Buzzkill

{Bzzzzzzzzzzzz...bzzzzzzzzzzz....bzzzzzzzzzzzz.....bzzzzzzzzzzzzz......} Fuck. Me...{Stubbled cheek mashed into the gnarled wood, lids peeling open on a hoarse groan, a pneumatic, skull splitting pounding making its presence felt between my ears, gloved hand slapping down on the ancient gold talisman dancing its vibrations across the surface of the rack, buzzing through my dehydrated brain like a nest of damn wasps... that fucking harpy of a Directrix needed to get off my dick already...AWOL from the playboy mansion, I'd retreated to the Far Side, exchanging the man-stallion silks for a full set of fighting leathers. The gear felt foreign against my skin at first, but the fighting I fell back into, natural as breathing, the full-throttle violence of my frustrations visited upon the pale slayers, an angel of vengeance, stalking the dark alleys of Caldwell, the body count ratcheting up in a stinking, baby powdered flesh heap and neat rows of macabre canopic jars...something always leading me back here, to the Penthouse, with its familiar scents of leather and steel, candlewax and raw sexuality.. casting defocused diamond eyes about the black marble expanse, the other victims of my going walkabout, the messy strew of empty Goose bottles and overspilling ashtrays with their crushed blunts looking disturbingly like the inside of my head right now, thoughts of the forbidden Chosen,   and the sinister turn of my dreams rattling around my skull like a bunch of pissed off inmates of an insane asylum...bzzzzzzzzzzzz...bzzzzzzzzzzz} SHUT THE FUCK UP!! {slamming my hand down on the medallion with a snarl. Turns out the Directrix is an evil-minded bitch with a raging hard-on for discipline, preying on the vulnerable Chosen, poisoning their minds with fear of cruel and depraved acts the Primale would require of them. The Directrix wanted me. Sexually..I'd caught the flavour of her thoughts, seen the craving in her eyes...willing me to look at her the way she'd seen me look at  ... She knew I knew, and it stuck in her tight craw that I had the upper hand in this little unspoken power play crackling between us. The sadist in me relished the knowledge that there was sweet fuck all she could do about it, save for plagueing me with the incessant fucking summoning on the Primale medallion, the hunk of shiny stud bling buzzing off the goddamned hook since I'd left the Other Side, on my last fucking nerve with both it and the Directrix, fisting the vibrating gold in my gloved hand, pitching it across the room, slam-dunking the thing straight into the toilet bowl with a heavy, satisfying splosh...Exhaling an exasperated growl..And still the fucking thing buzzed!!..glugging about, making like a little jacuzzi in the toilet pan.. That caustic bitch is lucky I'm not shoving the thing up her infuriating ass..stripping out of my oily, blood soaked leathers, the shower bursting to life on command, shrouding my naked body in a mist of hot steam...a fresh set of Hugh Hefner silkies hung from the back of the bathroom door..Exhaling a long breath. I was going back. It was time, true. Not because the wicked witch of the Other Side was clicking her heels but... arching my head back into the pounding water...because I had a sworn duty, to the Brotherhood and to the Chosen and pissing around here on the Far Side wasn't going to fill the ranks of the Brotherhood. And then there was the chance I might see HER again, the forbidden Chosen..No! Fuck V, diamond eyes squeezed tight, killing the growl in my throat, scrubbing at my skin with the washcloth, willing the spray to sluice that traitorous scent from my skin..swirling down the drain along with the false hopes dogging my thoughts. She is not mine, never will be, she has seen the truth of what I am and made a choice to turn her back on it}
*I'd made the trip to my temple doors a million and one times, so many that it shocks me the marble isnt worn through from my bare footed hesitant and pathetically nervous parade to doors that seem to loom taller than ever now. The robe clasped along the whole way, HIS scent diminished, barely lingering from the times I'd pillowed my head upon it, or simply blanketed myself in the white silk, the instinct to bathe myself in that delicious flavour of him stronger than thoughts to do anything else...and I have been somewhat rendered useless. No scrolls to scribe nor edit, they piled and overflowed in plumes of parchment, and it had been time long past since fresh sheaves had been laid upon my desk...so my past time, my distraction has been him, thoughts I could nary have believed myself capable of thinking surfacing to overwhelm my mind and lay it into a realm of perpetual dreaming...so vivid, so wild, I can believe I will know how he feels against my skin, how his muscles will twitch a dance under the coasting of my fingertips, how he will....harden...to the stroke of my...tongue....No!! I cannot return it. I will not. What if he leaves with his scent? If his presence in my mind is merely a result of inhaling that drugging scent as though it is air, an oxygen of hallucinogenic potency warring with primal urges that surfaced at his proximity. If I dared to speak the curses he uttered, now would be the time, but my breath simply hisses out frustration as I mark another path to the doors...this time, this time I would convince myself to go, to whisper my way to the Primale's temple, I'm sure my brain can disconnect from the livewire of erotic images tucked into daydreams long enough to come up with a good argument. Maybe. Hopefully. Soon. On the next trip most definitely. Each pace works me up to a slight trembling nervousness, bringing me closer to the doors, the heavy wood grains perceptible to my eye. I just need to...go...go...another step, another, forcing myself closer...you'll get to see him in the flesh, some innocent voice trills to my senses. And darting out into white lit perfection has never been so easy as I head, a flash of midnight hair streaked over white, to...return his robe...yes, that's what I'm doing. Giving him what was rightfully his*
{Taking form in the courtyard of the Sanctuary, damp hair sleeked back off my inked temple, diamond irises readjusting to the whiteness of everything, the silk pajamas number all but weightless after the weapon-laden leathers, so why the fuck did it feel like I was heaving a small planet around on my shoulders? The birds were eerily quiet, the Scribe Virgin hadn't shown face since the presentation ceremony,"Her Highness" having entered into sequester, not receiving, indefinitely, not to be questioned, according to the robed guardians hovering ethereal around the ornate door. Best guess, allowing time for the Primale to 'bed in', avoid public displays of her darling son's insubordination. Wise fucking move, true. But the details bore me, the cut of my gaze betraying the true obsession of my thoughts, straying in the direction of the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes, the windowless annex to the Scribe Virgin's private quarters...Is SHE in there right now? Shame mahmen dearest wasn't handing out X-Ray vision when she cursed me. What would I give to see her again? Raking my hands through damp hair on a low growl. Yup, no going there, true. Back turned on the solid walls, strapping my titanium coated emotional armor in place as I approach the Primale temple, body locking down on autopilot, a feeling like stone encasing my chest cavity, cold and hard as the echoing marble portico of the temple I'm walking through, detached, like a prize fighter entering the arena. The Chosen is already prepared for my use, hooded and bound, laid naked on the bedding platform, terrified..and as I let the silk robe fall from the heavily muscled breadth of my shoulders, I know I won't be gentle with this one today...just don't have it in me today, no room for chinks in the carefully constructed armor...} 
*The Primale's Temple skipped my heart to a staccato beat in my chest, the sheer magnitude overwhelming me with its marble facade and even though it is similar to every other building in this place, it is what is inside that creates the change in my body. No Corinthian column could steal my breath and labor it in nervous tremors, nor make my heart turn in my chest, or unleash the Scribe Virgin's birds to tumble in my stomach. I made it across the Sanctuary with no sightings of my sisters, I lost track of the rituals, and could only pray that they would keep their peace inside the walls of our temples and not venture for a walk through pristine settings. A shadow in white, I creep a ghost in delicate robes breezing through the doors and lingering close to marble walls...no sense in risking exposure, the punishments would be great if the Directrix happened upon me once more breaking my vows, she had hardened in the recent weeks since the Primale's ascension, never an easy female to be around, now she was worse than the marble, colder, and tougher, pale statuesque fear mongerer who has my sisters begging for the truth at my doors, asking for reassurance that  him was not going to lay a blade to their skin and mar their perfection. And that thought was not as abhorrent to my own self as it was to my sisters. Curious. Slipping through the columned archways, I let prior knowledge of the temple's outlay guide me to the bedding platform, the one my sisters had lain upon, one after the other, gifting themselves to him as I should be offered....a short growl skittering out through the marble echoes, I leave those thoughts at the doorway, praying he is in there, and hoping to the Dear Scribe that he is not. He tears me in two, I know not what to believe, to think, to dream and hope, and when he is in my thoughts, the world outside my head ceases to exist. Ghosting on bare feet to the platform, my eyes are watching the folds of my robes...until the unmistakable whimpering cries of distress jolt my gaze up....my body slams back behind a column, heart choking the breath in my lungs with its violent hammering...a glimpse that will terrorise my soul and haunt my dreams and yet drags my gaze around marble sculpture to drip the images like lead down my throat. Prayers answered, the Primale was indeed home, surging golden flesh flexing muscle riding over the creamy pale flush of Chosen curves, her mewling cries muffled in the hood. And she feels nothing, no pain compared to the ripping agony splintering apart the beating soul in my chest, nothing felt like the trauma that emerald eyes beseeches the Great Mother not to be true. But of course.  His duty was being done. How could I have hoped for any different? As though my presence, the brief interaction we had would keep him from betwixt my sisters thighs? I am chained to the sight before me, watching the monster that was my hope devour my heart with every thrusting growl of muscle to sobbing female...I wish for her silence, her distress grating on nerves rubbed raw. She should not have offered had she not wanted. A waste of pleasure she was not worthy to bear for him. Ripping from my throat, low growls bounce off marble, bounce off another presence I have only a half mind to take notice of. My primary focus is him, if when his eyes raise to lock to emerald..he can see my soul crying*
{The Chosen's thighs are tensed and quivering, my hips pistoning heavy thrusting impacts that smack up to pale, virgin flesh and draw feminine whimpers from the female's hooded mouth...the Chosen smells of cinnamon and roses, a sweet arousal cut through with a dread terror, beads of sweat bloom on my flexing muscles, a pink sex-flush suffuses the female's creamy skin, I know from the cadence of her cries she is teetering on the brink, my warrior body knows well the moves to inflict the killer blow that will trigger her release,centuries of emotionally detached, hard-grinding sex had honed me well, but, fuck, my turncoat mind is in revolt, throwing up vivid images of HER and playing them out in high definition on the backs of tight closed eyelids...fuck...even my sense of smell deceives me, flooding my lungs with the fresh scent of rain and electrical storms...lids flying open mid-thrust, head swiveling toward the weight of intense emerald eyes locked onto mine.. horror twisting my gut.  It's her? FUCK!! I'd have given anything to see her again...but God, please  ..not like this...not with another female, true..stepping back from the Chosen, I suddenly feel unclean, the sweat sheening my skin turned cold, the growled words bitten through clenched teeth before I can think} What the fuck are you doing here Chosen? You're not supposed to be here, true.....  
*my growl is nothing compared to the snarled escaped words through dagger elongated fangs that rumble from his lips, my sister abandoned for the anger, the unnameable emotion that slices through the air like a knife to my senses, shards of pain lancing through my chest at the obvious dismissal... him does not want me in his sights, does not want to see me, is displeased that I could look upon him and wants me rid from his presence...of course he does. I disturbed his duty, his pleasure cut off and diminishing the longer I stay...cold now, no longer in the heat of passion. I took that from him when he saw me. Kicking my chin high, the tears brimming in emerald eyes like ice in my gaze, swimming my vision to a blur of disappearing dreams. He does not want me. He cannot bear my eyes on him. I see that now. The last fragment of an obsession that defied all logic, a need that was so deep a craving it hurt, is dropped to marble in a rush of silk. His robe released from my tender prisoning embrace to fall lonely in a heap, blending in with the white like it had never been apart from it. Back with its master where it belongs....as I should be. Back where I belong. A shivering bow, half hearted and trembling wildly from the fight with tears my body is warring, cascades of midnight silk curtaining to the floor before I whip myself from your presence in a frantic dart for the open sanctuary, I will barricade myself in my Temple, never to break a vow again never ever to set a thought aside for the Primale. Direct my dreams elsewhere. And as I flee over the pure untainted paths, it seems achievable, the exhilaration of a run drying my tears and flaring my hair out in an untamed cape...had not thought to restrain it today..free, flying, fleeing...falling, hard, snagged roughly on something that yanks sharply and drags me to my knees in a teeth clattering impact of bone to marble. My cry is wrenched free, pained in the ripping of hair from my scalp, a fist securely wrapped at the roots and dragging, viciously, half hauling, half slamming my body along the paths to the Temple of Atonement...no, nononononono....my feet flail for purchase, desperate to get under me and cease this dragging agony battering me into marble...who?...my hands rip at the delicate fist so strong in my hair, clawing the skin until my nails are broken edges and blood scents the air with fury, and the never ending dragging thrashes my body in a bid for freedom. But none is to be had. The steps crack bones with every ascent, bruising into my spine, smashing skin into the marble luxury of a supposed haven. Not this temple, not this one please. The stories alone are enough to make me want to die, the punishments harsh and forever scarring. Wrenched up to eye level, the Directrix' snarl is an inch from my face, her stare boring hatred and a wrath beyond any I'd ever seen into my heart. <<Filthy. Little. Pervert. You watch everything do you not? You see him and you crave. A voyeur in our midst, watching with hungry disgusting urges as our Primale takes your sisters. You like it, do you not?>> Shaking me like an infant from her grip in my hair, the crushing blow pounding me into the marble column hammers the breath from my throat and sends me reeling to the floor...such strength, harboured in a storm of rage she flings me like a ragdoll and I am helpless to contend her actions, her spitting words barked in my face* <<His Grace wants you not to see him ever again. And we obey. I will enjoy meting out an appropriate punishment on such a disgusting sister. And I have doubts you will ever see the other side of this temple again>>

