It's Only Lonely Souls I'm After
Dear flist, I miss you all terribly. Especially you, sixteen_letters. Have something to read, posted quickly on break from work...! XD
1. Black is the Colour of my True Love's Heart
Caterina stared down with some distaste at the serpent in human guise who had, ever so briefly, shared her bed. “Out….” She whispered suddenly.
Dietrich blinked up at her, devil’s eyes in an angel’s face, “What, darling?” And on his lips the endearment was the lowest insult.
“Get away from me!” she snarled, kicking him rather sharply in the ribs.
He gave a cry that was part pain and part surprise. “Ow! What the hell, you crazy….”
But that was all he managed, for she kicked him again, sent him reeling. She gave him no chance to recover, snatched a handful of hair and all but dragged him to the door. She flung it open, and tossed him out, brushing a hand against her thigh as if to scrub away even the feel of him, distaste plain on her face as she slammed the door shut.
He belated realized that he had not a stitch on, and that the hallway was quite cold. “Hey!” he demanded, slamming a fist into the unyielding wood. “Where are my clothes?”
The reply he received was grudging in the extreme. “Scattered over the garden under my window. Except for your boots, which landed in the pond. Do be quiet, or I’ll silence you permanently.”
For a moment he was….almost hurt. And then he shrugged, allowed a sardonic smile to twist his lips. Chicks. They really were kind of crazy.
2. Tired of Saving Souls
Isaak glanced down at the woman before him. “What are you doing, Cardinal?” he inquired, never faltering with the thread of his melody. He was weaving a beautiful tapestry of destruction and death, with the lives of Rome’s citizens as the threads.
Those angry eyes sparkled with fire, a fire he would deeply regret stilling. But that was what made it a sacrifice, after all. “I’m praying…” she whispered, dropping to her knees, driving the cross she carried deep into the shattered mosaic at her feet, freeing the ivory rosary at her waist with her other hand, beads sliding through her gloved fingers.
He was intrigued, and favored her with a bitterly amused little smile. “Whatever for? It’s far too late to pray for your own soul, stained as it is with all the lives you swore to protect.”
She gave him a smile like the edge of a blade. “Faith….This city was founded on faith, and faith will save it…” Remarkably, perhaps miraculously, the cracks beneath their feet began to close, and she smiled triumphantly.
Well, well. That would never do.
He leaned down, caught one of the golden curls between his fingers, and leaned close to whisper, his breath warm against her skin. “I hear you are faithless…”
The rosary slipped through her fingers to scatter across the floor, and he thought she’d never been more beautiful, in that moment before she shattered.
3. Silent Nocturne
Silent night, holy night….
The night was silent, still as the grave. Appropriate, for the entire city was a grave. Most were old graves, all dating to the same day, when death rained down on a sleeping, early-morning Rome, sending the inhabitants deep into an eternal rest.
All is calm, all is bright….
All was calm, as he was the only living being on the entire Italian peninsula. In fact, he was the only living human on Earth. He took a deep breath of his cigarette, the burned-candy taste of the smoke a pale comfort.
‘Round yon Virgin, Mother and child….
Still, though Rome was in shambles, there were shrines aplenty, a ghostly monument to the dead fallen here, and throughout Earth - Cain and Abel’s battles had shown no mercy for any, sparing not even mothers with their children. Had he been possessed of a heart, he supposed he would have felt regret over that.
He was not here for the faceless fallen. He was here for a loss of a more personal nature.
He knelt there in the snow, brushed away a light dusting of powdery white from the simple marble marker, bearing only a name and a set of dates. She had always appreciated simplicity. So he made no show as he placed the rose on her grave, its petals as crimson as the robes she’d spent most of her life in, as red as the blood that had marked the end of her life.
“Sleep in heavenly peace, Caterina.” He whispered to the still night air. “Heaven and hell knows you’ve earned it….”
He wrapped his coat and the shadows close about him, and left Rome behind. When one had an eternity, one could reflect on the endless variations of what it meant to be the last…the one left behind.
4. Revenge, Retribution and Recompense
A caress along the pale flesh of the back, a gentle brushing of fingertips, prelude to a sudden, savage, slash of long, red-lacquered nails, deep enough to bring blood welling to the surface, a startled cry to the lips of the man beneath her, and a cruel, faintly sardonic twist of a smile to Caterina Sforza’s mouth. She leaned down, her lips a breath from Abel’s ear. “Why, you sound so very surprised. Whatever made you think that I would forget and forgive?”
“I thought I knew you!” he gasped, drew another tormented breath. She looked down at him, a coldness he couldn’t see but might yet have felt banked in those gray eyes.
“That makes two of us.” She snarled, wrapping her hands around the deceptively delicate wingbones and twisting until they snapped. He howled in agony, an animal’s cry, not that of a man at all. She waited until the worst of the screaming had subsided - really, the pain must have been exquisite to produce such sounds - leaned down to brush her fingertips against his cheek. “Now, Abel….” And her voice was soft, silken and deadly - a knife wrapped in velvet. “Perhaps you have some notion of how I have felt inside, every day, since your betrayal. “ She pressed a kiss against his cheek, straightened, and turned to leave, the heels of her stilettos clicking against the bloody marble.
“Wait!” he pled, reaching out to her with his voice. “Don’t leave me.”
She paused, half-turned. “You left me.” She reminded him, letting that truth hang in the air like a bloodstained, tattered banner at the end of a daylong battle.
Revenge. Retribution. Recompense. She had had them all. Still, she felt hollow inside as she walked away. So perhaps the truest revenge had been his, after all. In spite of it, he still held some portion of her heart in his clawed killer’s hands.
