basts_tail

For 'Rix and Ceridwyn... Or perhaps I should say.... Gwynefar....

No Aphrodisiac

A letter to you on a cassette
'Cause we don't write anymore
Gotta make it up quickly
There's people asleep on the second floor

She stood in the cabin, wrapping it carefully, preparing it for travel. When it was finally done, she took it down to the courier, gave him the address, and left.

There's no aphrodisiac like loneliness
Truth beauty and a picture of you

On the other side of the country, the creature unwrapped the roll, and inside, was the painting.

Gwynefar.

Memories crowded in, the night he painted her … laces wrapped around his hands…. his lips on her skin, the taste of her blood as she wilted in his arms… her rage, beauty on fire, heat growing as he watches her… fiery passion as she writhed in his arms….

You're a thousand miles away
With food between your teeth
Come up for summer I've got a place near the beach

Outside the small cabin, she stood, looking over the gully, and the sand of the beach. The sound of the ocean echoed, and she walked down the hollow till she came in sight of the sea.

Escher… Vittorio…

Such a remote place …. to find him again….

There's no aphrodisiac like loneliness
Truth beauty and a picture of you
There's no aphrodisiac like loneliness
Youth truth beauty fame boredom and a bottle of pills

On the beach she began to dance, under the darkened sky, the dark of the moon, abandoned, wild, free, every movement a testament to the unbridled sensuality of her heart….

On the other side of the country, the creature walked out into the night, to hunt, the fire of her memory burning in his mind, warming its blood.

There's no aphrodisiac like loneliness
Bare feet like a tom-boy and a crooked smile

… standing in The Duxton, the predatory crone and his passionate ward looking out of her eyes…. the angelic, seductive creature that was in truth a long way from heaven….

Truth youth beauty fame boredom red hair no hair innocence impunity

A country between them…. He stands in silence, still, the light of the cigarillo the only illumination, under its hair…. She dances with joy, passion, to the music in her mind…

and a picture of you

The painting hangs on the wall.

Sydney
Australia

Ceridwyn sat on the verandah of the small cabin, pondering. She did not see the vista before her, the clear night sky, the sound of the ocean, not far away, but not within sight, as her house was tiny, tucked away at the end of a long road, in the foot of a gully.

Her mind kept wandering, from her discussions with Makoto, to the display that Isobel had made at the end of the night. Standing her ground in the face of such predatoriness had been difficult, but she had done it, facing it, embracing that which made her strong, which made her what she was. Who she was.

So if Ceridwyn was the Acolyte, the predator, and Gwynefar was the sensual child of an immoral angel, born of his touch, and the nameless one the crucible in which she was forged, then what would they, could they be, together?

She got to her feet and padded down the steps, walking down the base of the gully to the sea. The moon was out, and this night she knew that her lover would not steal away from the child-sire to see her. Standing on the beach, her gaze looking north, she could just make out the winking light of the Cape Barrenjoey Lighthouse, an old monument to a forgotten time.

So remote.

The wind blew her long hair around her, sand scrunched between her toes, the cotton skirt flapping, wrapping around her legs, the tee clinging to her like a second skin.

Never had she lived somewhere so remote as this. In Europe, Asia, Africa, the UK, they all had links, less space. Even the US and Canada and South America. Here, the space was wide, and large, and a long way from anywhere. You could not walk under the ocean from here to the US. The pressure would torpor you before you were half way there.

Have to get there.

As she stood, looking out at the ocean, she saw, just for a moment, what they could be…

Divine.

Shedding her clothes, she walked down to the waters edge, and began to swim, rejoicing in all the aspects of her – the predator, the hedonist, the sensual woman, the child who remember fangs in her body, the horror of her captivity.

The fear, the pain, the pleasure, the passion, the will, the fire, the drive all combined to form something greater, and in that moment, she gave it a name….

Gwynefar ‘ap Ceridwyn
Daughter of the Crone

She rose out of the water, and out of her eyes looked three women, who together were Divine.

Current Mood: excited

So what do you miss, about being mortal?”

“What I miss, I never had. Being mortal would not bring that back, nor grant it in the first place.”

