Ancient Wounds pt 12 i
Previous Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5i, 5ii, 6, 7, 8, 9i, 9ii, 10i, 10ii, 10iii, 11
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“Master, why won’t you tell me any more...” you persisted, nuzzling attentively, cat-like from behind me at my throat with my head bowed towards the glittering cold marble of the bedchamber floor. I pursed my lips around a newly lit cigarette, inhaling deeply before playfully pondering your request.
“I’ll surely tell you no more Bam, after all what remains there to be told?” I answered you calm, tired, not that I suspected for an instance you would take it for any answer. Ever the curious, aren’t you little one?
We were settled upon the upset linens of our lavish grave, which just an hour ago had been shelter through a quiet and contented diurnal course.
I leant upon my knees hunched over to slowly exhale, and watched as the smoke curled towards the ceiling only to disappear into the dark like some ashen spectre.
I felt your bare flesh pull away from mine, cold skin leaving my own yet colder as you perched behind me, patient as always.
It had been three nights since either of us had fed, and although in my antiquity I’ll assure you for myself it brought no harm, in your youth such a fast was quite enough.
“But Master…” you began, in such voice you knew wrapped me around your little finger at will. Who holds the power betwixt us? I wonder time to time if it istruly is me.
“That’s quite enough of that. Do as I say and don’t ask me any further. Understood?” I sighed; there was so malice in it, rather a gentle impatience.
We had not journeyed downwards to the busyness of the city for the last three eves, the rather amusing reason behind which being the fact that I had not managed to refuse your amorous pursuits long enough.
“Yes, Sir,” you hushed, sighing in mock defeat. I then turned my attention to more at hand ventures.
“Dress warmly my young night stalker,” I grinned, killing the cigarette and turning to kiss your pouting lips, nipping them affectionately between twin ivory “time we seek out prey”
Your nose wrinkled and you grunted in disapproval, I was sure that tonight you were determined to make proceeding difficult for us both. If had adored you any less, I might just have been angry.
I moved to stand in the dim moonlight from our bed, but was caught off guard by you gripped my wrist and bid me to stay.
“Brandon Co-” I warned in that patronizing tone spoken, I imagine, decades ago by your own mother. You kept your eyes down and fixed them upon my upturned wrist, fingertip resting gently on the visible blue and green threads there.
I was taken quite back by the next request that fell hot from your lips-
“Let me drink from you, Lord” spoke the voice of my young lover unusually serious “I ask not for the strength, but for intimacy in it”
You were completely honest, voice thoughtful and tranquil like never before. I was puzzled, if a little awe struck and turned that I could face you completely.
“Whatever do you mean?” I breathed, looking into his crystalline blue eyes with a questioning that groped uncertainly for an answer.
He paused for a moment in time. Perhaps trying to articulate or think on the notion, perhaps not.
“Do I speak the truth when I say to you, that when we drink from those the night has gifted us, there is such a swoon in the deed?”
“Most assuredly, yes my love” I agreed, willing him to go on.
“And as overpowering as that swoon is with mortal blood, I have often entertained the idea that our own blood when tasted, might yield a greater flourish still?”
I can honestly confess that the thought had not occurred within me before, I was vastly aware as to the properties of The Blood (healing, strengthening and etcetera) and yet had never considered its true carnality.
We had shared a victim before, but explore it no further. I of course had never shared this act with my Master; his was never the desire for the connection we knew.
It was true, the moment in which the living heart slows to a stop in a fatal embrace, there is a swoon. How might I explain what you have already found yourself?
The feeling itself can be likened to love, the quickening of the soul for a miniscule moment in time as the crimson life blood of another floods your being, bringing thoughts and memories with its euphoric tide.
I saw clear your motives as your eyes broke from mine resting again, upon the translucent white flesh of my wrist and the tiny blue laces within.
I was captivated by the idea, the swoon, the surge, violent contortions The Blood could bring! I wanted to take it. I wanted to submit to you.
Running my eerily glittering fingernails through your perfumed brown curls, I kissed your temple, and cast you an amorous grin.
The wrist you gripped was released, and I began kissing you slowly onto your back, down into the soft submission of our bed.
I ran my hands over your bare flesh, savouring the tender glow-worm of heat still lingering upon it, and as the passion of the kiss began to break, offered that most coveted wrist to your awaiting lips.
I gave blood. Sighs. Pain. I did not watch but only allow myself the feeling of your fangs penetrating the immaculate skin, and listen as my heart beat laboured against both our chests in some guilty and pleasurable harmony.
The undeniable sweetness of it all.
When I permitted myself the sight I witnessed you drink the redness eagerly, taking the blood as your wine and my gentle rosary of sighs as your prayers.
I felt my heart pang for it, the slow dull warmth and dizziness. I felt its soft flutter like the quiet beating of moths’ wings into the darkness.
My limbs lost all form they held in my subconscious mind, all I saw was dark and golden, all I heard was sweeter than the eve itself.