Of Dreams And Other Things

{The sinewed muscles of my outstretched arms stand out in hard relief as I heft open the mammoth doors of the Primale temple, pungent, sulfurous smoke burning my lungs and stinging my eyes. Fuck! The vista of the Other Side that greets me is a barren, charred battlefield of scorched earth and smouldering, misshapen trees, putrid fumes billowing up into a sky that is a roiling sea of black storm clouds, the once pristine white marble of the temples running with a foul, tarry residue, their facades crumbling, bare feet carrying me across the rubble strewn, charred grass, through smoking ash piles of incinerated earth, bleak, empty, a nightmare post-apocalyptic dreamscape of the Other Side, the only visible sign of life the glowing embers of hellfire choking up their black smoke plumes, a dark foreboding riding up my spine as burning lungs cry out to anybody there, the ricocheted echo of my own voice the only reply. Wandering, an aimless trudge through a ravaged no man's land, feet leaden, as though gravity had doubled, a faint mewling noise catches my attention, drawing me, growing louder and more distinct as I approach the blackened tree skeletons at the edge of the Sanctuary, the wailing, recognizably a young's cry, coming from the solitary square building with its once-white fencing, luring me closer..urgency quickening my pace, heart pounding like a jackhammer in the cage of my ribs, feet skidding to an abrupt halt at the entrance to the Tomb of the Young, but the crying has petered out, nothing but a heavy, sorrowful silence hanging in the air. This the place where they enshrined the infants of the Chosen who didn't survive birth, black ribbons hanging in shreds from the doorhandles, blowing in the chill wind that cuts across the landscape..never recall so much as a breeze to disturb the air here, but now a biting cold bristles my skin to a quilt of gooseflesh, head whipping up in the direction of the source, a whooshing, flapping beat that cuts a swathe through the air, a giant, winged shadow gliding across a blood-red moon, the huge black wingspan of the raven tucked against it's body as it settles on the pediment of the temple above, head cocked jerkily to one side, turning a jeweled emerald green eye to bore into me, the creature watching as my gloved hand reaches up, running over the hundreds of names engraved into these marble walls, and like a Ouija board the pads of my fingers are drawn by some invisible guide to the two small names, carved side by side, still fresh and unweathered, the old language letters standing out in stark, chiseled relief, the names...Khaos, Xsykhe...slamming home like a frozen brand to my heart, turning my blood to ice water, a twisting agony in my chest cavity that rends my soul and leaves it bereft, knees hitting the slab of marble with bone-jarring force, the rough hewn diamonds cutting deep into my flesh, bleeding out a profound grief I don't understand..opening my throat to scream, but nothing comes out, the raven unfurls its immense wings and the scene changes, the blade in my fist hacking, possessed, frenzied, slicing through a sea of rippling black silk, free hand ripping, tearing at the fabric, grappling to reveal the warm expanse of inked porcelain skin, bold spirals curling over pale flesh, underscored with a fine latticework of mercurial scars, the patterns mean nothing to my eyes...and everything to my searching heart, fingers reaching out to touch...if I could just touch...but the image shimmers, rippling in and out of focus, fragmenting, dissolving on contact like fingers running through a watery reflection.. this is torture...no..Tohrture...Tory??...I can't fucking breath, inhaling a ragged gasp, lids flying open on wild diamond eyes, beads of sweat rolling down my face, heart a living beast kicking in my throat, sitting bolt upright on the bedding platform, hands fisting bundled silk in a white-knuckle grip, the female's startled shriek jolting me from the recurring nightmare that has dogged my sleep ever since that encounter at the baths...fuck...the Chosen's robe is split apart in my fists, breasts exposed in a heaving expanse of creamy, pink tipped, flawless perfection...no scrolling ink, no network of silver wire scars...no..cranking my gaze up to meet anime wide, pale green eyes, blonde curls escaping their restrained chignon to frame the mask of horror contorting gamine features, the silver bowl of erotic salves and lotions clattering to the marble floor, a deep blush suffusing the female's cheeks, spreading over her exposed chest, my tremoring fists yank the robe back in place with more force than is strictly necessary, voice tight, squeezed through the constriction in my throat} Fuck Chosen... It's Layla, true?...Layla...yeah...here's the deal female. You don't sneak up on a sleeping warrior...EVER...feel me? {but the Chosen is already fleeing the temple, a startled dove, clutching the shredded remnants of the robe to her breasts, tears streaking flushed cheeks, the heels of my hands unplugged from my eye sockets on a growled curse....I was going to need a truckload of Goose to drown this psycho shit, the dreams getting darker by the day, and my every waking moment consumed with thoughts of that damn raven haired, emerald eyed female. Logic insisting it was an obsession born of denial, the one female not at the beck and call of the Primale in this godforsaken fleshpot, but logic couldn't deny the dark scent that bloomed on my skin when I allowed my mind to stray...my duties as Primale were suffering as a result..shit, staring from the undone ties of my silk pants to the guilty ooze of salves and unctions spilling out onto the marble floor...looked like the Ehros Chosen had been about to take matters into her own hands, so to speak.. before I scared the ever living shit out of her..fuck fisting handfuls of black hair, yanking hard at the roots...the Primale needed to get his fucking shit together..and fast, true.....}
*I could live in his scent forever, and I was neglecting my duties to do just that, procrastinating viciously….or is that Vishously? Laughter trills out into the soft silence, abandoned parchments seeming sad and lonely without ink to fill their surfaces as my emotions skip amusement through white rooms. As much as it fills my soul with an unending grief, a sense of loss, a strange nonsensical feel of betrayal, I would have to look at his latest coupling, would have to record it in time, as I do them all, not enough to hear the praises from my sisters’ lips, or to see the fear in the eyes of others, his sexual prowess noted on different levels…some with joy and passion, others with a scared nervousness…some talk of pain so crippling they cried, others of a pleasure beyond anything that made them weep. They are weak. They cannot take him at his truest, will never know the painful pleasure I have observed him wreak on many a female…will never know…the silken lash of a whip, not ripping pain through porcelain curves but ecstasy…the fact that my legs are curled under me is the only reason the image that floods my mind does not seat me to the floor. The female is inked in a vining of bold black, like the scrolling I delicately quilled to parchment corners, mounted at the Primale’s hips, the fall of her hair so raven against her skin, but nothing to the whimpering pleasure the silk flay of a black flogging implement can administer to her…at her own hand, the Primale’s diamond eyes so darkly shadowed with lust they are the night sky filled with crystal stars. His scent must be a drug, such wild hallucinations fill my head, vivid daydreams of an erotic nature I know nothing of. Face pressed to the white fabric of his robe, ebony hair spilling a cape around me, my world is just that scent. The addiction noted and dismissed. I do not care. I will happily give up anything to simply bathe in this scent of fire and steel, of a whisper in the night, of the universe spread out in a galaxy of diamond stars. No scent like his, so rich and infused in power it reaches into every cell and caresses into being a calm unlike any other, a sense of home, of security…of overwhelming, molten…arousal. No. No arousal. No desire. It’s simply….warm in here….snuffing the candles with a thought, as though the slight flicker of a flame could boil my blood at the glimpse of a parade of sexual images. I had broken the rules and found someone who made my soul wake up and take notice, and it scares me. This loss of duty. It is only obligation to my race, not a need to obey and comply and serve anymore, that keeps me in my place. It is dangerous, this scent. It breathes life into the chains around my sense of self and weakens the links, allowing free thought to slip through the rigid barriers of the Other Side and coil doubt in my mind…I will have to return the robe to the Primale…..well….maybe in a little while…….eventually…..*