And I'd give up forever to touch you,
Cause I know that you feel me somehow.
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,
And I don't want to go home right now.

And all I can taste is this moment,
And all I can breathe is your life,
And sooner or later it's over,
I just don't want to miss you tonight.

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's meant to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

And you cant fight the tears that ain't coming,
Or the moment of the truth in your lies.
When everything feels like the movies,
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.

And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's meant to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's meant to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I dont think that they'd understand.
When everything's meant to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.

ooc. Song: Iris, Goo Goo Dolls

Current Mood: sad

I sit in this café, and cast my mind back to a time long ago.

Its hard to remember, but these pages in my hands, from my journal in Paris… it shows me things. The mind of a child in the grip of a monster, a fate born or destined to be kindred.

1809
It’s nearly Christmas and Papa is letting me stay up with my nana. We play hide and seek and I hide at the top of the house. They will never find me here. Papa is getting me a dress for Christmas, a new one, that he had nana take me to a fitter for, a grown up dress.

His Lordship has been away, and is out tonight, so I can sneak up there and explore, while Papa is busy.

Sitting in the café, I remember climbing the stairs, and going into the music room. It was large, and dark, with French doors out onto the balcony, and a beautiful piano. I hid under the piano, in a shadow, very still.

After a time I heard the soft tread on the stairs. I remember thinking it was nana or Papa looking for me, and froze still, hoping they would not find me. A shadow stopped in the doorway, and I expected it to continue on, but it did not. The shadow tilted its head, and seemed to sniff the air slightly, and then stepped into the room, and began to move towards the piano, and my hiding place. By now I knew it was not nana, or Papa, and that the Master had come home early.

This was his room. He did not allow anyone else to come here, only rarely, and this was the first time I had defied my father and come in. My heart beat faster, as he trod quietly across the floor. He stopped, pausing in the middle of the room, lighting a fragrant stick, and turning his back for just a moment. One moment was all I needed, as I ran silently to the curtains at the open doors, and slipped behind them. I expected to hear the footsteps leave and go back downstairs, but instead they continued to the piano, the scrape of the stool, and he sat and began to play.

The music was beautiful. It was wonderful, like angels from heaven. My breath was stolen from me at its beauty, and I stood in transfixed silence, behind the drapes, my heart pounding to its rhythm.

As I remember, I look up and close my eyes, the sound of that unearthly music in my ears. I know now that he knew I was there, that he’d have heard the beat of my heart as surely as I hear the tread of those in the café. And so I am drawn into the pages again.

I was so transported that I did not notice the music had stopped, till the concealing curtain was drawn aside. He stood, smiling down at me as I stood guiltily at being caught.

“Did you like it, ma petite?” He asked, his voice like soft velvet roses.

I blushed, and said I had to go, I should not be in here, but he gently stopped me, and said I could stay, and he would play some more, if I liked.

That little child, her blood rushing to the surface of her skin, that he must have sensed, all quivering and jittery at the angel. I sit shaking my head slightly, as I recall the absolute completeness with which the Inquisitrix seduced Gwynefar under his spell. A heart forever scarred, forever damaged, by her exposure to kindred.

He took my hand in his, looking at me with curiosity, in those blue/green eyes, as he drew me over to the piano. He sat down, and lifted me onto his lap, so I rested against his chest, his arms around me, fingers on the keys, and his lips next to my ear, whispering. As he played, he whispered in my ear about the music, and what it meant. The whole world became that whisper, the music of angels, and the scent of roses.

Remembering….
I sat there, warm in his arms, and then finally Papa came in, looking worried. He paused with surprise when he saw me sitting in Vittorio’s lap. He began to apologise, concerned that he was angry, and was waved to silence. The Inquisitrix smiled, and laughed, and gave me permission to come to the music room if I wished, and continued to play for us. As it got late, Papa, who had stayed and listened and watched him with me, an unreadable expression in his eyes, told me that it was bedtime. The Master lifted me into his arms and smiled and said that my Papa was correct and I should go to sleep. Standing me on my feet, he kneeled down, bowing and kissing my hand, making me blush, and told me that his name was Vittorio. As I stammered thank you, Papa took me to bed.