The scent of your moisten flesh only served to excite the movements of my body above you, and somewhere between your delicious lapping of my given wounds my head found itself a place to rest upon your collar.
When enough had been taken, you ceased your carnal kissed upon the wound. I was left in disorientation and rapture shook my being like a leaf. I had never know pleasure such as this, sexual but not of planes of the flesh.
The little red seams mended themselves by preternatural magic, and as you watched this attentively, I thought to myself,
We shall never leave this house if I am to be taught wonders such as these
………………………………..........
When the day broke through my heavy curtains that very next morn after my disfigurement, I greeted it with a heavy and weary heart. Stepping into the pale yellow light I closed my blackened eyes and let my bruised face to the sun.
I savoured its warmth, and basked in the knowledge that its presence had cleansed him from the house.
I was angry, so angry the night the deed was done as I had been when he’d dare struck me before (although never as forcefully nor ever before causing such horrors and left them unhealed).
Now, a strange calm washed over my body as I stripped myself of clothing and ran my hands through the sticky dried ink remnants of my once beautiful hair and ran my fingertips over the tender bruises all over my pale face.
It took me courage to look at my reflection that morning, to face what was left of me. I approached my dresses cautiously, and stepping into view of the pewter mirror locked eyes on the new me.
I was hideous. The blow from my head crashing into the desk had created one ugly, fat purple mark surrounding an emerald eye, and above the other a smaller black welt, swollen and joining a dark brown dried weeping of blood from a spilt in my forehead that had trickled its way down both my eyes.
But what stood out for me the most one part of me that could not heal nor be washed away so quickly: my hair.
What once had cascaded over my shoulders in dark brown waves had be chopped brutishly just past my ears and at a terrible direction.
I was hideous.
I did not cry, but instead stare long and hard at what I had become. Who on earth would want this?
With a hand that would gladly make a tight and grudging fist I slowly opened the dresser draw, and felt around in the dark until my fingertips found a cold sharp instrument.
I bringing it up to my eyesight, I clutched in my hands a pair of polished scissors, decorated with ornate and useless patterns.
I took those scissors to my face cut the first tress loose from my head, and watched as it fell softly to the ground besides my feet.
The silence of the room was broken by the violent and busy snipping sounds my anger brought forth from my scalding hatred of the creature I called Master. I wouldn’t stop until I had made clean the mess he had left of me.
The sound grew louder and faster until I dropped the scissors to the floor. I stared long into the mirror and saw something beaten and bruised, I saw something ugly. But I saw something that would not live this way any longer.
My beauty taken, my appearance made presentable and the ink cut from my neatened hair I left the manor in search of my lover, seeking his comfort more than ever before but fearing his reactions.
The whole time that my footsteps beat into the packed ice Master Vuori’s words echoes through my skull-
“Let that be a lesson to you Ville, just look at you. Not even I would touch you”
I needn’t have gone looking far for him, for as sure as day would turn to night; there was Emmanuel in his stables.
I flung myself into his embrace without care for who might see it or explanation for my appearance.
He held me in his arms as I gave way to tears into his shoulder. He stared at me open mouthed in shock running his fingers through what was now my hair as if it ask what had happened to it.
He took me into the safe retreat of the stables where he held me by the waist and back crushingly close to him as I bawled.
“Who did this to you?” He demanded cupping my face examining the blemishes there, blue eyes wide with anger and voice shaking with temper.
“My keeper,” I replied through sobs “he wished to disfigure me after he found I was with you”
His full lips parted in a hateful and awe struck expression. I continued to the best I could whilst struggling not to choke on my salt tears.
“He says that I am his possession and if he finds I have lain with you he tells me he will kill you”
My consoling angel listened as I recounted all the secret evenings I had been taken by Master Vuori and how he had beaten me since I was a child.
With every detail I saw something within my sweet and understanding Emmanuel turn into rage and spite.
It was not until a while later that all had been revealed did he speak freely again.
“I refuse to let that happen, Ville” He defied taking my hands and looking at what a state I must have been “He cannot hurt either of us if we run away from here”
-------------------------------<3
Sorry for the lateness but now is teh time of severe exams and that lot:p lol I hope you enjoy, i think you'll find there's a twist to come...
----------------------------------------<3
“Master, why won’t you tell me any more...” you persisted, nuzzling attentively, cat-like from behind me at my throat with my head bowed towards the glittering cold marble of the bedchamber floor. I pursed my lips around a newly lit cigarette, inhaling deeply before playfully pondering your request.
“I’ll surely tell you no more Bam, after all what remains there to be told?” I answered you calm, tired, not that I suspected for an instance you would take it for any answer. Ever the curious, aren’t you little one?
We were settled upon the upset linens of our lavish grave, which just an hour ago had been shelter through a quiet and contented diurnal course.
I leant upon my knees hunched over to slowly exhale, and watched as the smoke curled towards the ceiling only to disappear into the dark like some ashen spectre.