Just. One. Kiss.

{No sooner had the words come out...I would call on this Chosen, than a shadow of uncertainty darkens the innocence of your features, lips parting as though about to protest, revealing the small, razor pointed tips of fangs, and on a distracted impulse, the pad of my gloved thumb strokes wet, back and forth, across your full lower lip, imagining how it would feel to bruise that beautiful mouth with my own, to plunder the breath from your lungs, to feel those lips against my skin and watch them form the syllables of the words as you begged…screaming my name in unfettered ecstasy... Fuck it, the moment you opened your mouth it was game over, any protest utterly futile, just dying in your throat with the growl of animal possession ripping from my own, the words may have come out measured, but the only thing in control right now was the rampaging lust that was getting busy trampling  all over any decent thought my brain could offer up, sparking sexual chemistry in the breath of space separating us and from the fearful crease of your brow and the torn look in your jewel-green eyes, caught somewhere between trepidation and exhilaration, it's clear we both know you aren't getting out of here intact... the insanity of raw, sexual hunger in glazed over diamond eyes reflecting back at me through the wide-eyed emerald mirrors of yours...a sense of inevitability, destiny even in the magnetic draw that sees my free hand move beneath the water to the base of your spine, closing the distance in a fluid surge, locking your body flush against the hard-muscled wall of resistance that is mine, the thick ridge of my erection pressing into your belly, a rigid, iron demand, the saturated muslin sheath the only barrier between us, all but transparent, your nipples dusky through the fabric, the pebbled tips grazing my chest, breath coming in panted growls that rise up above the pounding spray of the waterfall, heart beating out a primal drumbeat, a barely restrained beast, lips curling back off tiger fangs of their own volition, bloodlust snarling me in a red haze, a single word emblazoned in monolithic flaming letters across the billboard of my cerebral cortex...MINE!!!!.....}

*The heat overpowers even the steam rising from the lapping waters, such a furnace stoked from flickering embers at your touch that it rides through my body in a wave to pool between trembling thighs. Your diamond eyes scorch through to my bones, arousing shocks under my skin, closer, ever closer, inching through water at the drawing demand of your hypnotic presence. And I have no control. All rite and ritual, all propriety, all teachings dismissed and replaced by a visceral need to feed into the sexual energy swirling in the misting heat coiling in the pool's atmosphere....is this how they felt? My sisters? Did the fire consume their veins and race to rise passion through every inch? Did they melt under the intensity of the Primale's gaze..like a candle...sturdy and strong..until the fire licks it into ripples of molten liquid and curves bow eagerly into the possessive touch claiming my skin....breasts heavy and aching, crushed to the muscled wall of your chest, my instincts are screaming at me with primal passion to close the distance between our lips, to seal a kiss to the growling lust exposing daggered fangs....fingers tentatively curling into your skin, emerald eyes bright with permission, with need, arousal and begging silently for...Just. One. Kiss…<<You disobey the very vows you spoke by engaging here, Chosen. Hie thee from this place and I will deal with your insubordinate disgrace later>> Very nearly crawling up your muscled form, the sharp iron voice snapping through the quiet shatters all desire into fragments of ice and banishes me from your touch in a scatter of Chosen shrapnel, forcing myself from the fiery haven of your lust into the glacial waters of the Directrix' disapproving anger...cowed under her glare,  head bowed, body curved into lines of rigid submission, the expected respect is duly shown through a breathless, desire tremored form, angled into the lowest bow I can muster without drowning...I do not want her wrath turned upon me in punishment....* Yes Directrix, apologies, Directrix...I plead your forgiveness...*The words grate. To scrape so low when moments before my passion had been a living thing in my soul, turning white to flaring vivid colour in my heart* <<The water rids itself of your presence, Chosen. Remove yourself and hie back to your temple. I will join you in due time.>> *casting a blushing, ashamed glance of acute embarrassment up to your face, a silent apology, my hands fight to conceal intimate curves, too clearly delineated through the transparent shift, as good as naked to your eyes as step after rigid step wades me farther from your presence. Eyes downcast, the pools edge is an eternity away under the Directrix' fury*

{I feel the loss of you like a part of myself wrenched away, every instinct roaring for me to follow, but suddenly acutely aware of the vulgar size of my erection bobbing beneath the water...fuck, the bitch Directrix was just standing there, glowering, hands hanging, no offer of a towel or robe to preserve your modesty, taking some sadistic pleasure in humiliating you with the exposure…wading to the edge of the pool, my own robe fisted, diamond stare loaded with a thousand unanswered questions as I offer the silk bundle to you, the defiant set of your jaw betraying the subservience of your downcast eyes, gifting me the briefest flash of feline emerald as you snatch the robe from my extended hand, turning on your heel in a sodden pirouette and just like that your delicate feet are slapping wetly across the marble, your bearing provocative, a blatant disobedience in the enticing sway your hips, the translucent fabric plastered to every lusciously wet curve, the unworn robe slung over one extended forearm, trailing across the marble...totally owning that walk of shame...and how fucking sexy was that?...this female did things to me, irrational, visceral, primal things over which I had no fucking control...Chemistry? Bewitchment? Who the fuck knows, all I know is that the Chosen is MINE!!......}

*A nightmare, an embarrassing nightmare...that did nothing to quell the desire rising heat back into my body, the Primale’s robe tucked tight into my hand, the barest brush of your skin to mine chasing the Directrix' chill from my flesh and setting me alight once more...she loves this, the degradation, the humiliation placed under a facade of respect, teaching, punishing correcting bad behaviour with consequences that will make you never want to disobey again. But you arent looking at me with diamond disgust, you dont care that I broke a sacred vow...you dont know that I broke a sacred vow…I'm just...female to you…and it thrills my spine from its bow of subservience, sodden robed curves swaying to the fiery beat of primitive emotion. Riding up the defiance that only glitters in lowered eyes, your robe is merely held, tightly, gifting me the courage to disobey and...what is the word....strut...across pure marble, padding through the innocence and elegance of the Sanctuary with nothing but your scent and the thin cover of my under-sheath to clothe me....exhilarating, Chosen values shed for mere minutes more as the pools are left in my wake and I pray that my sisters do not venture from the Temple before I am concealed in mine. Heart attacks for sure would be the casualty of the day and I want no more than to dwell in silence, fill my temple with your scent...with memories of our bath that will haunt, arouse for all eternity*

