Possible BTS Submission....
Nov. 3rd, 2006 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
basts_tailThis is an amalgum of previous posts...
Saturday 28 October 2006
Sydney
She watched the room, all their guests from interstate. Her fingers stroked through her hair, and she smiled wryly.
My, what the scent of blood in the air does to bring their kind out of the woodwork.
She watched the people, their posturing, and that odd, elegant creature whose scent reminded her of…. Something…
Roses.
She did not talk to him, His (her? Its?) Grace, because there was something about this Sanctified that put her off kilter, and the words died in her throat.
Once upon a time she had associated that scent with safety….. The thought brought an odd pain to her mind, and she dismissed it, preferring not to think on her past.
Beltaine 31 October 2006
Sydney
Ceridwyn sat in her room, spacious, two areas to it, the bedroom with no windows, and the study. The furnishings were opulent, as befits its owner Claude, and comfortable, though sparse with lots of room. In the middle of the floor are two tea chests smelling of moth balls, and against the wall behind her, a long flat package, similar to a painting shaped box.
The sum total of her life.
Three boxes.
She cracked open the first tea chest, and began to pull things out - A kachina doll, a small carved wooden totem pole, an Egyptian priestess necklace, several old books, a number of beautiful swords and knives. She unpacked them relatively quickly, and turned her attention to the second one. Opening it, it contained not items, but an old steamer trunk, something from the Victorian age. She opened it, and proceeded to take out the clothes, gently, fragile, she would need to have someone restore some of these...
Finally she got to the last garment, wrapped in calico.
Her hands went to open it, but a whisper of {what was that?} travelled across her mind, and she paused, reluctant for some reason. A lot of her things she had not opened, preferring to just keep them, should she ever need them. Her gaze turns to the painting box, against the wall, and finally comes back to the calico. She lays it out gently on the long table, and slowly begins to unwrap it.
A memory flashes briefly, standing in a room, holding a post of her bed, being laced into her corset by a beautiful young man, prisoner to his touch….
Just as suddenly, it is gone, and she gasps slightly... Its been that smell, the scent of roses that’s been around her mind since Saturday night. She finishes unwrapping it, and stands, staring down at the beautiful blue dress....
For a split second she remembers something - he laced my corset too tight... fainting into someone's arms...
Seized with an irresistible compulsion, she suddenly bundles it back up in the calico, puts it back in the trunk, and backs to a wall, seized with an overwhelming sense of grief. She leaves the room, goes out, till dawn nearly, and then goes to bed.
She pays no attention to the box, and that day she dreams of music, roses and the scent of blood.
1813
Paris
The young woman stood in her bed chamber, holding the post of the bed, as the servant behind her tightened the laces of her corset. She had washed and dressed her hair, and stepped into the new silken underwear that her master had brought with her new dress, and stood patiently as she was laced into it, displaying her shape, in pantaloons, chemise, and the corset showing off her waist and hips.
Unnoticed, the creature stood in the shadows, watching his ward. The shape of her was accentuated by the corset, her hair was dressed on top of her head, creamy shoulders rose out of the chemise, all temporarily obscured as the servants carefully put the overdress over her head. Silently he moved into the room, so softly she was unaware of him till he stood behind her, and the scent of roses reached her. The servants withdrew, as Vittorio began to rhythmically tighten the laces.
At one point, a silken tress of hair fell between them, and he gently brushed it back over her shoulder, his hand whispering across her skin. The touch of his hand makes her skin tighten and warm, and heat pooled in her belly. Her lips part, as she tries to draw air into her lungs, with a sensation that her corset is tied too tightly.
As he remembers her taste in his mouth, she remembers the sensation of the tip of his tongue on her lips. He gives no sign, and she gasps softly, trying to contain the senses
Firebloodpassion
his touch is arousing, since cleaning her mouth.....
His hands have stilled, the laces coiled about them, holding her prisoner. She turns her head slowly, to look at him, lips parted slightly, very still, like an animal around a predator, but trusting too. He stands still, his eyes on the skin of her back, just above the lacing. Very gently, slowly, he leans forward, holding the corset lacing tight, and gently bites her, on the back of her neck, just below her hair. Goosebumps raise all the way down her spine, as the skin parts under his fangs, a little taste, and the kiss triggers, her knees go weak as she sways in his grasp, overwhelmed for a moment.
His lips travel down her neck, over her shoulder, as he fastens her corset completely...leaves a small, bloody smudge on the curve of her shoulder...then smiles and is gone. With no explanation, just suddenly not there anymore, leaving her wondering if it even happened at all. The scent of roses hangs in the air, and a whisper "Gwenyfar..." then even that is gone.
She is swaying, and her eyes are confused. She sees the smudge, and her fingers find the back of her neck, as she tries to work out what just happened. There is no wound on the back of her neck, so where did the blood come from? She sits down, the skirts of the dress flowing out around her, looking a little scared, and thinks “What is he? Angel... Angel and Demon both....”
She pulls herself together, stands and laces the dress. Only then does she notice that the corset is tighter than it ever has been before….
2006
Ceridwyn slept....
In her dreams she lay in her bed, a half remembered place, that smelt of cleanness, and roses... She drifted through the house, from her room, polished wooden banisters under her hand, smooth stone under her feet...
A half remembered melody on a piano, played with heart breaking beauty, reaches her ears, and she moves in the direction of it....A different person to the one she is now....
She goes into the music room at the top of the house, and glimpses a figure at the piano... her heart leaps into her throat, as a maelstrom of remembered emotion floods through her.....
Ceridwyn wakes, blood tears dripping down her cheeks... She cannot remember who it is she misses so much....
Criticism is welcome.... Its only a draft as this stage....
Saturday 28 October 2006
Sydney
She watched the room, all their guests from interstate. Her fingers stroked through her hair, and she smiled wryly.
