basts_tail

With lots of thanks to

thorncoronation for being so incredibly inspiring....

Paris, France 1813

Gwynefar is coming home from collecting a packet of books for her Master Vittorio. Its getting dark, the sun is down, and she is hurrying, a little later than she would have liked. Dressed in Royal Blue, trimmed with white, she pays passing attention to those around her, and takes her usual route home, moving quickly.

The walk home is long, and part way along the road a young man stops her, to ask directions.

the sun is gone

She pauses for a moment, gives him directions and goes to move along the road. As she turns to keep walking down the road, he grabs her from behind with a knife in her ribs, cutting through the corset as he forces her into an alleyway, to a group of ruffians. She gasps as adrenaline floods her system, and tries to get free, till he shoves her so one of the others catch her.

She kicks him, and slaps the knife out of his hand, her teeth baring with rage. The one behind her grabs her arms and forces them behind her, affecting her ability to move as the one in front moves in and backhands her, shocking her temporarily.

Darkness descends

She is stunned for long enough that he closes and rips open her clothes and corset. When she comes back to herself she is bleeding from the mouth.

Red hot rage

"Now, unless I'm very much mistaken, you never said, 'please." The assailants turn, as one, to stare at the slender young man, dressed in a white frock coat and breeches, standing in the mouth of the alley-way, nonchalantly inspecting his fingernails. His voice is silken, and dripping with scorn.

"No better than beasts." At the sound of the voice, she starts struggling anew, trying to cover herself....

An Angel appears

Without warning, the beautiful young man is gone, as if he were never there. Just...vanished. The bandits look about in confusion, and suddenly he is among them, in the centre of them laying about with his sword, so fast - every movement poetry in motion - that he is just a pale blur, almost flickering from one place to the next.

She looks up, with a strong sense of there being a new danger... her heart speeds up... On an instinctual level she knows he's as big a threat as them, maybe more.... just a different kind... The scent of her blood fills the air, they injured her, even if they did not rape her.

Death comes on angels wings

In just moments, they lie about the floor of the alleyway, face down, slumped. Gywnefar can tell just by looking at them that they won't be getting up again, as Vittorio takes a moment to dust off his shoulders with meticulous care, and then sheathes the rapier again at his belt. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and in the periphery she can see the bodies, and his feet. Her lips are parted, blood on one corner from the blow, a bruise coming up on her skin. He moves toward her in one smooth, graceful motion and, without a word, leans down, picks her up - for all his slender build, he's very strong - and carries her out of the alleyway, stopping only to kick one of the bodies.

Roses dark as blood

"You shall have a new dress," he whispers in her ear as she hides her face in his coat. Surprisingly, she's not shaking much, but neither is she relaxed. His face is beatific, almost painfully beautiful, even with the hot blood spattered across it. He cradles her to his chest, and she realises that he smells like roses. She inhales the scent, closing her eyes for a moment.

When they reach their lodgings (high end), he carries her into her chamber, lays her gently down on her bed, against the pillows, and summons woman servants to look after her. He tells them nothing, and they know better than to ask. As they proceed to undress her, he retreats to the antechamber, and overhears her speak for the first time.

"Burn it". The voice is cold, calm.

She sits before her mirror, and begins to clean the blood off her mouth. He creeps back in, while the women are busy drawing her a bath, and appears over her shoulder, so close that the first thing she's aware of is his voice, and the scent.

The cleansing power of fire

"Don't do that." Her eyes fly up to meet his in the mirror, and every nerve jumps to attention.

He gently takes the cloth from her fingers and then, slowly so as not to startle her, leans down and gently licks the blood from the corner of her mouth. Then he smiles, gently withdraws, and is gone. The reaction is profound, as her eyes dilate, and her skin flushes with blood.

As he leaves the room, Vittorio can taste the passion and rage in her blood.

Gwyn sits before her mirror, her eyes closed with shock, shaking.

The scent of roses...lingering....but her Guardian Angel is gone.