{The Directrix is up in my grille, proffering a towel to preserve my modesty...like I give a fuck at this point...absently slinging the towel low on my hips as I surge up out of the water, her face deflating my arousal like a stuck balloon, squaring up in front of her, a hulking semi-naked warrior, water streaming over the sculpted contours of my body, puddling on the marble around my size fourteen feet…the focus of wet lashed diamond eyes trained on the empty space the Chosen’s departing form occupied right before she rounded the corner and walked out of my life...becoming vaguely aware the Directrix is speaking, gaze reluctantly dragged back to her face…all of the Chosen were disturbingly beautiful....made you wonder what they did with the ones that didn't make the cut, probably drowned them at birth, like kittens, in the Scribe Virgin's fountain. The Directrix was no exception, beautiful, but in a hard, angular way, auburn hair scraped back so severely from her high forehead it looked like a bad facelift... Yeah, female looked like somebody who would drown kittens, true no amount of good bone structure could hide an ugly attitude <<Your Grace, I apologize for this unacceptable intrusion on your private bathing. Rest assured a period of 'contemplation' in the temple of atonement will soon chasten the female's insubordination>> my eyes dart back again to that empty space, before pinning the Directrix with an arctic glare} You are going to punish her? What the hell for? She did nothing wrong <<Verily, your Grace, the Chosen's presence here shames her duty and disgraces the Sisterhood. Such a transgression must not go unpunished>> {her shrill, imperious tone grates like nails drawn down a blackboard and I find myself biting back a feral snarl} As Primale, the Directrix is answerable to me, true? {it just fucking kills her to concede the point, which she does with only a curt nod, dark eyes narrowing perceptibly} As Primale, it is my will that the female not be punished for what transpired today. It was an unfortunate mistake, nothing more {Liar. It was fucking fate, if you believed in that shit, true} What did she do that was so disgraceful? {ditching prayers was hardly grounds for punishment. The ghost of a sardonic smile deforms the Directrix' mouth as she speaks in her high, clipped tone, barely concealing her delight in offloading her burden of knowledge} <<As a Sequestered Scribe, she has sworn herself to a life of utter seclusion, whereupon she records the illustrious history of the race. With your ascendancy, all of the Chosen were offered a release from such vows, but, at her own behest, she chose to stay in the service to the Scribe Virgin rather than serve the Primale as her Sisters do>> {Fuck!! The implications slapped home like a palmful of wet mud in the face. Sequestered Scribe. Which meant she had privileged access to the Far Side, true. She had seen me...I knew it in my gut, the Chosen had watched me...fuck…. wet gloved hand scrubbing over the nape of my neck...explained a lot, true, like that expression in her eyes...the knowing look when I said the word Lheage...and it explained why a life of isolation was preferable to subjecting herself to the kind of hard rutting, depraved sex that was my trademark...a growl of frustration torn from my throat unbidden...I could pull rank..fuck, even thinking it just proved what a bastard I was. Much as I felt like ripping out the Directrix' throat right now, I had to admit she'd done the Chosen a favour. I'd been totally ready to take her against her will... She didn't want me touching her, had gone to the lengths of avowing against it, I would not force her, I'm not a rapist, not a fucking animal... but already a body and soul craving was clawing its talons into my flesh from inside, consumed, possessed by thoughts of her...an insatiable, insane appetite that only the forbidden fruit of the Chosen could slake... Fuck I didn't even know the female's name and it was only after she left that I realized she had taken with her that incredible scent of fresh rain and thunderstorms...along with a part of me...}

Vishously Wet

*Am I really going to do this? Worried emerald eyes turn back to the shallow pool encased into the marble floor, the water chilled, no inviting steam rising from its still surface, like the Seeing Bowls. Utterly flat until a disturbance ripples the liquid into images to my eyes...The droning song of the ritual prayers rises in the dead silence, weighing my decisions as I calculate just how long the sisters will be occupied with the rote words, the reverent hush accompanied by lilting voices...grace and elegance abandoned for haste, bare feet free me from the confines of the sequestered temple in a soft padding leap, skipping steps in my rush for the communal pools, a worrying exhilaration speeding up my heartbeat and panting in my lungs. This must be what freedom tastes like, how it feels. It's been so long that even the utter white of the buildings, the grass, the sky, everything, can not dull the pleasure of leaving the temple I call home. The one thing I truly missed. Not my sisters, not being here, outside. But the beauty of the pools, the shared baths an exquisite expanse of carved marble and luxuriously hot water, a tumbling warm waterfall that could beat out the tension of rigid routine. I now deemed it worthy of the risk. Darting past the sculpted white of large Corinthian columns, skittering across the polished floors, the landscape changes slowly, turning from inane and maddeningly perfect, to stunning peace. Heart quieting to follow the rhythmic rush of heavy water, I am enclosed in the sultry heat curling from the deep pools, a steam that caresses through to the bone with the promise of calm and drowns out all sound...no chanting, no talking. Silence in a wash of white water noise. Perfect. Seen a million times before, the stunning set of the baths is as pleasing to my eyes as the first time, a comfort, a home away from home, torn from me when I took my vows. I will return to it once more. Even for as short a time as the prayers continue. Silk slips to the floor in a shush of diaphanous robing. And water embraces me in the welcoming lick of wet heat and the wildness of peace. Winding deliciously through tight curves as I sink deep*

{The sinewed muscles of my outstretched arms stand out in hard relief as I heft open the mammoth doors of the Primale temple, the glaringly glacial whiteness of the Other Side hurting my retinas. In the distance of the bleached out acropolis, I can just make out the line of Chosen filing away through the colonnaded walkways of the Sanctuary, clutching their strings of black worship pearls. Baring ivory hardware on a tiger yawn, stretching out the aches in my abused muscles, gorged on all the sugar and spice of them...but ultimately left unsatisfied…the Chosen are vanilla, insubstantial as cloud and froth, where my carnal desires prefer to feast on deeper, darker niches of the psyche, my hunting ground not this pastoral nirvana, but the dark forests of fairy tales, where there be monsters...with teeth... and whips and...running my tongue down the length of one long canine... no need to feed on the Other Side, true. Thank fuck I could still fight, had made becoming Primale conditional upon it...the aggressive black overspill of my sadistic cravings was going to need a release.  Cinching the silk tie of the robe low on my hips, bare feet crushing a path across the clipped white grass towards the baths, the bene of the Chosen's communal worship of mommy dearest being guaranteed alone time to wash the sweetness of their floral scents and ritual incense off my skin..Fuck...thinking the Taj Majal got nothing on this joint, my feet carrying me through the marble archway, and it’s like stepping into some scene from classical antiquity}

*lounging in the pounding stream of water, perched on the shallow cut marble bench carved into the walls of the pool, I am adrift in sensation, licked at by liquid tongues, the cleansing stroke of lapping water soothing over my skin, flashing porcelain under the surface, the wispy threads of my under-sheath flowing out like extra limbs, a many tentacled thing wrapping my body in wet fabric and tickling slick flesh as the pound of the water thuds on, massaging into my back with heavy force, kneading fists of water easing out tense knots ...my head snaps up in a whip of raven hair, the lashing length twining around submerged curves in a protective cover as emerald eyes dart a search through the light rain of water curtaining around my body. Frozen, as still as the marble columns framing the baths, my breath stalls...and rushes from my lungs. Oh Dear Virgin, no...not my sisters stepping into the bathing sanctuary, no, it is so much worse and yet my eyes cannot avert, as frozen as my body and stuck on the mammoth male gracing the elegance of the pools...The Primale. I'd seen him of course...in the bowls....flat images that did nothing to portray the reality of him. Tall, he'd tower over me, broad, he'd dwarf me, his body lined full of heavy muscle...he'd break me as easily as breathing. And all of that in a golden-skinned masculine form that speaks of war and power, and....my eyes dip as his silk bares inches more to my gaze, the muscled lines of his hips forcibly directing my sights lower...to fix and hitch and stumble over my own breath observing the utter masculinity of him, his silks cast aside, exposing...everything. And I pray to the Virgin Scribe that all of my sisters were hooded when he took them. If they saw him like this, I may be persuaded to violence. Quieting the thought, stifling a growl that had become all too frequent, fingers toy with the floating ends of my hair, inching slowly from my perch and praying the Primale is half blinded by the steam, hidden in the depths of the pools caress*

{The first thing to hit me is the incredible scent, none of the chlorine bite of a regular pool, no, this is like stepping out of a sweaty bar and into a rainforest, a scent like rain falling on dry ground, or the static crackling in the air after a wild electrical storm, the kind of scent that flicks all kinds of internal switches to the 'ON' position...Primed. That's the word...stepping out of my robes with quick efficiency, feet submerged in the balmy water..damn its hot caress feels good on aching muscle as I descend the Roman steps, wading deeper into the pool, the laws-of-physics defying waterfall a dull roar in my ears, and that's when I spot the flash of black, camouflaged by the streaking cascade of the water, head whipping around to lock my sights on the Chosen, hard diamond clashing with emerald green fire...the breath stalls in my lungs and the world stops spinning on its axis momentarily, as though pausing to take in the Chosen, wispy tendrils of raven black hair escaping their pins and curling wetly around the alabaster column of her throat, where the rapid beat of her pulse is visible, struck suddenly by an arresting vision of my fangs locking into all that luscious, virgin flesh...and lower, the Chosen's thin robe plastered wet, shaping every curve...Instant fucking hard on...suppressing the growl rising up from some unfathomably deep primal place inside of me to speak in tight, gravelled words} Come here, Chosen...

*Lips trembling a protest, my body obeys, grateful of the water's concealing depth, thinly sheathed curves hidden from the Primale's view in ripples of liquid movement. Caught, trapped, unable to deny the power of the Primale, I must maintain grace in the face of a wild nervousness, a humming under my skin that draws me from the waterfall and increases a steady buzz in direct proportion to proximity to him....as though my body is more than just a vessel for my soul, but is truly alive in his presence, even the stray escaped strands of my hair drift towards him with the reaching floats of my under-robe, emerald eyes seeking into diamond, judging the severity of the punishment…but I read nothing. Nothing but the ethereal fire of the Primale's otherworldly gaze sculpting slick curves in a strange light of an indefinable emotion...tentative, eyes lowered* Verily, please, my apologies, Your Grace..

