{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…..*
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