“So which of us is more the fool?” she asked the silence, which held no answer, as he future held no hope.
1. Black is the Colour of my True Love's Heart
Caterina stared down with some distaste at the serpent in human guise who had, ever so briefly, shared her bed. “Out….” She whispered suddenly.
Dietrich blinked up at her, devil’s eyes in an angel’s face, “What, darling?” And on his lips the endearment was the lowest insult.
“Get away from me!” she snarled, kicking him rather sharply in the ribs.
He gave a cry that was part pain and part surprise. “Ow! What the hell, you crazy….”
But that was all he managed, for she kicked him again, sent him reeling. She gave him no chance to recover, snatched a handful of hair and all but dragged him to the door. She flung it open, and tossed him out, brushing a hand against her thigh as if to scrub away even the feel of him, distaste plain on her face as she slammed the door shut.
He belated realized that he had not a stitch on, and that the hallway was quite cold. “Hey!” he demanded, slamming a fist into the unyielding wood. “Where are my clothes?”
The reply he received was grudging in the extreme. “Scattered over the garden under my window. Except for your boots, which landed in the pond. Do be quiet, or I’ll silence you permanently.”
For a moment he was….almost hurt. And then he shrugged, allowed a sardonic smile to twist his lips. Chicks. They really were kind of crazy.
2. Tired of Saving Souls
Isaak glanced down at the woman before him. “What are you doing, Cardinal?” he inquired, never faltering with the thread of his melody. He was weaving a beautiful tapestry of destruction and death, with the lives of Rome’s citizens as the threads.
Those angry eyes sparkled with fire, a fire he would deeply regret stilling. But that was what made it a sacrifice, after all. “I’m praying…” she whispered, dropping to her knees, driving the cross she carried deep into the shattered mosaic at her feet, freeing the ivory rosary at her waist with her other hand, beads sliding through her gloved fingers.
He was intrigued, and favored her with a bitterly amused little smile. “Whatever for? It’s far too late to pray for your own soul, stained as it is with all the lives you swore to protect.”
She gave him a smile like the edge of a blade. “Faith….This city was founded on faith, and faith will save it…” Remarkably, perhaps miraculously, the cracks beneath their feet began to close, and she smiled triumphantly.
Well, well. That would never do.
He leaned down, caught one of the golden curls between his fingers, and leaned close to whisper, his breath warm against her skin. “I hear you are faithless…”
The rosary slipped through her fingers to scatter across the floor, and he thought she’d never been more beautiful, in that moment before she shattered.
3. Silent Nocturne
Silent night, holy night….
The night was silent, still as the grave. Appropriate, for the entire city was a grave. Most were old graves, all dating to the same day, when death rained down on a sleeping, early-morning Rome, sending the inhabitants deep into an eternal rest.
All is calm, all is bright….
All was calm, as he was the only living being on the entire Italian peninsula. In fact, he was the only living human on Earth. He took a deep breath of his cigarette, the burned-candy taste of the smoke a pale comfort.
‘Round yon Virgin, Mother and child….
Still, though Rome was in shambles, there were shrines aplenty, a ghostly monument to the dead fallen here, and throughout Earth - Cain and Abel’s battles had shown no mercy for any, sparing not even mothers with their children. Had he been possessed of a heart, he supposed he would have felt regret over that.
He was not here for the faceless fallen. He was here for a loss of a more personal nature.
He knelt there in the snow, brushed away a light dusting of powdery white from the simple marble marker, bearing only a name and a set of dates. She had always appreciated simplicity. So he made no show as he placed the rose on her grave, its petals as crimson as the robes she’d spent most of her life in, as red as the blood that had marked the end of her life.
“Sleep in heavenly peace, Caterina.” He whispered to the still night air. “Heaven and hell knows you’ve earned it….”
He wrapped his coat and the shadows close about him, and left Rome behind. When one had an eternity, one could reflect on the endless variations of what it meant to be the last…the one left behind.
4. Revenge, Retribution and Recompense
A caress along the pale flesh of the back, a gentle brushing of fingertips, prelude to a sudden, savage, slash of long, red-lacquered nails, deep enough to bring blood welling to the surface, a startled cry to the lips of the man beneath her, and a cruel, faintly sardonic twist of a smile to Caterina Sforza’s mouth. She leaned down, her lips a breath from Abel’s ear. “Why, you sound so very surprised. Whatever made you think that I would forget and forgive?”
“I thought I knew you!” he gasped, drew another tormented breath. She looked down at him, a coldness he couldn’t see but might yet have felt banked in those gray eyes.
“That makes two of us.” She snarled, wrapping her hands around the deceptively delicate wingbones and twisting until they snapped. He howled in agony, an animal’s cry, not that of a man at all. She waited until the worst of the screaming had subsided - really, the pain must have been exquisite to produce such sounds - leaned down to brush her fingertips against his cheek. “Now, Abel….” And her voice was soft, silken and deadly - a knife wrapped in velvet. “Perhaps you have some notion of how I have felt inside, every day, since your betrayal. “ She pressed a kiss against his cheek, straightened, and turned to leave, the heels of her stilettos clicking against the bloody marble.
“Wait!” he pled, reaching out to her with his voice. “Don’t leave me.”
She paused, half-turned. “You left me.” She reminded him, letting that truth hang in the air like a bloodstained, tattered banner at the end of a daylong battle.
Revenge. Retribution. Recompense. She had had them all. Still, she felt hollow inside as she walked away. So perhaps the truest revenge had been his, after all. In spite of it, he still held some portion of her heart in his clawed killer’s hands.
“So which of us is more the fool?” she asked the silence, which held no answer, as he future held no hope.