{Fighting against something I can't even begin to comprehend, a primal magnetism that hardens my body to aching steel and demands touch...gloved hand rising up from the water to grip your delicate jaw in a bruising hold of wet hide} Verily Chosen, I am nobody's 'Grace'. You call me Sire or Lord or...Lheage..{a dark light flickering across diamond eyes, the prospect of hearing 'that' word from your wet, trembling lips stirring the blood in my veins to a feverish lust}

*startled at the rough grip, I force my eyes to stay to the water as leather bound fingers sculpt my jaw, heart thumping a stutter at the touch, lungs struggling to take in air in the presence of you...Primale...warrior....massive, naked male.  I pray that the steamy atmosphere swirling around us can conceal the light bloom of heat rising through my blood,  that the sweet scent riding the air is not coming from the sudden ache in my centre. Sure my cheeks are burning, it is a fight to control my voice* Forgive me, your...Sire...*eyes kept low, barely lifting my lashes to roam my gaze over your face, trapped by leather* there is a title of preference to you? I would use what pleases you most...*thought unbidden,  images creep across my mind. My tongue at your vein, your hip...your....would please most*

{Pivoting your face from side to side in the wet grip of my fingers, half-lidded diamond gaze appraising your features, something so familiar…yet...threads of deep buried memories snatched from my grasp, supplanted by the lust pounding with the quickening of my pulse at the flush blooming in your cheeks as I catch the flavour of erotic images playing in your mind...carnal knowledge a Chosen should not possess...and fuck it intrigues and excites me. Swallowing back a growl, my voice thick with arousal} You please me well, Chosen…you have ...spirit, true. Anything but Grace..I am not graceful, nor am I a clergyman, perverted though my ways may be {And fuck knows right now my thoughts are all about sinking my teeth into you and defiling that luscious, wet draped body of yours with sweaty, filthy acts of erotic perversion...}

*You look at me and fire replaces water, there is no cold, only the blast of raging heat in my veins, turning blood to flames of...something...What I have seen, the breathlessness, the flush of heat, the tremor of excitement in the flat watery images I have watched so long, all now bearing my form in this cage of mist and sultry...arousal. A word read and never understood until it coils through my body. My thighs lock to keep from trembling, to trap in the heat pooling low as diamond eyes seek out the desires hidden in the glow of emerald, penetrating through to touch on illicit images caressed to life from the darkest recesses of my mind...my voice low, a trill of practiced subservience laced with a fire of arousal* It pleases me to please you, sire, and if I may address you as my lord and sire, my lheage may be earned...on my part of course...perversion is only perverse in the eyes of the ignorant..

Mmmm you are a feast for the eyes and a quick study too... {gloved thumb caressing your cheekbone, diamond eyes penetrating,  devouring the jewelled emerald intelligence staring back at me with a raw hunger that is distinctly un-Chosen like} the Directrix has instructed you well, Chosen, I may call upon you soon, true...your Lord and Sire is pleased..

Initiation

{A rasp of flint and the flame hisses to life, licking fire over the end of the blunt, the red smoke loosening my body on the first deep inhale, fragrant spices hitting my nostrils and settling around me in a haze of drugging smoke, a lazy palm scrubbing over the stubble shadowing the hard line of my goatee'd jaw, the weight of glazed diamond eyes falling on the female before me, contemplating what I was going do with her..to her. The ritual singing and incense wafting by the legion of statuesque Chosen gave me the scratch. Frigid. Only way to describe the Other Side. Despite the surreal climate control. The white on whiter, immaculate perfection of everything enough to freeze your insides to a block of ice. Place was a physical extension of the Scribe Virgin herself. Cold, rigid perfection.  And I guess that made me a chip off the old ice block. Damn miracle the Chosen weren't driven insane centuries ago by the uniformity of it all... if the place had walls they were probably padded ones. Even the incessant, twittering birdsong set my teeth on edge. Yup, definitely not in Kansas anymore, true. Thank fuck I had the smarts to tank up on Goose before the bowing and vowing pajama party kicked off, intoxication taking the edge off enough to pull a Nancy and get the damn thing over with. The moment the ceremonial show and tell was dispensed with, I'd escaped, here, to the privacy of the Primale's Temple and now the hooded Chosen, my 'intended', was being guided to stand before me, the gossamer thin sheath covering her body leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination... like a flame caressing a dripping block of ice, no red blooded male could help but respond... she, and every one of her submissive sisterhood, the embodiment of nubile, feminine perfection...made flesh...the sultry spices of the ritualistic incense doing nothing to mask the waves of fear rolling off the draped, female figure, her knee-trembler routine setting up a shimmy in the thin fabric that pools at her feet...and I would be a bare faced fucking liar if I said that tremulous fear didn't....stimulate me. A dull throb pulsing through the roots of slowly elongating fangs, that lick of fear stroking my arousal to a thick, heavy shaft in my Hugh Hefner silks, words spoken in a gravelled smoky command} What is your name?... <<Chosen...my name is Chosen>> {the words come out on a breathless whisper, quavering through the white silk fabric} Here's the deal, Chosen.. you're going to relax for me, true. I'm going to help you relax {gloved hand slipping beneath the hood, the pad of my thumb seeking out the erratic hummingbird flutter of the female's startled pulse, working pressure in slow, hypnotic circles...with every hitching breath she draws, the thin silk fabric of the hood is sucked against her mouth, shaping her parted lips...the tip of the blunt flaring bright as I drag the red smoke into my mouth, head dipping, goatee'd lips pressed to the silk outline of the Chosen's lips, breathing out a long exhale, feeding her the red smoke, filtering it through the thin fabric of the hood, a Shotgun of mouth to mouth relaxation, true...the female's body begins to sway, loosening up, the meek voice becoming trance-like, the breathlessness becoming less about the fear and more about the anticipation} <<Yes. Primale>> You trust me? <<Yes, my Lord>> and you know what is going to happen between us? <<Yes, my Lord>> the hood nods in accord with the softly spoken response <<The Directrix has provided the proper instruction>> Good. That's good {I didn't need to slip my hand between her thighs to know they were already coated with the liquid silk of her arousal. It was like a delicate fragrance blooming with the flush of her skin. Motioning to the other Chosen to proceed while I rest the breadth of my shoulders against one of the huge Corinthian columns, monolithic guardians circling the perimeter of the Primale temple, the blunt between my lips, drawing the red smoke deep, absently toying with the weight of the medallion resting between my pecs while the two handmaidens lead the hooded Chosen to the raised bedding platform, the sheath falling from her body in a whisper to pool on the white marble floor, diamond eyes darkening as they lay her out naked on immaculate silk sheets, binding her wrists with white satin ties...and that's when it strikes me that the place is like a photographic negative of the penthouse, black and white, down  to the ceiling hooks and the gag one of the Chosen is preparing to use on her sister... a willing body, bound and masked at my mercy, and while there may not be sadistic pain involved, there was no denying the air was laced thick, dripping, literally, with the same scents of fear and arousal that tripped the switch on baser, carnal desires...the gag wouldn't be necessary, this time. The only screams from the Chosen's throat would be ones of unadulterated pleasure...and begging for release from the erotic torture I would inflict on her exposed utterly vulnerable flesh...not like I was a bonded male, true, and these females got off on fulfilling their ritualistic duty...no reason we couldn't all take our own individual pleasures in its execution. Any tears would be for her sisters to comfort. Even if she never wanted to be touched again, there were forty more already lined up to take her place... but she would want it.. would beg for it even...given time, I could...educate them...and I was going to use the ceremonial hood to my advantage, spare the female the terror of beholding my battle hardened, inked warrior face.. and my intimidating size... phearsome, I recall, was the old language term. Exhaling  a low husky laugh, stabbing out the blunt and dismissing the other Chosen from the Temple, no jones for an audience while I took this newling...the sash of my robe unknotted, dragging the silk pants down over my erection, the Chosen's creamy white inner thighs trembling prickling with goosebumps as rough palms, calloused skin and supple hide coax them to part...yes...I am the fucking Primale, with a mastery of taking others where they need to go...and one inch past that...which was why they all came for me....and why this Chosen would come for me...hard...I was going to mount her and take her virginity in a way that she would forever associate the fleeting pain with the shuddering, sex-flushed, screaming aftermath of spine-bending, mind-altering fucking ecstasy................ } 


