As a boy, I sat with my grandmother’s family Bible on my lap, turning past the genealogies to find Gustave Doré’s engravings—Adam and Eve in Eden, lit like marble against the dark. They were the most beautiful and sensual pictures I had ever seen. So this week I set out to illustrate a scene from my erotic gothic novel, The Mysteries of Barcelona, in that spirit, working through Canva, an image generator called Draw Things, and many late nights in Photoshop. Dozens of failed attempts later—an automaton with three arms, a hero who looked like a knight in armor—this is the one.

Last week I posted an excerpt from the book, and it climbed 2,000 spots on Amazon’s Victorian Erotica chart. That small miracle has me wondering what the rest of the novel would look like in Doré’s hand. This may become the first plate in a collection, a visual companion to the story. Tell me in the comments if you’d want that.

Here is the scene the illustration depicts. Fair warning: it is for adults.

Mt. Tibidabo, April 1895

Chloé walked to the velvet bed in the new room the automatons had built for them. She removed her clothes slowly, deliberately, aware of forty-seven minds tracking every movement. Her dress fell away, then her corset, unlaced with practiced ease, her breasts spilling free, full and heavy and warm.

She lay down naked, her dark hair spread across silk pillows like spilled ink, her body displayed like an offering on an altar.

The velvet was cool against her back, buttocks, and shoulders. She felt every point of contact. Hyperaware. Her senses heightened by anticipation and the strange thrill of being observed by a consciousness that wasn’t human—an entirely new species.

A tickle along the side of her breast made her look down. Then a finger pressed against her skin. Cool and smooth. The temperature contrast made her nipple harden instantly.

Chloé traced it with her eyes and saw where it originated—Marcellus standing beside the bed, his god-like face and body tilted down toward her.

Looking at him with eyebrows raised, her fingers working between her legs, she asked, “Do you want to participate?”

Marcellus nodded. A simple assent. But weighted with meaning, with choice, with desire she’d never seen in him before.

The air in the room changed. A fresh scent flowed around her, mixing with the musk of her own arousal. She took a breath.

“Okay then. But I’m new to all this, and you are huge, be gentle.”

Marcellus nodded again.

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The scene continues on page 399 of The Mysteries of Barcelona. Turn down the lights first.