That night, on the edge of sleep, the scent returned, and all around me whispered Good night Gwynefar….. as a pair of lips brushed across my face…

Ooc Note: Christmas 1809 Gwynefar would have been 10. This scene is only 1-2 years before her father’s death/embrace, and the commencement of the Inquisitrix’s seduction of Gwynefar into kindred society.

1996
In a compound on the outskirts of Lyon

The Master had her raised in a vastly different environment. As he watched her, grow, train, and move, she found she was brilliantly talented in arts that were not directly about destruction. She watched, explored, found things, put things together...

And her flexibility was unrivalled.

As she grew, she became an utterly enchanting child, with dark hair, and blue eyes, slim, lithe and flexible. He fostered her talents, and watched her, thinking.

Once she reached the age of 11, her body rounded out a little, no longer the androgyny of a little girl, but shaped like a woman. She was still slim to the point of boyishness, and frighteningly flexible - something that would not change. He came to see her one day, watching her train. Nothing like the other - in feature, colouring, and behaviour - so incredibly fae, but pretty in a strange, otherworldly way.

She walked into her room, after her training session and shower, and he followed in the chair. She had been disturbed, discovering him sitting in the chair, watching her as she washed the sweat from her training off her - he had studied her, so completely boyish, but with hips and waist, not like a child. He said nothing, but looked ... angry, worried.

"Eight. You have been growing, since I saw you last." She turns, about to get dressed, and he speaks again. "Take that off. I want to see you." Silently she does so, her body naked, as he looks over her. Flat chested as a boy, slim, lithe. Hips starting to curve, the hair that marked her as no longer a child. Not curvy, nothing like his favourite. He speaks again. "Have you begun to bleed? Cramps in your abdomen, blood that will come and go, but no wounds?" She shakes her head, confusedly. He looks relieved and then leaves.

She grabs her clothes, a strange feeling in her - an odd sort of tension that made her want to run.

~~~

He left the compound, to return to Helsinki. As he did so, he noticed in passing that the Cirque was in town.

~~~

2 days later

She had a terrible dream, of fire and crushing earth, smoke, unable to breathe... She was running, trying to get away, and found all the doors were locked. Waking in horror, the feeling not leaving her, she got up and went into the halls. There were only a few people around, and as she walked down the hall, a faint percussive boom was felt...... A moment of suspension, as she looked up, and then twisted, moving fast, to under a support beam, as the concrete collapsed......

An eternity passed, and when she came back to consciousness, she was curled into an impossibly small space, and all around her was the scent of blood, and carbide, and dust. By some miracle she was not badly injured, and after a time, she worked out that there was a small gap where fresh air was getting in. Wriggling, inhaling, moving slowly, she dragged herself through tiny gaps, pausing, stopping to rest. Finally, after hours, she saw sunlight. Hiding, she waited for a chance, watching the men walking around, and as they moved on, she slipped out and ran, sure of her balance, and escaped.