*And again my duty is being set aside. My eyes cannot set upon the bowls that shimmer their liquid song to me. No sight will be turned towards the Primale’s temple as he takes the Chosen First Mate and unites us all to the cause. The union will bind us as his females...no, it will bind them. The ones who go willingly to serve him, I have my place set on its path, I am serving in my own...way...thoughts drift as emerald eyes skim to the bowls. The barest glimpse of draped silk and smooth limbs enough to wrench a growl from a throat unused to such aggression. She should not be serving him. It should not be her body he claims first. But the rise and fall of the ritual songs continued, a wave of sound wrapping threads through the fibres of a crowd of female forms and linking them to the male who would own us all. Parchments gathered roughly, I leave the hard straight support of my chair to curl on the flat mattress cot with the Scribe Virgin’s edits. History had to be written to her specifications. Maybe correcting my mistakes would keep me busy long enough to miss whatever version of coupling the warrior could offer my sister. She would do him well, the most beautiful, the most gracefully elegant, she is the epitome of all we strive to be as a sisterhood. Nothing but the best for the Primale. I don’t know how long I lie there, only the scratch of quill to scroll and the occasional drifting note of excited chatter to accompany the confused jumble of barely coherent thoughts rolling around in my head like marbles in a bowl. <<Sister?>> The hissing whisper comes again when I make no move to respond. A small knock hurried to the heavy wood of the door as though hounds are nipping at the females heels. More likely the Directrix is approaching and I would take hounds over her icy authority any day. Hastening to shift the locks sealing me into the sequestered temple, the whisper of delicate robing sweeps a breathless Chosen into the shadowed white dwelling, her words hushed and excited spilling out before the locks even fit back into place. <<Verily, Serhenity, I apologise for the intrusion, but I had to confide in someone. I have so much to say and the others...they know only what they want from him. I would not raise their hopes only to have been wrong in my own interpretation.>>* ‘Tis no intrusion, sister, I welcome your company. Please speak freely. I have no ground to pass judgement. <<Oh sister, you missed it, you missed it all. Verily, you must come from this place, make history with us, do not write about it. The Primale, he is...>>*She pauses for breath only to find words great enough to honour him and my silence cannot be kept as I wait* You are...well? *From what I have observed, couplings with the warrior Primale were rough, brutal, and my eyes scan the gently sheathed curves of my sister’s body with concerned emerald* He did not hurt you? Sister, praise him not, you need not cover for him...if he defiled you...*The words are from my lips before I can stop them. An insult to claim that the Primale could defile any one of us. We are his. It is his right to take us as it pleases him.*<<Sister, no!! I am well, I am unharmed...>>*and the praise flows like a river of eroticism, every word the female knows associated with carnal knowledge pouring from her lips and infusing my cheeks with the wild pink heat of a dichotomic emotion. Embarrassment and jealousy? Envy? But I am red instead of green with it, flushed as my sister speaks her experiences in hushed adoration. She truly was not hurt, but the brevity of her maidenhood being torn lingered with pulses of arousal, that pain never surpassing the pleasure she poetically thrills to my ears. She is aglow with ecstasy, already formulating a way to bypass her sisters and grace his bed once more.* You are First mate. You take precedence, sister. ‘Tis written, but his duty to all Chosen must too be fulfilled. You cannot birth an entire army of warriors alone. *Images of surging muscle and sweat sheened golden flesh flickers across my vision, a daydream risen up mid thought to confound my senses and tickle me with coiling fire*<<Verily, I know I cannot claim him as mine own, but a female may dream, may she not? I have another request. You have lent your ears readily, and now I must ask for your eyes. I remained blind throughout it all, the pleasure took my body but my sight was allowed no relief to look upon his face. You have seen him, sister. I pray you tell me so I may dream of the true Primale.>> *How to describe such savage masculine beauty? From hard chiseled jaw, sculpted to a razor edge of stubble, the Primale is untamed and predatory, a honed killing machine of feral violence and blazing sexual fury...he is a shadow, ice built with a core of dangerous steel, and yet he burns...through flat images on glittering waters, he scorches my skin and my skin and makes the precious diamonds of the world shrink back in disgrace, none could dare to match the ice white purity of his gaze, crystalline, a glacier of resonant power...gathering my robes to perch on the edge of the cot with a resigned sigh, I settle down to try to describe, in as much fact as possible, the beauty of an inked, viciously perfect warrior Primale to a female who wants him for herself*

Not quite a walk in the park

{Where in the fuck am I? Vision swimming, navy-rimmed diamond irises struggling to focus on the vast black expanse of nothingness that is...the penthouse ceiling?...The penthouse..right..fuck.. memories surfacing like bubbles on the surface of a murky lake...me calling the mother of the race an evil sadistic bitch...right before she used my ass as floor wax..gloved hand at my throat recalling the invisible language lettering of the gold pendant cutting into my fisted palm... her other coming of age gift, the twenty-four carat epic mind-fuck, still ricocheting around inside my skull...birthed son of the Scribe Virgin... tapped to be the next Primale..man-whore and saviour of the fucking race... Christ on a fucking crutch.. popping my frame up off the cold marble, my skin is glowing like a nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown, gloved hand trembling uncontrollably as I barge out onto the terrace, sucking the night air into ragged lungs...needing to get the fuck away from this godforsaken place with its reminders of everything I am expected to give up.. restraints and willing bodies to dull the edge of my sexual deviancy..masked, anonymous bodies, whetstones on which to grind myself down...always seeking to fill the hollow void inside of me that aches for fuck knows what..never managing to do more than scratch at the diamond-hard surface..stepping out onto the narrow ledge, balanced only on the heels of my shitkickers, the icy wind whipping around my body and combing its frozen fingers through my hair, leathers flapping, looming over the city like some comic-book anti-hero, the black silk cord of the Primale pendant dangling from my fingers...and then I am free...falling..launching myself over the edge of the Commodore in a swan dive that is almost graceful, the wind a wall pushing up against the inevitability of gravity...free-falling, plummeting toward the ground below...........
and when the supercharged atoms of my body re-materialise, it is into a dead run, chest sawing, heavy soles pounding solid pavement..as though I could outrun destiny..as though I could chase away the demons hammering inside my head, careening like a derailed freight train on an unstoppable path towards self-destruction...tearing through the urban park, the playground and graffitied skatepark abandoned to the night and the hobos and bag-ladies who huddle on benches clutching their brown paper baggies, too drunk to pay attention to the streak of wild-eyed, six foot six behemoth, a killing machine, head to toe in combat leathers and armed to the fucking teeth... running until my muscles ache and my lungs burn in protest... until I'm bent double, hands braced on my knees, stomach knotted and heaving... gloved hand flexing, head whipping round in the direction of a rustle from the bushes, gunning for a fucking fight, nostrils flaring, fangs dropping at the unmistakable scent of another male vampire...melting into the shadows, cloaked by mhis... the scene pulls me up short..judging by the potent cocktail of pheromones leaching out his pores, the civilian male is fresh out of transition, lip-locked with the dark haired human female in a deep, passion laced, tongue-probing kiss..both shirtless in full skin on skin body contact, breasts crushed to the hard wall of his pecs, her manicured hands sliding the jeans down over the sculpted V of his hipbones, painted lips blazing a trail down the smooth planes of defined abs, his face a mask of erotic pleasure, bonding scent roaring into the night air, their gazes locked, a private, intimate connection as she sinks to her knees and.... Fuck!! Pushing a hand through my hair on a growled exhale...my brain trying on the scenario..trying to imagine what that level of intimacy, that relinquishing of control would even feel like...claustrophobic.. fucking terrifying.. nobody's fucking biz what I looked like below the waist.. tightly-controlled, my terms, hard-core, always masked, no mouth to mouth action.. willing bodies subjected to the most profane acts..hard, ground-out erotic couplings devoid of romance...how in fuck was I supposed to do this...sperm donor to a horde of virginal Chosen?...Jesus, was I even capable of getting off from that kind of straight sex?... Could I be trusted not to take out my depraved needs on them? Not to defile their innocence..a sexual deviant..to the fucking core...ghosting away from the scene of the two lovers.. staggering into the Caldwell night, strung out like a high-tension wire, the Primale pendant burning a hole in my pocket... body burning for release... needing to fuck..or fight... something...anything.. just needing to fucking feel something....or nothing at all.....}


*The parchment whispers from my hand in a shush of aggravated paper. Should not be so loud, but in the silence of my sanctuary it is deafening, a slip of the hand spilling the Old Language letters to the floor in a cascade of sheets and splaying innermost thoughts to the ground like a scattering of leaves. Naught but the death of self knowledge readying itself to be welcomed back into the soil of the Chosen and once again become a tree to shelter and protect the old traditions. I am a leaf, fluttering on a waning branch, clinging by mere fibres to the duties of the Chosen, trying to reattach myself to the sense of sisterhood such a holy bond should gift to us. But with every solitary moment passing in this sequestered temple my thoughts drift more from ceremonies, and prayers, the ritual words and rote actions becoming a tangle of woven silk in my head, freeing threads of...unChosenly desires. To be selfless is the most high of virtues,to put the greater good afore oneself. And I find myself sometimes selfish. Keeping myself from the other Chosen, being a sequestered scribe was only in part for the greater good, to record, to display our histories with pride...For me, I wanted to watch. Since young, the glittering crystal bowls fascinated me, portals to a world I could only dream of dreaming of, a place with...colour, though the true meaning of that word can never be described to its fullest, even in the bowls there is a lack of vitality to the images, though they move and speak, they love and laugh and die. My sight isn't oft guided, free to wander over the earth until the Scribe Virgin inquires of me to direct my writings to a certain place. And maybe, though I will admit to none but my own silence, I am hidden here of my own free will warriors to aid the Brothers in their war, to birth more Chosen to our vocations. He is the hope of the entire race...and I want nothing to do with him. Would rather dwell in the maddening seclusion of my temple, the other Chosen long leaving their roles to wait for their chance to serve as his bedmates, than give myself over to a male who is so reluctant to take up such a revered mantle that he drowns himself in the rage of a fight and contemplates ridding himself of the world...I have no words. I'd watched, ashamedly, as his conquests ripped through the world, from continent to continent, a killing machine of sharp, cunning intelligence and a lethal hand, no doubt under the Bloodletter's training he had acquired such skills...and his meetings with females...made my skin heat in a flush that was unseemly for one as me, blood sought out in the midst of carnal unities should not be so rousing. I'd watched as my sisters cooed and flocked to prepare for him, like the Dearest Scribe's birds fluttered gracefully to their tree, offering up their beauty to his grace on an altar of of the race. It was a commitment their duty obliged them to enter into and their naivety led them to want. And he wants nothing to do with any of us. Scorning the Dear Virgin's offers, disrespecting her Highness, the Primale set about to ruin himself, running from a panic I dare not look too closely upon, a frantic darkness shadowing his soul and trapping him in a claustrophobic shell of duty. I know it well, that look. The Great Mother told me to watch, to record, to scribe every little detail of everything he did. Why? To tell future generations how reluctant a male of great worth was to save our world. With a wary eye on the bowls, my curiosity locks in to swirling images, the scrolls are once more gathered to aid me, quill flicking perfect characters in a detailed inscription that intertwines the past and the present in a flow of fated decisions. I will be here...until I am called...until I am chosen.*


