Previous Parts
1,
2,
3,
4,
5i,
5ii,
6,
7,
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Sexual, tempting, elegant .
Were you not all of these things, cherished one? I found myself musing quietly one eve. Within my own thoughts, there was but a single word by which to recount my love of you .Cherished. In these eyes of purest and unadulterated green, you were my beloved prince, my great conclusion of a life that lead me so far into an unforgiving dark.
Ever since I took you into that faithful embrace, whence we locked our existences and entwined them from then onward, I knew instantly that you were one whom I would lay down my very constancy for. As for that moment I lay with you, such things were too heavy a subject for such a beauteous and drunk state. For this was our age of rest, the point which every immortal will feel no want for anything, no desire for change or quickening of the soul. Would it last or fade? For now neither of us thought to care. This was what our kind would refer to, as our ‘Perfect Time’.
You had not woken just yet, and I was powerless to the desire just to touch you, to be familiar with the milky smoothness pressed warmly against my body, to delight in my own magnificent creation.
How peaceful and content a countenance upon you, what restful rise and fall of such an unearthly pale chest I beheld, lying against my naked form in the early creep of the night. We lay among the crumpled and cast off sheets of our bed, and nestled softly into my collar you slept on, dreaming of whatever you cared to dream.
I closed my eyes and allowed my fingertips to remember and detail your slumbering skin, to draw your muscle and bone, to feel the warmth of the peaks and valleys of your torso. I knew you with my eyes, I knew you in my caress.
For now I drank in your detail as if I were blind to it, and it’s tangibility were my only window to know it again. Your body was my temple, my chapel. My being was my sacrament to you and an offering upon an alter of flesh.
Stirring meekly against my marble white skin, you were about to wake into yet one more night of sweet worship of one another. How slowly and consuming I watched as you opened once sheathed eyes to reveal a blue so significant, that it threatened to make mute of me.
Gazing now up at my offhand smiling view of you, your lips parted to a chaste kiss of my cool throat. To say I would not shiver would be such a lie. You did not speak, but I knew the words regardless, and with that those eyes fed on my entire vulnerable body and in a meeting of swollen and eager lips, you gave yourself over to me without reserve.
Such lips, such eyes…were you the echo of memory sent by an omnipresent God to haunt me with such graces so akin to his? So long ago, oh my sweet Emmanuel…how much he is like you…
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The nights after I had departed from my pale blonde admirer were lonely to a pinnacle never experienced before. I had grown accustomed to being alone, having only my own company to keep was second nature to living in a home of living statues , but I had tasted what was beyond those walls and I thirsted for it from then on as if I would die without it.
He had given me something no one had in my years of quiet and reclusive study, he had quickened my soul again from the hibernation of being ripped from my loved ones. I
It was on my Master’s arrival the very next night I shrank back into myself once more to face him.
“You were not here when I came looking for you, Ville” he spoke after he had set me to work on my usual account keeping lessons, standing over me hovering over the birch work desk in my indulgent chambers . I had grown accustomed to him calling me by name when he sought something from me. It was his flattery I suppose.
“I was in town, my Lord,” I confessed in whispers ceasing my crescendo of scribbles, looking him in the chilling eyes for my age had not meant I could evade a good smack if I dared not address him properly. He stood at my side, his eyes were calm and I saw no cold burning flame of hate I expected.
“Ah,” he said huskily disappointed yet nonchalant “So it must be. I would not deny you that, no, I would not. I grant you passage, if you would go any other night. I had a heart to hope, however..” he trailed off into a silken but sharp whisper, taking up my hair in his gloveless right hand and letting it escape his clutches only to take it up again. He was enthralled, it wasn’t uncommon.
My hair was a good length these days, just passed my jaw line in waves of dark and pure, sepia. He seemed fascinated with my hair, and had bid it that I should not dare to cut it, for he would be furious. He held it still between his lucid fingertips and savoured its scent, moving to place a kiss to my neck.
He confided in me after such a brutal night of his unwelcome ravishing, that I was a trophy of sorts to him. Yes a trophy, something one owns in evidence of some great victory or for valour, was that what I was? So many times had I refused him, but I knew he was what kept my family alive far away from him. I had no say, so mote it be.
“Master,” I sighed awkwardly putting my long fingers and palm to my forehead “I feel faint, I could fall ill my Lord..” I had tried this to thwart his intimate advances before, it was one of the more successful methods I had discovered. He did not slow his progress of kissing.
“Would you deny me?” He sighed again, lips trailing chastely against my collar down to the cream shirt of rough and unrefined silk. I shuddered with revulsion as always but would dare not voice my protest, and had now become more used to his rape of my integrity “I presumed you knew better by now, Ville”
“I will not deny you, no Master Vuori, I will not” and with that he lead me towards my bed against my wishes, and for my own safety and for the ones that I loved, I forced my self to accept the carnal embrace of the creature I bitterly hated. He spoke nothing through the duration, it was not uncommon, I preferred that he wouldn’t-I would not have to look at him that way.
His pleasures drew blood from me, but he would not mark me, not scar me, his bloody kisses healed all of those. He found me beautiful. Is it pride to say so? I think not, rather I hate myself for it.
It was not until he was dressing himself at the foot of my great carved bed, and my wounds were crying red as I lay in a silently sobbing heap like a marionette without strings, that he commented-
“ You are mine, do not think you aren’t. Cry now, but not for my actions. My faults are no template for your misdemeanours. Blame your angels face, if you blame anything at all. All the more, you are mine”
He left me there as I was used to, an as I drifted into a painful and violated slumber, all I could do was ponder. He did this to me for my beauty, he was a collector of beautiful things and I was his prized trinket, his living ornament. I loathed myself for it, and thought only with venomous logic that I brought it upon myself.
My Master had taken me as a child to mould me into what he would, and here I lay in all my upturned radiance, Ville, the promise of a virgin to great snow white god.
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Huloo ^^ woah thanks for all the reviews guys, means alot, and this fic as a result will continue!
*throws everyone a pancake 'cus she has far too many in her house atm*
the next part shall follow on from thisxXx