*So maybe asking a serious question clothed only in silk drapes I ripped from my dead brother’s shrine wasn’t the best idea…It doesn’t give me much to hide in, bare legs eating up the distance from the ornate golden elevator into one of the huge rooms, a library furnace hybrid with a roaring fire under a giant mantle that flushed my skin with a rage of heat. My legs are weak, my breathing still panting softly, my heart just settling when I see her…my mahmen, her tiny frame curled into the plush cushions of a large armchair, buried under a mound of furs, a book propped up under the concentration of emerald eyes…so like my own, but unshadowed. My hand twitches back for V’s, his presence close, drifting from my reach with a diamond eyed wink that told me I was on my own with the parental shit…but he wont be far, after all I’m answering his question….Was Arhan my blooded brother…and if not….who the fuck was his father?…his scent shimmers on the outskirts of the room, hovering on my skin, a reassurance in the face of a female who may have lied to me* Mahmen? *Her head turns with a welcoming smile, soft words and the gentile wave of her hand guiding me to the exquisitely plumped up cushions of a second chair with only the flicker of a perfectly groomed quirked brow as her eyes take in the sex flush of my skin, the drape of silk, the wildly mussed tumble of ebony curling under my ass as I ball up in the chair*<<my daughter…You have made yourself at home? All is well?>>*the twinkle in her eye is more knowing than I like, a glint of laughter stifled under her rules of propriety…of course she wouldn’t mention that I look like I’ve just been ravaged* Yeah…everything’s…well, no, actually… V and I hit the fourth floor by accident…*her porcelain skin pales even more, the light in her eyes dimming as they reassess the silk draping my curves with a slow dawning horror…and then she crumples, the façade of perfect elegant beauty no match for the emotions turning within her, everything, shock, guilt, regret, grief written on the lines of her face in stark ashen relief, tears threatening to overspill and mar her cheeks* <<Oh, my daughter, I have only just got you back, how can I lose you now?>> I can promise you, I’ve probably done worse…you haven’t killed anyone have you? You wont lose me….*I hope she wont lose me, I hope it’s only the over-dramatised tears of a Glymera female who used the wrong fork at dinner…her sigh scares me, heavy, laden with a dark sorrow and an intense remorse*<<You know, you may not have been born into all of this, if things had ended a little differently, my daughter…you would have been spared the agony of your life and been blessed, sacred, protected. A Chosen daughter to the Mother of our race…as I was…I have killed none but the truth…>>*Trailing off to a deep silence, my eyes are narrowed on her face, seeking out any hint that she’s fucking with me* Chosen? Pale, floaty, born to serve all needs Chosen? I’m kinda glad something went wrong…*my light scoff has her eyes snapping up to mine with the fierce scolding gaze* <<It is no joke, Serhenity. Arhan is my son, but he was not your father’s. I was a Chosen before the fall, and your father…*a smile lifts her lips, a soft reminiscence tainted with sadness* he came with me…>>*brow arching up* And Arhan’s father? <<A visitor to the Other Side, he came for a meeting with the Scribe Virgin and took what he wanted whilst he was there>>*The implications of her angel voiced words set in on a slow burn of dangerous anger, spreading black fire through my bloodstream and unleashing deep growls into the hushed, fire lit air* Tell me he’s dead…tell me the fucker is dead. <<I believe so, my daughter…you need not kill on my account>> Oh I’ll kill on your account, you’re my mother…the fucker hurt you…<<And I allowed Draven to hurt you. I allowed Arhan to hurt you. I can bear the pains of a single act, Tohrture, for you have borne many...>> *growling low…asshole better be fucking dead* But, wait…if Arhan wasn’t his blooded son, why did my father treat me as though I was nothing? I was blood….*it irks me, that I had been punished, and my brother had been the favourite…or at least accepted* <<Your father loved you, but, after Arhan displayed characteristics unlike his own, he looked so very much like Ahriman, something inside him broke…he was not the Primale I loved, he became weak with grief, blind to you, to me…we were so alike, I fear, in the end, he could set his eyes on neither of us>> *she’d answered every question, uncovered a past I knew nothing of, dragged shadows from the darkness into the light of a curious mind, and if V was listening…I hoped he was no longer confused, because my mind is a buzz, chasing threads of a thought, grasping onto ends to have them slip from my grasp….but something stuck….I was not a daughter of the Glymera…I was the daughter of a Chosen…bred to be beautiful, and the epitome of grace, elegance and purity…Well. Fuck. Me.*
Enough..{I'd overheard enough of the disclosures between Tory and her Mahmen..suspicions confirmed, the half blood symphath I slaughtered on the road to Verona had sired Tory's brother Arhan, the piece of shit who tortured her and sold her into the hands of a sadist hellren...Symphath bloodlines explained a lot, but fuck..fisting handfuls of my hair.. was there a member of Tory's family I hadn't killed? The body count stacking up in my head...uncle..brother..well, technically half-brother and now the brother's sire..shit was beyond fucking coincidence, unease creeping under my skin..that dirty feeling that I'd been used and manipulated, but unable to fathom the who or whys of it...I need some fucking air..stepping out onto the balcony, hands braced on the stone balustrade, the past slamming home hard like the icy wind that hits my face like a barrage of frozen blades.....}
Venice, Italy 1736 Night of December 22nd, the winter Solstice #LoverUntamed