{Finding no lesser prey on the slick streets of downtown Caldwell, my feet carried me to the familiar hunting ground of ZeroSum. The look from the Moor, I'Am, on the door says it all. Loose. Fucking. Cannon. Grateful for the visceral, thumping soundtrack to quash the lyrics of Five Finger Death Punch's 'Remember Everything' that have dogged me ever since I woke in the penthouse... Despite the ear-bleeding pump and grind heartbeat of the club, the pounding of my shitkickers sets up vibrations, like a Tyrannosaurus fucking Rex, sending the club rats scurrying from the palpable aura of menace. And fuck, if that wasn't exactly what the Brotherhood had become, dinosaurs, a straggle of warriors on the verge of extinction..Feeling the weight of an impassive, gunmetal grey stare.. shooting the androgynous head of security an arctic glare...bored indifference as she unhooks the rope to the VIP section..fuck, what remained of our numbers could fit around this one booth...planting ass into the slice of club real estate the Brotherhood laid claim to, as the cattle market of silicone enhanced tits and ass resume their vulture circling of the bleary eyed, fat walleted punters... I picture each of my Brothers' faces as we've sat around this table gum flapping, mentally striking off the reasons why none made better man-whore material than myself..man, you had to hate the Scribe Virgin's logic...and we would dwindle further..unless some fucker stepped up to the plate as the Chosen's stud to breed a new generation of warriors ... Twining the silk cord of the Primale pendant in gloved fingers, the carved gold catching the light as it twirls... clockwise..anticlockwise Yippeekayay, motherfuckers, guess who just pulled stallion duty...happy fucking birthday to me, true...the shake is back in my hand...I'm coming apart at the fucking seams, leaking the messy, fucked up guts of my life all over Caldwell...thank fuck my Brothers didn't choose tonight for R&R... couldn't look the SOBs in the eye right now..shit if they'd witnessed that dirty old man voyeur routine I just pulled in the park..Jesus..they'd be roasting my balls over that shit for centuries, true...and I needed jeering, bleeding heart spectators to the train-wreck that had become my fucking life like a bullet to the fucking brain right now} <<It's real pretty...who's the lucky girl?>>  {snapping the medallion back into my palm, diamond eyes lifting to the doe-eyed human waitress as she nervously sets the Goose on the table} No one in particular....leave the bottle, true...and keep 'em coming {slipping a hundred dollar bill onto the tray} that's just the tip {the waitress shimmies away with a hundred watt grin, the <<anything else I can get you?>> wisely canned as bad timing..absently tracking her retreating form when the video comes on the huge flat screen display..the beat, the words, 'do it like a brother' so fucking familiar, stroking some deep, untapped sensory memory... and when the lithe female slips into the adjacent booth with her back to me, long, raven black hair skimming her thighs, it's like a wrinkle in time, my heart kicks up to a fucking gallop, pounding against the cage of my ribs, a rush of adrenaline...and something more, flooding my system..the skin beneath my leathers growing heated..thighs spreading wider, suddenly very fucking aware of the strained confines of my cock.. I know this scene like I've watched the movie a hundred times, know exactly how it plays out... I slide out of the booth and walk up to her, her eyes are cast down, glued to the crystal glass of Absinthe in front of her, like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever laid eyes on, lithe curves pulsing perceptibly to the beat of the music..then I say with a smirk 'she has a nice mouth, true' and that's when she turns those flashing emerald eyes up to me and I am fucking undone... then she says <<Vishous?>> No..no that's not what she is supposed to say... what the fuck? Caith?..it's Caith's dark eyes that are lifted to mine with a bright spark of curiosity and something altogether more feral Punch drunk as the déjà vu shrinks back into the depths of my unconscious... no recollection of how I'd even made it to the female's table, but her eyes are predatory, gliding heat over the length and breadth of my towering frame, like she can scent the arousal hardening my body} <<You like my mouth, V?>> {red glossy lips curving into a coquettish smile that flashes the white tips of fangs} <<what say you and my mouth get a little better acquainted, Vishous....>>

*an exhale...not loud at all but weighted with an exhaustion I should not be feeling. My third time this eve checking the glistening bowls, a compulsion, an addiction perhaps. I cannot be faulted. I am under order to watch. I am doing naught wrong, but something brushes my conscience, that this spying upon the warrior, the reluctant Primale, is...improper. My glimpses of his world are dark and tormented, twisted in shadows and written in black ink and blood. It is a mess I cannot comprehend, a spill on the marble of life and he is fighting to clean the growing pool of...what is the word? I know not, a Chosen is not educated in curses and vile vocabulary. Her Highness really turned his world upside down, unleashed a burden of such magnitude, I can fathom not how any male took up the mantle...and this one, this male she chose, is not faring so well with the pressure. The images move as he does, shifting at his command not mine, as if they too are drawn to observe him...beyond the call of duty...Yes...I watch when I am not called to...an...addiction. Half concentrated on the words filling the parchments, I very nearly miss the curious exchange, the switch in the male’s demeanor. Fire, power, arousal breaking through fight and panic. Over what? A female? A tickle in my throat, the beginning of something primal tamped down and restricted by propriety. She is familiar. He has encountered her before, he knows her, but it is not in relation to him that she stirs in my mind. Something far worse than observing her mating hungers for him coaxes forth memories of blood and violence, dream like, reaching out to touch a strand of images before they slip from my grasp and I am left to release the rasp in my throat on a growl. I do not need a mirror to know my eyes are vivid with emerald light, that they glow with an emotion that isn’t really mine, a strange emotion that warps in the recesses of my knowledge and brings the equivalent of violence to the forefront. I want to...hurt her? For the words that come from her mouth? The blatant invitation? Yes. She threatens to taint the Primale. She is not Chosen, and he belongs to me. We. Us. She cannot touch him. The bowls shimmer as he thinks, the future rippling across the surfaces, ten different endings to this scenario. All he has to do is decide and cement the path. If she touches him...Eyes averted swiftly, the itch in my throat starts its incessant vibrations, the growls tightly restrained and pulling for freedom. I will not watch. I cannot watch.*

{Fists wringing the metal bar, punching down the lever of the fire exit to spill out into the quiet of the alley behind ZeroSum, replacing the air in my lungs, the mingled scents of the club and the female, Caith, with the familiar draw of Turkish tobacco, the hand rolled stuck to my lower lip as I tuck the damp tails of my shirt back into the waistband of my leathers, exhaling a low growl along with the smoke...damn Brother chaser got off on it when I'd forcibly removed her hands from my body, and when I made it crystal clear we weren't playing games, well, gloved hand scrubbing over the souvenir trio of bloody scratches on my neck, shirt cold and wet, plastered to my abs where she'd aimed her drink...I walked away, and didn't look back. Tempting as a hard, rough fuck was right now, and fuck knows the female's aggression baited my dominant instincts, I gave the Scribe Virgin my word, and however screwed in the head, I remained a male of my word. Rough edged, strung out on Goose and a bad case of the frustrates, finding myself trolling for a fight through the concrete labyrinth of Caldwell's backstreets and alleyways, casting angular shadows in the glow of the streetlamps, eventually doubling back through the park, shitkickers picking up a longer stride as I approach the place I'd watched the couple earlier in the night, no fucking jones to revisit that choice episode, true, but the hot metallic scent drifting downwind and setting my fangs on edge is unmistakable.. pushing through into the clearing...mother of FUCK!!... mouth and nose shielded with the back of my hand as my stomach lurches a heave-ho. I recognise the manicured nails... the human female hadn't stood a chance, throat sliced ear to ear in a yawning, macabre smile, twisted limbs, head lolling at an unnatural angle... blood everywhere, blood and the cloying, sickly sweet stench of lesser...dropping down on one knee at the civilian male's side.. face beaten to a dental-records pulp...he'd put up a fight, clearly...jagged defensive wounds scored bone deep across the back of both forearms... but whatever took him down was stronger... belly sliced open throat to groin like a goddamned butchered animal, organs and guts spilling out of the wound in a gaping hot mess.. jerking back on a growled reflex as a hand shoots up to lock around my gloved fist in a desperate, bloody death-grip... wretchedly hanging on to a thread of life, death would be a release for the kid...and fuck if this wasn't some grim metaphor for the mess I was in, for the plight of our race, hunted to the verge of extinction by an ever replenishing source of evil...coming apart at the seams...all the King's horses and all the King's fucking men, true...pretty soon the King will have no men, if you don't man the fuck up, Primale...anger cranking up inside of me to the point of violence, the truth of it hammered home hard, the future of the race spilling out onto the dark patch of grass}