My, what the scent of blood in the air does to bring their kind out of the woodwork.
She watched the people, their posturing, and that odd, elegant creature whose scent reminded her of…. Something…
Roses.
She did not talk to him, His (her? Its?) Grace, because there was something about this Sanctified that put her off kilter, and the words died in her throat.
Once upon a time she had associated that scent with safety….. The thought brought an odd pain to her mind, and she dismissed it, preferring not to think on her past.
Beltaine 31 October 2006
Sydney
Ceridwyn sat in her room, spacious, two areas to it, the bedroom with no windows, and the study. The furnishings were opulent, as befits its owner Claude, and comfortable, though sparse with lots of room. In the middle of the floor are two tea chests smelling of moth balls, and against the wall behind her, a long flat package, similar to a painting shaped box.
The sum total of her life.
Three boxes.
She cracked open the first tea chest, and began to pull things out - A kachina doll, a small carved wooden totem pole, an Egyptian priestess necklace, several old books, a number of beautiful swords and knives. She unpacked them relatively quickly, and turned her attention to the second one. Opening it, it contained not items, but an old steamer trunk, something from the Victorian age. She opened it, and proceeded to take out the clothes, gently, fragile, she would need to have someone restore some of these...
Finally she got to the last garment, wrapped in calico.
Her hands went to open it, but a whisper of {what was that?} travelled across her mind, and she paused, reluctant for some reason. A lot of her things she had not opened, preferring to just keep them, should she ever need them. Her gaze turns to the painting box, against the wall, and finally comes back to the calico. She lays it out gently on the long table, and slowly begins to unwrap it.
A memory flashes briefly, standing in a room, holding a post of her bed, being laced into her corset by a beautiful young man, prisoner to his touch….
Just as suddenly, it is gone, and she gasps slightly... Its been that smell, the scent of roses that’s been around her mind since Saturday night. She finishes unwrapping it, and stands, staring down at the beautiful blue dress....
For a split second she remembers something - he laced my corset too tight... fainting into someone's arms...
Seized with an irresistible compulsion, she suddenly bundles it back up in the calico, puts it back in the trunk, and backs to a wall, seized with an overwhelming sense of grief. She leaves the room, goes out, till dawn nearly, and then goes to bed.
She pays no attention to the box, and that day she dreams of music, roses and the scent of blood.
1813
Paris
The young woman stood in her bed chamber, holding the post of the bed, as the servant behind her tightened the laces of her corset. She had washed and dressed her hair, and stepped into the new silken underwear that her master had brought with her new dress, and stood patiently as she was laced into it, displaying her shape, in pantaloons, chemise, and the corset showing off her waist and hips.
Unnoticed, the creature stood in the shadows, watching his ward. The shape of her was accentuated by the corset, her hair was dressed on top of her head, creamy shoulders rose out of the chemise, all temporarily obscured as the servants carefully put the overdress over her head. Silently he moved into the room, so softly she was unaware of him till he stood behind her, and the scent of roses reached her. The servants withdrew, as Vittorio began to rhythmically tighten the laces.
At one point, a silken tress of hair fell between them, and he gently brushed it back over her shoulder, his hand whispering across her skin. The touch of his hand makes her skin tighten and warm, and heat pooled in her belly. Her lips part, as she tries to draw air into her lungs, with a sensation that her corset is tied too tightly.
As he remembers her taste in his mouth, she remembers the sensation of the tip of his tongue on her lips. He gives no sign, and she gasps softly, trying to contain the senses
Firebloodpassion
his touch is arousing, since cleaning her mouth.....
His hands have stilled, the laces coiled about them, holding her prisoner. She turns her head slowly, to look at him, lips parted slightly, very still, like an animal around a predator, but trusting too. He stands still, his eyes on the skin of her back, just above the lacing. Very gently, slowly, he leans forward, holding the corset lacing tight, and gently bites her, on the back of her neck, just below her hair. Goosebumps raise all the way down her spine, as the skin parts under his fangs, a little taste, and the kiss triggers, her knees go weak as she sways in his grasp, overwhelmed for a moment.
His lips travel down her neck, over her shoulder, as he fastens her corset completely...leaves a small, bloody smudge on the curve of her shoulder...then smiles and is gone. With no explanation, just suddenly not there anymore, leaving her wondering if it even happened at all. The scent of roses hangs in the air, and a whisper "Gwenyfar..." then even that is gone.
She is swaying, and her eyes are confused. She sees the smudge, and her fingers find the back of her neck, as she tries to work out what just happened. There is no wound on the back of her neck, so where did the blood come from? She sits down, the skirts of the dress flowing out around her, looking a little scared, and thinks “What is he? Angel... Angel and Demon both....”
She pulls herself together, stands and laces the dress. Only then does she notice that the corset is tighter than it ever has been before….
2006
Ceridwyn slept....
In her dreams she lay in her bed, a half remembered place, that smelt of cleanness, and roses... She drifted through the house, from her room, polished wooden banisters under her hand, smooth stone under her feet...
A half remembered melody on a piano, played with heart breaking beauty, reaches her ears, and she moves in the direction of it....A different person to the one she is now....
She goes into the music room at the top of the house, and glimpses a figure at the piano... her heart leaps into her throat, as a maelstrom of remembered emotion floods through her.....
Ceridwyn wakes, blood tears dripping down her cheeks... She cannot remember who it is she misses so much....
Criticism is welcome.... Its only a draft as this stage....
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-04 05:07 am (UTC)I see you've dropped the italics - not sure if that was by choice, or because you don't know how to do italics in LJ.
LiveJouranl runs on HTML code.
So, in order to do italics; and you insert the words you want italicised in between. :)
P.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-04 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-04 05:12 am (UTC)