{Easing into the leather chaise, a sprawling giant on the spindly frame fashioned for stunted homo sapiens, mud-encrusted boots dangling over the end, reaching blindly to the rough-hewn table to wrap my gloved hand around the goblet, downing a long draft of the sweet wine, palm curled around a ripe apple, tossing it into the air...catch, toss, catch, toss, the repetitive motion calming the relentless machinations of my brain, diamond eyes casting about the sparse room, with it's piled leather-bound manuscripts, a simple pallet for sleeping and the heavy velvet drape screening off the rack, specially commissioned by a master carpenter from a hulking piece of solid oak. These sunless lodgings, deep in the heart of the Teatro San Cassiano suited me well indeed. Where humans would shun the dark, windowless cave, with the constant operatic rehearsals filtering through its walls, for me, the soaring bel canto singing was a welcome distraction from the cacophony of voices in my head and the nightly comings and goings of the bawdy performers provided a front for the clandestine visits of those who came to engage my services as mercenary and assassin.. not to mention the steady supply of willing flesh, an outlet for the depraved sexual leanings I had developed a voracious appetite for since my exile from the camp. Murder was a lucrative line of work in the cut-throat Venetian underworld, and tonight, it seemed, my services were once again in demand... Head whipping in the direction of the door, swinging my legs in an arc, boots planted square to the ground, drawing up to full height, hand jerking to the hilt of a dagger ...strange I heard not the knock, nor the thoughts of the visitor, but the figure darkening my door is discernibly female, despite the low-hooded cloak concealing her features. Her attire of little consequence, it being perfectly normal for callers to require total anonymity, but the curious light emanating from the beneath the cloak, as though a lantern were concealed within its folds, leads me to wonder how the trompe l'oeil is achieved. I would know soon enough... the females who came here were well versed in the rituals of disrobing...Archon sent them to me primed to my exacting requirements..willing the heavy velvet drapes to part, tall beeswax columns hissing into flame in their sconces to illuminate the rack with its heavy iron shackles and the rows of studded hide and metal implements arranged along the walls in pools of flickering candlelight...The female's sharp inhale of air was not an uncommon reaction for newcomers to my dungeon. The fear, after all, was an integral part of what they craved. When I speak, it is in dark cadences of fluent, accented Italian} Remove your cloak and assume the position upon the rack {I could swear the glow beneath the female's robe flared brighter still..a trick of the candlelight, verily} <<That is NOT the purpose of my visit this night, warrior>> {one robed arm motions to the rack and other implements of pain, the heavy velvet drapes falling back modestly into position...if the authority in the female's words did not immediately alert me to my error, the conjury with the drapes cemented my suspicions} Ahhhh....apologies, my.. Lady? {inclining my head} An honest mistake..let us start anew..I take it then, that you wish to engage my services as a mercenary {the robed female nods her head in silent affirmation and begins to move about the room in a disconcertingly fluid motion..as though she were..floating above the ground?..but such a thing was impossible...} <<'Tis the winter Solstice, warrior, yet you do not honor your creator in the proper manner this night?>> {the title grates, a harsh reminder of my exile from the Bloodletter's camp, and the bitterness bleeds into my words} I am no warrior... and verily, my Lady, I might ask the same of you {re-filling my goblet, the bottle hovering above a second vessel} A drink? To honor the Solstice {my droll request is met by stony silence... The second glass left empty as I take a long draft of the wine before speaking again} The Virgin Scribe is naught but a myth propagated by Wrath and his Glymera bootlickers to keep his subjects in check {stunned silence save a sharp in drawing of breath....diamond eyes levelling on the robed figure, whose strange motion has come to an abrupt halt} My frankness offends you {a statement, not a question, gloved hand motioning to the ceiling with a bored expression} I see no lightning bolt sent to smite my wretched, blaspheming self. In truth, I believe only what I see with mine own eyes {eyes that flare wide as the hood rises up off the female's face, seemingly of its own volition, revealing a ghostly, glowing, ethereal beauty, a visage I had only heard spoken of in reverent, hushed tones around the camp fires....my heart is in my accursed throat, stumbling backward until I make a solid impact with the arm of the chaise, words stuck in my constricted gullet} <<The appropriate position is ON YOUR KNEES, warrior>> {defiance flaring with a growl...I KNEEL to no one ...not since my father...but my legs are folding up beneath me nonetheless, like rusted hinges, planting me solidly on my knees, unsure if the action is voluntary or the unspoken will of the figure before me..the Scribe Virgin...in the flesh....holy mother of......} <<The correct address is 'Your Highness'...I have killed males for lesser offense, warrior>> {my mouth is working but words will not come, as though invisible hands are wrapped about my throat, but diamond eyes stare up defiantly nonetheless.. if I am to meet my death this night, I will do so looking my nemesis in the eyes} <<I have a purpose for you, my son>> {shocked at her acknowledgement of me as a child of her race, cursed and exiled half-male that I am} <<there is a male upon this realm who offends me with every numbered breath he draws, a male by the name of Ahriman, emissary of the Symphath King, a half-blood symphath himself {there is venom in her words as she continues} I granted this abomination audience on the Other Side, and he repaid my hospitality by violating one of my Chosen..the Primale's preferred mate. Had I not sworn him immunity from harm, this male would already be annihilated from the face of this earth. But a strike from me or the Primale will be tantamount to a declaration of war between my children and the Symphaths..thousands of innocents will die.. this future have I seen... I will not allow it. I will see my Chosen avenged...Fate will bend to my will and you, Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, are the chosen instrument of that vengeance.....do as I ask of you and your reward shall be beyond your wildest imaginings...>>
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