*Sleep is not a place of dreams for this repose, only blood and substituted images, my mind filling in the space of what I could not watch to the point I wonder if I have slept at all. The brain funnels horror into my head, things I have observed swirling to create the nightmare of the unknown. Of course he would have touched her, she was offering paradise to a male who was straddling the gates of a hell. How long, perhaps, until the bowls are safe for my vision? I know not, but they call to me already, singing their liquid songs of resonating crystal, the present drawing me down into watery depths and bidding me observe. Ever obedient, I cannot naysay the command, bare feet silent on brilliant white marble, robes gathered against a chill that is in my mind, the same temperature throughout creating no cause for any cold....but I feel it, the icy shiver rising as I slip warily into the straight backed chair, forcing my lashes to lift on hesitant emerald eyes...What if he is still with her? What if he is tainting himself with her...what if....my thoughts stutter mid question, eyes peeled wide...for there is no beast with two backs upon the surface of the bowl, merely floods of blood, thick, viscous discoloured with various other bodily fluids. My will sharpens, directing the scope of my vision to pull back, to gift me the entirety of the scene in detail. A massacre, a slaughter, members of our race poured out in a park, insides no longer inner, hearts no longer serving their purpose, no beat, no breath, still in gutted death...The warrior is pained. His knees melting into the sludge of the couple's life.. my head bows in silent, rapid prayer, to catch the soul before it truly departs the males form, his body clinging in a last search for living comfort from a male who has never known any, before he is embraced into the Fade by the welcoming arms of our Creator. His light extinguished, folded into the blinding brilliance of Her love, I turn my attention back to the warrior, the Primale, his massive body so small in the spreading pool of death. I would tend the human woman's rites only so far to guide her to her heaven...she could not follow her male. The thought struck a chord of sorrow in a form so used to witnessing the passing of others. To be parted from the one you love, even in a heaven would surely be chaining one in the most hellish of all hells. So torn, he is, rocked back on his haunches, so lost as his thoughts flicker and turn mercurial in diamond eyes...far from this world, I doubt he sees anything, not the shadows closing in as the moon travels her starry palace, not the shudder of abhorrence that nature takes up as pale evil slips through the moon's light his sight turned inward, on whatever demons are dancing through his mind...but there is one so very real and closer, the glimmer of metal rising a warning in my throat that escapes before it can be silenced, breaking the stillness of my sanctuary with fear laced horror as evil makes it's shadow concealed move towards the future of our race....and all I can do is watch. Infuriating. All I can ever do is watch*

{Free hand buried in my hair, yanking hard at the roots. What was my fucking problem? The race was at war, Caldwell the theatre of combat where the Lessening Society were currently kicking our asses. Any fool could do the maths, a handful of Brothers against the rich pickings of human scum the Omega had to draw upon for recruits...even this one civilian death was too fucking many...it was just biology, true. Simple friction, thrust and repeat, thrust and repeat until the male ejaculates, fuck knows I'd done worse shit in the name of the Brotherhood.. being Primale would be a walk in the fucking park.. slamming the door on the inner monologue when the male's glassy eyes lock onto mine, pleading, panic-stricken, drawing on his final breaths <<lesser... lesser...>> white-knuckling my hand, eyes darting to the left.. my neck pivots, following their direction, only to meet and greet the incoming steel toecap of a combat boot, a bone-cracking, NFL precision impact to the temple...MOTHERFUCKER!! My skull explodes in a crimson starburst of agony, the momentum of the kick propelling me backward, shoulders slammed to the ground, forcing the air from my lungs on a grunt, ears ringing like the damn liberty bell, the taste of my own blood filling my mouth as the world starts to rotate without me... the slayer towering over me swimming in and out of focus, but the SOB is hard to fucking miss, one big ass motherfucker, built like a linebacker on 'roids.. no new inductee, this one, natural pigmentations faded out to a uniform chalky white, like chiseled limestone, the color leached even from his eyes... pale.. not so very unlike my own.. a sickening thought crossing my mind in that instant.. yeah, this lesser was the Omega's butt puppet, but sure as shit I had the Scribe Virgin yanking my strings...and if her blood was in my veins..then so was the evil tar of her brother's... would explain the wretched emptiness inside of me, hollow as the raped heart cavity of the slayer...was that the legacy I would gift the Brotherhood? A whole new generation cursed with my fucked up DNA.. No, fuck that shit, true...only connection between this reeking limp-dick MOFO and me would be my dagger buried hilt-deep in its chest... the set of gravestone teeth bared in a sinister sneer proving his human life pre-dated the era of cosmetic dentistry and when he speaks, his accent has a strong Eastern European flavor <<Warrior. Waited a long time to dance with one of your kind>> the length of jagged-bladed chainsaw chain unfurling from the lesser's meaty fist with a thunk as I watch in slow motion, reactions sluggish, my concussed brain running a few circuits short of a motherboard, the words coming out slurred} Then let's dance motherfucker {My ears are flooded with an ominous whirring drone as the bladed chain links slice through the air, cracking across my cheekbone, a bone-deep, jagged slash of excruciating pain, palm reaching up to scrub at the wet crimson heat streaming down the stubble of my jaw.. my blood was still fucking red, not the corroded shit this fucker was going to leak when I stuck him with my blades, fangs bared on a low hiss, a tempest of rage whipping through me. This is what I was trained and bred for, the very point of my existence}

*my heart is a living entity in my throat, pushed up from behind heaving ribs to lodge and restrict, strangling my breaths with an iron fist of terror. By the Dear Virgin Scribe, of all I have observed of his life, his past, his wars, this feeling never gets easier. Watching him...fight. I can almost, almost forget that I am alone in a cave of scrolls and leather bound books, that the light cast up in the bowls is really fluorescent streetlamps and not the glitter of a candle’s flame. The shadows peeking over my shoulders are a cape of darkness...the same cape that caresses the reluctant Primale as he stumbles, a violent slam from a boot sending him reeling into a stutter of motion. Disoriented, off balance, the spawn of evil landing blow after blow, kick after vicious kick to the stunned warrior. Fight, for the love of the Dear Scribe, fight! Blood streams, colouring leather red with heavy saturation, bruising flesh, tearing it with every strike, ripping through the barrier of skin as though the lesser was fighting not only to kill, but to disembowel. To annihilate us all in one fell swoop. For sure we could find another Primale. But none so worthy, none so pure, none of the Scribe Virgin’s own holy blood. None would bear the strength, the power of the race on his shoulders. None would gift the Chosen with great warrior young...He is weaving in the face of chain linked assaults, slashing attacks that snap ribs and fracture bones. I am choking on my terror, begging him to fight....and then my prayers are answered. Her Highness' intervention or his brain clearing off the force of the kicks, I know not but the battle is not so one sided anymore and crimson is not the only colour painting the ground in macabre designs. A beautiful predator like the big cats that prowled the jungles, brutal and feral as he tears a sanguinary scene throughout the park. He is violence in motion, war and death in the form of a male as he stalks the lesser, such power, such fluid lethality in the cords of muscle lining his body, a weaving, slightly off kilter defensive offense parrying cracking slams of the chain and vicious kicks, returning the pain tenfold unto the revolting frame that wears evil like an inky skin. And while I admire and assess the battle honed skills that turn him to a creature of violent efficiency, the fear pulses around my breath, tightening the column of my throat until I hiccup air. The less pleasant half of a primal dichotomy. I could watch him fight forever...and yet I detest when anyone fights him. The merest show of his blood on an enemy blade turns my veins to lines of anger and my heart to a drumbeat of horror and panic. I am praying, offering up no real praises just demanding the fight does not go the way I fear, the two matched, brutal, relentless, bloodthirsty...but only one has the force of a chain at his side, the evil resolve to destroy our hope...the darkness sometimes beats back the light, shadows occupy and as the chain whips out on a vicious swinging lash, my eyes are locked to the scenes before me....watching the shadows move into position to take out our light*

{With the adrenaline of battle saturating my body, I am beyond pain, each blow an endorphin rush that merely cranks up the savage rage transforming my body into an instinctive fighting machine, my heart merely the pump fuelling the onslaught of punishing blows delivered to the lesser's body, a chaotic blur of fists and boots and slashing steel, until he swings the chain again, the familiar droning whine of metal slicing through air, only this time my gloved hand whips out to catch it mid-arc, yanking it free of the slayer's grip, one jagged end curled into my lead-lined fist, wrist snapped back, whipping out a precision lash that sees the razor-edged links winding around the the Lesser's throat in an ever-tightening ligature, chalky hands at its throat, fighting strangulation, the advantage seized, one heavy shitkicker cracking a kneecap, slamming the fucker sunny side down, knees punching between its shoulder blades, massive arms pretzeled, torquing until I feel the satisfying give of sockets popping and the slayer sings out his blood curdling screams of agony yanking a fistful of that chalky white hair, cracking the SOBs skull off the pavement like a fucking egg, over and over until the black brain matter splatters the ground, a tarry inkblot spreading on the ground. I could keep it alive, keep it feeling pain for eternity..that was the thing with these undead, soulless stinking fucks..you could incapacitate them, but they still wouldn't die, they kept on thinking, feeling ..until someone put them out of their misery... and that was the difference between us and them, we understood mercy, deep down, I hoped I had a soul...the blade plunged between the lesser's shoulder blades, punched deep with a hard twist and the park lights up bright as fucking day, that one action nailing any lingering doubts I had about becoming Primale. We would win this fucking war and if that meant breeding an army of cursed and glowing warriors to unleash on these motherfuckers, then so fucking be it. True.............}

*it was done....the light filled the bowls, flashing over their surfaces as evil gave out in a blast of purity. The decision has been made. The Directrix soon would call upon my sisters to tell what I already know, the future shifting in watery crystal to realign and show new paths...there were always branches, no one future was set solidly in stone. Free will makes it fluent, always in flux, I could see a single person's life in a million different ways, from birth to death, immeasurable ways to live, to die...all based on how you thought how you chose to walk your present....and as the happy delight of my sisters filters through the walls, the bowls are only filled with white, blinding, pure...I cant see him now. My vision has been revoked for the time, Her Highness gifting her only son some measure of privacy as the mantle settles heavy across his broad shoulders. The Primale will change everything...and I will stay hidden behind my sanctuary doors, making sure that something stays the same. The present, however in flux, needs to be recorded. That will never change.*