In the distance, she could see the spires of the Grande Chapiteau....

~~~

Helsinki

The Master closed the file, sitting silently. No survivors.

This post will be left unlocked.

If anyone is interested in links, advice, then pass them one.

This is her awakening scene, and her Path is not set yet. I want to see what people suggest for this concept. Its only sketchy at present, but thats because I want help working out the detail. This is only a starting point.

=~:~=

Cirque de Soleil

She climbed the rope, her limbs gripping it tightly. One hand, pull, other hand, pull. Keep the center of gravity through her middle. She rose off the padded floor, pulling herself up, and bent one of her legs at an impossible angle to the other rope- her foot wrapping around it. Drawing them together, she bends herself double, and continues till she is high above the circus floor.

From up here, she can see everything. She looks out over the different areas, the seats, the ring. She imagined for a moment she was looking over the whole world, curling around it, as flexible as the snake she played… The rainbow serpent that gave birth to the world…

Just for a moment, she saw…… and began to pull herself between the ropes, leaping from one place to another, the joy like flying. Totally sure of her feet landing, her balance and reactions, she swing from place to place, twisting and folding, movements inconceivable for most people. As she swung, the vertigo swirled around her, and suddenly it was like… she was falling… no, the World was… and everything went dark, as though the lights went down, the curtains drew across her vision, and all was still.

After a time, a faint light appeared and she realised she was surrounded by midnight blue silk – like the night sky. She moved through it, pushing it away, wondering where in the circus she was… She had not then this before. Finally she freed herself, and as she stepped out, she realised she was nowhere she recognised…

But she was somewhere that she knew….

In the training tent, the support crew sprinted to the fallen figure. Gathering around, Ariel Kincaid lay on the ground, unconscious.

That fall should have killed her……

Current Mood: artistic

Sometime between 1810 and 1812

Paris

The newborn woke that night, his sire studying him.

"We need to go. You cannot see her or maintain contact with her now. She must not know what we are."

"I want to see her. Just one more time."

The newborn and his sire go to the house, and silently creep up to the French doors, and look in. Inside, in an opulent chair, sits a man whom is as beautiful as an angel, coldly perfect. On his lap sits a girl, almost a woman, crying, her face buried in his shoulder, as he holds her. He senses the visitors, and looks out, meeting the newborn's eyes. His former vassal.

The newborn looks at the sight, his gifts telling him that his daughter is racked with grief, the pace of her heart, uneven, and the angel; not an angel at all. Now he is kindred, he knows how big a monster his child is in the arms of, but as surely as he knows that, his beast scents her, and his gums part, fangs sliding down, in anticipation of the hot rich blood that flows within her. The arousal both frightens and horrifies him, looking at his child, as though she were food.

He looks at the elder with his arms cradling her, the hands that stroke her hair, and those cold lizard eyes holding his own, observing his battle and smirking at his discomfort.

"We must go. He will look after her." His sire ushers him away, as they disappear, he looks back one last time, and sees Vittorio stand, cradling Gwynefar in his arms, to carry her to her room. Something in the image makes him shudder slightly both repelled and aroused at the sight of such a young innocent life in the grip of ancient death.

But it is no longer his problem, and he is now unable to direct her path.

In a dark room, the two bodies lie. The room is scented with blood, sweat, and desire, clothes scattered everywhere.
Entwined in each other, they lie in silence, their passion sated.

"Must act normally, as though nothing is changed." One speaks softly.

"Yes. Go home, and we can make quiet arrangements. When our transport arrives, we must go quickly and quietly." She kisses her lover passionately, and the pair rise, shower and dress, and go their separate ways.

Standing in the night, remembering the taste of her lover's skin, her sighs, and the mind bending passion she had been unable to contain.

She shakes her head quietly. "Ma Ange, you left me with more of a legacy than my sire. How ironic."

Current Mood: amused
Current Location: The Rack, Sydney

In the night…

In the dark…

The 3 sit, as random senses flash around them, reflecting off the walls of her mind. The nameless one is the first to speak, and this surprises the others – she hides and looks scared all too often.

“He does not care.”

The old woman looks up, and says “Why so sure?”

“The way he’s touching her. He’s as bad as the others.”

The third one, the beautiful one looks up. “No he’s not. He looked after me. And I like it.”

“He cares for nothing. Not even you. If he did, there would be something else here. He wont ever let you see who he is, what he is, so the closest you will get is this image of perfection he displays.” The nameless one speaks quietly.

