokingly as they approached the first hut.
"Pff, we're in Germany," Emma grinned, pointing to the large tap next to the stand. "A freshly tapped beer. It's practically mandatory."
A little later, they each held a cool glass in their hand, sparkling golden in the last glimmers of dusk. They clinked glasses, laughed, and toasted an old man who gave them a friendly nod and then turned his stick bread back over the fire. Everything felt light for a moment. Harmless.
"We could have taken our time," Linnea said, looking around. "It's not that crowded yet."
Stina nodded. "Most of the families are already here – but the people from the village are probably taking their time. Hopefully, a few young people will arrive later."
Emma took a sip. The beer was strong, but pleasantly bitter. A good North German beer, the kind she'd come to appreciate. Still, she couldn't completely relax. Her gaze kept wandering across the clearing—to the small groups at the edge, to the huts where men she hadn't seen before occasionally gathered. Unfamiliar faces, dark jackets, quiet conversations. They didn't seem to be there Unfriendly. But... aloof.
Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe the fact that they were outsiders here. Strangers in a village that hadn't changed for generations. And maybe she just felt the remnants of the big city within her—that inner sensor that could never be completely turned off when it got dark, and you didn't know exactly who was watching you.
"Hey, Emma," Stina said quietly, nudging her with her elbow. "Everything okay?"
Emma forced a smile. "Yeah, sure. Just... I find it strangely quiet here. No music, no stage... Somehow different than I expected."
"Maybe that'll come," Linnea said. "It's only just after eight."
And indeed—by the minute, the clearing noticeably filled up. More and more people came out of the forest along the paths, mostly in pairs or small groups. Many wore dark clothing. Middle-aged men and women, some with children, but most alone.
As darkness fell, the music grew louder—and more modern. Someone had obviously changed the DJ, or simply the playlist. Now a driving beat rumbled across the clearing, mixed with pop hits and a few well-known classics, to which the first groups began to move. It wasn't a dance-floor festival feeling, but more a slow, languid sway between beer mugs and snatches of conversation—but it was a start. Emma felt the tension within her slowly dissipate. The warm colors of the fire, the soft clinking of bottles, the laughter of young voices, everything was suddenly more familiar, friendlier. Stina and Linnea also seemed more relaxed. They had their second beer in their hands, a light foam clung to the rim of their glasses, and somewhere someone was giggling at a bad joke in English.
Making contacts had become easier. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was because the clearing had now filled up – mostly with young people, mid-twenties, some older. There weren't many women among them, but the men seemed friendly, curious, and above all, talkative. Emma usually did the talking. Her German skills helped when the others faltered. But things quickly got going in English, too. Some of the young men – a few in caps, a few in leather jackets – were visibly trying to start a conversation with Linnea and Stina. Awkward, awkward, but charming in their own way.
"You girls aren't from around here, huh?"
"Sweden? Wow, nice. Very cold, I guess?"
"First time at Osterfeuer? This one is special..."
Some of the sentences sounded harmless, others stuck with Emma. What did he mean by "special"? But she didn't press the issue. Maybe it was just one of those sayings that sounded stranger in translation than it was meant to be.
But the looks – the looks remained. Not just curious. Also… judgmental. A few men – mostly older ones – stood in small groups at the edge of the action. Beers in hand, they said nothing, didn't laugh. They watched. Not intrusive, not exactly hostile, but… watchful. As if they wanted to make sure everything was going according to their rules. Emma tried to ignore it. They were probably part of the organizers. Or they were just village elders wondering about all the commotion.
"I think it's kind of cool here now," Stina called into Emma's ear as an Avicii song started playing and the crowd hummed along. "I wouldn't have thought Germans could party like this!"
Emma laughed. "Depends on where you are. But yes – there seems to be something going on here."
The old castle rose above the clearing, majestic and silent, like a relic from a bygone era. Its walls, some well-preserved, some just crumbling remnants of stone, towered against the sky and cast long, ominous shadows across the forest floor. The moon now hovered just above the battlements, bathing the ruins in a silvery light that seemed almost ghostly. It was as if the walls themselves were keeping an eye on what was happening in the clearing below—a silent sentinel, watching everything.
The mood in the clearing was exuberant, the music getting louder, the beats now heavier and more danceable. More and more people streamed between the fires, which now occupied most of the clearing. Their laughter and the rhythmic movements of the dancers mingled with the crackling of the burning wood, and it was barely possible to distinguish between the dancing bodies and the flickering flames. It was already late—almost 11 p.m.—and the evening was slowly drawing to midnight. The crowd had thinned somewhat; The larger groups had disappeared, and now there were only about fifty younger people dancing, who came together and separated again, between the fires and tables.
Silent observers still stood off to the side, their gazes sharp, almost too attentive. Emma could feel the eyes in the darkness, constantly measuring her, as if they were part of a game, she hadn't quite understood yet.