“HOW would you know what kindness is like, you who have only known pain and torture?” Her voice is angry.

She looks up and a terrible expression crosses her face. “Because once someone … Touched me, in a way that was not violent… and she opened the door to my cell. She gave me… Hope. Her actions spoke louder than his do now.”

The old woman watches the debate, considering. Her eyes flicker to the walls, occasional images flashing across them – a body aching with desire, a black gloved hand caressing pale flesh, now flushed with blood, lips of an angel stroking down skin…

She looks at her two cell mates – the beautiful innocent one who's heart will be forever scarred by an angel’s kiss, the nameless one who today showed for the first time that there is more to her than panic and pain, and herself, who looks at their respective pasts, and sees with heart chilling clarity that there is no one in the world who cares - that to him 'ma ange' she was nothing more than a possession, a toy, that to her sire she was someone who had to die, that to the doctor she was a subject, an experiment.

She sits in the emotional fire and lets it temper, or destroy her.

Current Mood: crushed

OOC. I am going to reiterate here that this is ooc knowledge only. You use this, you get spanked, first by Mike, the Stephen, then me. Don't think you will enjoy it. :-)

Oh, and if my STs read this, yes powers were active, and some rituals. You want to know which ones, ask me privately.

Chapter 1
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Chapter 2

( Read more... )

Current Mood: enthralled

1815
Greece

Gwynefar had been out of sorts, a little as she and Vittorio traveled. She was 16 now, a woman grown, and yet… Not. Vittorio’s unflappable calm in the face of.. everything, his protectiveness of her, ensuring that she was… only his.

Controlled.

She remembered that night the handsome Greek man who was so taken with her, kissing her hand, being such a gentleman… She saw through it, and was not attracted, but Vittorio… he calmly removed her from the man’s company, his eyes glittering with darkness, a sense of danger to him, and took her home. After that night, he checked on her every night, and she was not allowed out alone. All because he wanted to keep her. And yet he did nothing.

Moments of intimacy came and went, of ecstatic pleasure at the touch of his lips, and yet… nothing.

One night she stayed in their rooms, brooding, unable to settle. Vittorio watched her, sensed the speed of her blood flowing under her pale skin, the restlessness in her body. She’d been willful lately, he’d tasted it, sensed it when he touched her - a passionate frustration - her scent was one of passion and fire.

“What troubles you Gwyneveirre? You cannot sit still.” She glances at him: calm, relaxed even. Her eyes glower slightly.

“Come now, what is bothering you?” She turns to him, her eyes sparkling with anger.

“Why aren’t I allowed to be close to anyone but you?”

He studies his fingers, and then her. “You need to be looked after. I prize you highly, and do not wish to see you come to harm.”

“A prize… a thing? I am not an object, a pretty painting, or a piano or a piece of furniture!”

He comes over to her, placating, conciliatory, with a very faint trace of patronization. “Of course not, ma chere….”

She brushes him away, and he suppresses a slight smile - she’s getting angrier. He continues to follow her, quite calm, all the while watching her skin flush, her hair move, and the fire of her eyes.

Beautiful. So incredibly beautiful when she was angry.

He was too calm, and it made the heat in her worse, flaring out of control.

“You cannot keep me like one of you possessions! A prize to be taken out and admired but only for you! Its… selfish! Manipulative!”

“Well then, I am.”

“You… People are not some possession to be kept in seclusion for a person’s amusement. I am a person god damnit, and you… you treat me like I am one of your paintings, or a rose in your garden, or that damn piano!”

She waves angrily at the offending instrument.

“What about what I want? The independent person who is not in charge of her life? And don’t tell me that women are not, because that is the society we live in…. that’s rubbish too. Its only like that because of the selfishness of human nature…. And you… you are a law unto yourself, aren’t you, do things your way and remove any obstacle to your progress. God, Angel, Demon, over everyone around you, no matter what they might want….”

She trails off, facing the window, her body tight with tension, but no words left to express the passion and frustration humming through her.

Silently he comes up behind her, putting his arms around her and whispers into her ear, ‘You are so beautiful when you are angry’, his voice full of love.

She turns sharply, her lips parting with anger and she goes to push him away. He grabs her arms, not hard, looking at the defiance in her eyes. She struggles slightly and he pulls her against him, holding her as tightly as the passion of her rage boils over. Before she can speak, he lowers his mouth to hers, brushing his lips across it, and her jaw, her throat till he reaches her shoulder. Her anger becomes filtered with passion, as he parts her skin with his fangs, tasting her, the rage, the fire, the life, the passion.

She moans collapsing into his arms as the passion overflows.

Monday 27 November
5.00 am
Perth, Western Australia

The owl soared along, pushing the limits of her endurance, as she followed the tracks. She was far ahead of the train now, and over the city, and soared into the north part of the city. Behind her, she could feel the pull of the sun, and all her instincts screamed to find shelter. Exhilarated by the chase, she flew faster, cutting corners around the skyscrapers, increasing her speed, using the air currents to conserve energy, and finally, on the street below she saw the car. Dropping into a dive, wings hugging her body, she aimed for it, circled around it once, and landed on the bonnet.

She hoots at the young woman in the front seat and once the door opens flys inside and lands. Shifting under concealment, she sits up, looks at her driver, and says "Oh, that was fun!" as the car zooms away, with Ceridwyn trying to stay awake against the light of day and the stamina she burned to get there.

The smile on her face lights her up, even with the tiredness.

Current Mood: enthralled

The train sped across the countryside, in a land she had never travelled.....

As it sped, the threads and links of the sleeping mind wove and wound, as moments surfaced like bubbles in a pond.....

Long ago...

The sound of beautiful, heart aching music... the sense of silk sliding over sensitized, aching skin..... the warm night as silken hair brushed against her face, her throat.... the feel of his lips, his touch making her head spin with ecstacy....

and later...

....lying aching, bloody on a bed, as a mouth gently cleaned and pleasured her, a gentle touch after so much violence, making her weep with both pleasure and pain.....

and recent memory....

....waking in her sisters arms, her hands undressing her, her eyes moving over her with all the responsiveness of a touch......
her mouth, nibbling, teasing, making her desperately want to drown in the desire and heat coiling within her......

Her dreams were restless, violent....
A cachophony of voices, minds, trying to take over.....
The beautiful one... whole... unscarred..... every inch the passionate creature that made her kin to her brother.....
The nameless one.... fear... hate.... torture.... pain....
And the last - the one who made herself in the image of the Morrighan, the one who controlled her siblings? selfs? and shut out the past, only to find herself running to it....

Which one made the decision?
I did... I did.... I did......

They all whispered in the dreams.....

Are you mad??

Yes... No..... screaming as the child remembers for a moment the memories of the past.......

Sitting on the paino stool, her body pressed against his, as he kissed and pleasured her hand..... Lying on a table, helpless in the grip of the monsters.... kneeling on the floor, as he dripped blood over her, daring his childe to take it, to taste what she so desperately wanted....

Lying in her sleep, all three cried for their past.

Current Mood: sad

Thursday 23 November
Night
On the Indian Pacific

The owl flew across the city, following the train line till she reached the train. Landing on its roof, as it sped along, she sat, enjoying the wind in her feathers as the train climbed into the mountains, and across the western plains, heading for Broken Hill, on its way to Port Augusta, and on to the Nullabour Plain. The journey would take days, and she had a sleeper below reserved that she signed into, made sure she was seen briefly, and then went up and swooped and soared high above the train till early morning, and then while it went through a tunnel, under cover of darkness, became herself and locked herself into her room.

She had told no one she was going. All Claude and Nicolette (mon dieu) knew was that she had to go away for a few days to take care of something. She did not tell them she was leaving the city, or any of the Crone or her lineage.

Only... Him.

As the night raced by, she looked out the window with the lights off at the beautiful wide brown land.

Why am I going?

It was not a question her mind could answer, but the memories of the days before, waking in a fire of pain and passion she gasped remembering the flood of desire, her lover's touch, and then her sire walking in, so Daeva in his rage....

Looking out into the night, she answers her own question....

You are going because you are running.

You need to know what happened to you, and the first link in the chain is 'ma ange'.

You are going because he protected you once, healed you once, and now you need him. You are disentigrating with pain, splitting to cope...

As she closes her eyes and weeps silently, shaking, in her mind the girl with no name, no voice, looks fearfully at the predator she became... The only hope of all of them is the other..... The beautiful perfect one, made in the image of her brother.....

Current Mood: melancholy

She sits in the music room, looking at the piano. The ghost of memory plays with her mind, as she imagines a blonde figure, playing it. The figure fades, and she goes to a window, and looks out on the Sydney night.

What would he think now?

Seems like it was yesterday when I saw your face
You told me how proud you were, but I walked away
If only I knew what I know today
Ooh, ooh

I would hold you in my arms
I would take the pain away
Thank you for all you've done
Forgive all your mistakes
There's nothing I wouldn't do
To hear your voice again
Sometimes I wanna call you