"We should sit down," Linnea suggested, leaning one hand on the table in the middle of the clearing. Her movements had become somewhat unsteady, due to the mixture of beer and schnapps she'd consumed in the last few hours. They'd handed her glasses—those strange, almost ritualistic cups that had to be drunk simultaneously. "Bad alcohol," Stina murmured beside her, laughing slightly as she plopped down on the hard wooden chair. Her cheeks were flushed, her movements no longer as quick and fluid as they had been at the beginning of the evening. The alcohol had long since taken its toll—on all three of them. Emma felt the warm, pleasant rush slowly spreading within her, her thoughts flowing as if through a veil. Yet she was aware of this vague restlessness that was spreading within her.
The sounds of the music, the flickering fire, the laughter—it was almost magical. Almost. But as Emma leaned back and looked at the moon, now fully looming over the castle walls, she could feel the ancient walls staring at her, as if examining her.
"Do you also have the feeling that we're being... watched?" Emma asked suddenly, her voice quiet, almost a whisper.
"What?" Stina turned to her. "You don't have one of those strange instincts again, do you?"
Linnea laughed, but the two women's laughter quickly faded when they saw Emma's face. She had straightened up, her eyes once again searching the edge of the clearing, where the silent observers stood. They were still there, wearing dark clothing that blended almost seamlessly into the darkness. But it was no longer the same clothing they had arrived in. They now wore long black coats with hoods pulled low over their faces. But what made her uncomfortable were the masks, which she couldn't yet fully identify. It was the way they stood that sent a chill down Emma's spine—unmoving, uninterested in the celebration, unlaughing, undancing. They were like statues, simply observing what was happening.
"Over there," Emma said, pointing discreetly with a barely perceptible nod. "They've never really spoken to us. And they... keep looking at us."
Stina and Linnea glanced over briefly, but they couldn't quite explain what it was that made them feel uncomfortable. The wind still carried the smell of burning wood and stick bread, and yet—the longer they stared into the darkness, the more distinct the feeling became that something was peeping out of the night, approaching, something that still hadn't completely faded into the background.
"Maybe they're just... strange," Linnea said with a shrug. "Are we getting back into the fray?"
But Emma wasn't sure if that was the right idea. And at that very moment, as she was still searching for the right words, she saw the group of silent observers approaching, and at that very moment the music changed. The beat was replaced by medieval sounds, and suddenly the people stopped dancing. Stina wrinkled her nose briefly at the different music.
The air was suddenly heavy, and the music that had just a moment ago carried the rhythm of the evening grew quieter and quieter. It was a barely noticeable transition, but Emma, Stina, and Linnea felt nonetheless the ominous silence that settled over the clearing like a fine, invisible veil. Emma looked again at the observers. There were 13 of them. 10 of them wore white masks like those in Phantom of the Opera, which had no expressions, no emotions, just those dead eyeholes that fixed on everything around them. The other three wore animal masks—with horns like a goat's. Emma couldn't help but think of the Wendigo myth. The masks were intricately crafted, almost lifelike, with ridged leather and shining eyes that shimmered in the moonlight. They moved as a group, slowly and purposefully, coming ever closer. Emma felt her stomach clench. Something isn't right here.
Linnea, already too drunk on the liquor and beer, staggered slightly as she tried to get her bearings. Her eyes narrowed, and she swayed. "I—I feel... weird," she murmured, clinging to Emma. "Everything's spinning..."
But what happened next wasn't a hallucination. Not a vision of the alcohol had painted in her head. It was real.
A man stepped forward. His mask was one of those grotesque animal masks. When he spoke, his voice was a voice like the rumble of a storm, deep and threatening. Everyone nearby fell silent, the music faded, and all eyes turned to him.
"The chosen ones," he said with uncanny precision, "the time has come. You are chosen."
His gaze met Emma, then Stina and Linnea, and for a moment it seemed as if he saw only them. The women who had just been among the revelers now stepped out of the crowd. Three of them, young, beautiful women. The three women began to slowly undress, without a glance at the others, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Their movements were calm, almost dance-like. Their clothing fell to the ground in gentle folds, and soon they stood completely naked before the large fire. The flames danced, casting ghostly shadows that wrapped around the women's bodies like ghosts.
"What's happening here?" Stina whispered, her voice trembling with confusion. "Why... why are they doing this?"
Emma couldn't say anything, only stared at the scene unfolding before her. The women standing in front of the fire now knelt. They squatted in a perfect line, their heads bowed, as if they were part of a ritual they couldn't refuse, as if it were their destiny. And then it fell silent. Not the typical festival sounds, not people talking or laughing. Just the crackling of the fire and the eerie breath of night drifting through the forest. Emma felt as if the ground beneath her feet were threatening to give way.
"Linnea, Stina," she whispered, grabbing her two friends by the arms. Her voice was quiet but urgent. "We have to get out of here. Now."