But I know you won't be there

Ohh I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you

Some days I feel broke inside but I won't admit
Sometimes I just wanna hide 'cause it's you I miss
And it's so hard to say goodbye
When it comes to this, oooh

Would you tell me I was wrong?
Would you help me understand?
Are you looking down upon me?
Are you proud of who I am?

There's nothing I wouldn't do
To have just one more chance
To look into your eyes
And see you looking back

Ohh I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself, ohh

If I had just one more day
I would tell you how much that I've missed you
Since you've been away
Ooh, it's dangerous
It's so out of line
To try and turn back time

I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you

Current Mood: creative
Current Music: Hurt

OOC Warning: This has at least an MA rating to it, possibly an R, for Violence. You have been warned.

1819
Somewhere in Eastern Europe

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This is from a different point of view - its supporting scenes that relate to Ceridywn's imprisonment.

( Read more... )

If it were not such a conflict of interest i would write Honor as my next kindred.

Descent into Hell

Heaven

The music wafted through the house, drawing the servants irresistably to the music room. They gathered, just out of sight, watching the beautiful creature at the piano, his hands carressing the keys, and the young woman, watching him. She was a little restless tonight, joyful, and the butler stepped forward and bowed to her, before holding out his hand and drawing her into a dance.

Vittorio watched them, the old man and the young woman, in perfect rhythym to his hands on the keys, and the passion of his ward made his hands move a little faster, the music more beautiful, as he watched her grow into herself: an amazing young woman, at his tutelage.

Hours passed, and eventually Gwynefar, tired from the exercise retired to her room. Just before dawn, he slipped in and looked at her, lying gracefully sprawled in her bed, her breathing soft and steady, and he retired to his room for his own rest.

Late afternoon

Gwynefar had woken late. She hurried through her tasks, and returned from the book seller her brother had sent her to to collect some things for him. It was still daylight, and as she approached the estate through the wooded copse on the each of the town, she was surprised as someone grabbed her and threw a sack over her head. The parcels she was carrying dropped to the ground, and then a bitter smell reached her nose through the hemp bag, and the world went dark. Dimmly she felt her hands bound behind her back, lifted off the ground and thrown over a horse.

****

She awoke on a stone floor.

She heard a voice speak in Turkish, and then she was dragged to her feet, and the bag over her head was removed. She stood in a stone room, very little decoration, with two men holding her in front of a third. His face made her heart go cold, and the scent of fear bloomed off her skin. He spoke to one of the men, and the men ripped at her clothes, stripping her naked before him, holding her firmly. Shaking, trying to get free, their hands tightened, holding her arms away from her body, so he could see her clearly.

The man stepped close to her, inhaled the scent, and ran his hands over her skin, like a buyer inspecting a horse. There was no way of getting away from the cold creepy touch on her skin, this predator who loomed over her. He examined her mercilessly, not unlike a doctor, touching her breasts, examining the space between her legs, and then finally he finished and stood before her.

She was shaking in their gasp, and he brought his face close to her, and said in English "You are mine.Now there is one final examination to undertake. You will submit." He took out a fine thin blade, and brought it to the skin of her breast, and gently pressed, the razor sharp knife parting the skin and flesh, as she began to scream. The blood welled to the surface, and he raised a finger to the wound and pressed so the edges of it parted and finger slipped inside the cut. She was screaming, weeping, as the blood welled around his finger and down her breast, and then he took it out and licked it clean, smiling at the taste. She began to struggle with panic, desperate to get away any way she could, and then as he sent the two men away, she ran for the door, her blood running down her skin.

It only took a second to catch her, her warm flesh trapped beneath his cold dead body. Pinning her to the ground, he fed from the bleeding wound till she fainted.

She woke naked, on the floor of a cell with a pile of straw in one corner. She was covered in blood from the cut on her breast.

Shaking, she curled up in a corner, and began to pray to her Angel to find her.

Monday 6 November 2006
Sydney, Australia

Ceridwyn heard the message over the forum. The words echoed in her ears, and her beast rose with rage and fury.

I warned you not to play politics with the loyalties of our covenant
I warned you, Intrigue.
I warned you, Mother.
How dare you say that I sponsored you as a member.

She sends a message back.

The rage is cold, and furious, and controlled.

You will be made to understand what it is you have done.

Getting up she goes to the door and out.

Current Mood: angry

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