The three women in the row in front of the fire were still staring into the sea of flames, as if no longer thinking about the world around them. Their bodies gleamed in the firelight, but there was a strange glow, as if the fire itself wanted to illuminate their skin. Something unnatural seemed to emanate from them.
"What kind of game is this?" Linnea finally asked, but her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.
The air suddenly felt much thicker, as if crushed by an invisible weight. Stina couldn't bear it anymore, the feeling that everything inside her was spinning faster and faster. It was as if the ground beneath her feet was no longer real. The world around her blurred, and the clinking of the beer in her ears became a muffled, distant sound. The sounds of music, the laughter of others, everything seemed to slow down, as if in a nightmare.
"I feel kind of sick," Stina suddenly heard Linnea's voice – shaky and desperate, but her words also sounded strangely slurred. Linnea tried to stand up, but her legs no longer obeyed her. She staggered and fell to the ground, the soft grass unable to catch her. She lay there, her eyes wide open, staring into the dark night sky, but she no longer seemed to be herself. Stina wanted to go to her, but her own head was heavy, and the darkness crept further and further into her thoughts. It took an eternity for her to regain control of her body. She tried to steady herself, but it was as if she were fighting against invisible threads that paralyzed her movements.
Emma, also struck by the strange weakness, looked frantically between her two friends. What was it? She couldn't tell if the alcohol was to blame, or if something else – something much more sinister – had put them all in this state. "Linnea! Stina!" Her voice was weak, and her body refused to obey as she tried to stand. Her legs felt like lead, as if they were being sucked into the ground. Every attempt to rise seemed futile. She sank back down onto the hard wooden chair, which was only halfway stable beneath her. But her eyes, watching what was happening around the fire, were now wide open.
Three men with white masks had now positioned themselves in front of the three women, who were still kneeling in a circle in front of the fire. They looked up at the masked men, but their faces were blank—without a trace of emotion, as if they were no longer human. The men crept around them like shadows, their movements calm, almost dance-like, as they tightened the circle around the women. Then they squatted behind the women and opened their coats. Nothing could be seen, but three sharp cries suggested it: the three chosen ones were suddenly being fucked by the men—fast, hard, and deep. The slapping of their buttocks was clearly audible.
"What's happening here?" Stina finally whispered, but her words seemed to be swallowed by the wind. It was a mixture of uncertainty and confusion Yet none of the men seemed to react to her. They were too engrossed in their own dark ritual. The shimmering shadows of the masks danced around the women like ghosts coming alive in the flames. Their movements seemed almost in sync with the flames, as if they themselves were part of this fiery dance. And then, as if there was no turning back, the man in the white mask raised a hand, and for a moment, all was still. The wind stopped, the crackling of the fire died down, and all that remained was the sound of their own hearts pounding in their chests. It took a moment before the three young men who were taking the women by the fire gasped and apparently climaxed almost simultaneously, spurting their semen deep into the girls.
"Who is the one chosen?" asked the man with the deep voice as he drew a long dagger.
Emma, desperately tugging at her friends, suddenly felt the cold breath of night on her skin, and an icy shiver ran down her spine. We must get out of here. NOW!
But something blocked her movements. Her legs no longer obeyed her, the ground beneath her swayed like a wave at sea. The veil of darkness continued to descend, and she could barely breathe. "Help me! Please!" she cried, her voice thin and barely above a whisper. But her friends—Linnea and Stina—were no longer the same. Their faces were blank, their eyes wide open, and they stared silently into the fire, as if they had forgotten everything else.
The man with the deep voice took a step toward the three naked women, his eyes fixed on them, cold and empty. "You have entered the path," he said, "now it is time to receive his judgment." With a quick movement, he brought the dagger to bear, a quick movement, and one of the women by the fire was dead. The second followed shortly after, blood soaking the grass of the clearing, and he spared only one of them.
And then Emma felt the darkness closing in around her.
Stina opened her eyes and found herself in a frightening situation. She was hanging upside down from a beam, bound with tight rope and naked. A gag in the shape of a ring had deprived her of the ability to speak or scream. The room she was in smelled musty and damp. She tried desperately to free herself from her predicament, but the ropes on her spread legs were too tight. As she did so, she kept feeling this strange sensation in her bottom. Something was pressing there, but she couldn't place it, only that something was inside her.
Emma, on the other hand, was kneeling uncomfortably on the hard surface between two boards, gagged and bound. She became a panic feeling, but the gag prevented her from making a sound. She could practically feel time passing and her lack of control over her situation. Her naked body trembled as she surveyed her surroundings, feeling the same strange sensation in her bottom.
Linnea's body lay face down, spread like an X on a wooden frame. She, too, was bound and gagged in the same way. It felt as if she were on display. The space around her was cold and eerie. She recognized the feeling in her bottom; it was a butt plug, like the one she owned privately, but this one seemed a bit larger.
All three of them were asking themselves the same questions: What had happened? Where were they? Who had brought them here? And what did he intend to do with them?