I felt your bare flesh pull away from mine, cold skin leaving my own yet colder as you perched behind me, patient as always.
It had been three nights since either of us had fed, and although in my antiquity I’ll assure you for myself it brought no harm, in your youth such a fast was quite enough.
“But Master…” you began, in such voice you knew wrapped me around your little finger at will. Who holds the power betwixt us? I wonder time to time if it istruly is me.
“That’s quite enough of that. Do as I say and don’t ask me any further. Understood?” I sighed; there was so malice in it, rather a gentle impatience.
We had not journeyed downwards to the busyness of the city for the last three eves, the rather amusing reason behind which being the fact that I had not managed to refuse your amorous pursuits long enough.
“Yes, Sir,” you hushed, sighing in mock defeat. I then turned my attention to more at hand ventures.
“Dress warmly my young night stalker,” I grinned, killing the cigarette and turning to kiss your pouting lips, nipping them affectionately between twin ivory “time we seek out prey”
Your nose wrinkled and you grunted in disapproval, I was sure that tonight you were determined to make proceeding difficult for us both. If had adored you any less, I might just have been angry.
I moved to stand in the dim moonlight from our bed, but was caught off guard by you gripped my wrist and bid me to stay.
“Brandon Co-” I warned in that patronizing tone spoken, I imagine, decades ago by your own mother. You kept your eyes down and fixed them upon my upturned wrist, fingertip resting gently on the visible blue and green threads there.
I was taken quite back by the next request that fell hot from your lips-
“Let me drink from you, Lord” spoke the voice of my young lover unusually serious “I ask not for the strength, but for intimacy in it”
You were completely honest, voice thoughtful and tranquil like never before. I was puzzled, if a little awe struck and turned that I could face you completely.
“Whatever do you mean?” I breathed, looking into his crystalline blue eyes with a questioning that groped uncertainly for an answer.
He paused for a moment in time. Perhaps trying to articulate or think on the notion, perhaps not.
“Do I speak the truth when I say to you, that when we drink from those the night has gifted us, there is such a swoon in the deed?”
“Most assuredly, yes my love” I agreed, willing him to go on.
“And as overpowering as that swoon is with mortal blood, I have often entertained the idea that our own blood when tasted, might yield a greater flourish still?”
I can honestly confess that the thought had not occurred within me before, I was vastly aware as to the properties of The Blood (healing, strengthening and etcetera) and yet had never considered its true carnality.
We had shared a victim before, but explore it no further. I of course had never shared this act with my Master; his was never the desire for the connection we knew.
It was true, the moment in which the living heart slows to a stop in a fatal embrace, there is a swoon. How might I explain what you have already found yourself?
The feeling itself can be likened to love, the quickening of the soul for a miniscule moment in time as the crimson life blood of another floods your being, bringing thoughts and memories with its euphoric tide.
I saw clear your motives as your eyes broke from mine resting again, upon the translucent white flesh of my wrist and the tiny blue laces within.
I was captivated by the idea, the swoon, the surge, violent contortions The Blood could bring! I wanted to take it. I wanted to submit to you.
Running my eerily glittering fingernails through your perfumed brown curls, I kissed your temple, and cast you an amorous grin.
The wrist you gripped was released, and I began kissing you slowly onto your back, down into the soft submission of our bed.
I ran my hands over your bare flesh, savouring the tender glow-worm of heat still lingering upon it, and as the passion of the kiss began to break, offered that most coveted wrist to your awaiting lips.
I gave blood. Sighs. Pain. I did not watch but only allow myself the feeling of your fangs penetrating the immaculate skin, and listen as my heart beat laboured against both our chests in some guilty and pleasurable harmony.
The undeniable sweetness of it all.
When I permitted myself the sight I witnessed you drink the redness eagerly, taking the blood as your wine and my gentle rosary of sighs as your prayers.
I felt my heart pang for it, the slow dull warmth and dizziness. I felt its soft flutter like the quiet beating of moths’ wings into the darkness.
My limbs lost all form they held in my subconscious mind, all I saw was dark and golden, all I heard was sweeter than the eve itself.
The scent of your moisten flesh only served to excite the movements of my body above you, and somewhere between your delicious lapping of my given wounds my head found itself a place to rest upon your collar.
When enough had been taken, you ceased your carnal kissed upon the wound. I was left in disorientation and rapture shook my being like a leaf. I had never know pleasure such as this, sexual but not of planes of the flesh.
The little red seams mended themselves by preternatural magic, and as you watched this attentively, I thought to myself,
We shall never leave this house if I am to be taught wonders such as these
………………………………..........
When the day broke through my heavy curtains that very next morn after my disfigurement, I greeted it with a heavy and weary heart. Stepping into the pale yellow light I closed my blackened eyes and let my bruised face to the sun.
I savoured its warmth, and basked in the knowledge that its presence had cleansed him from the house.
I was angry, so angry the night the deed was done as I had been when he’d dare struck me before (although never as forcefully nor ever before causing such horrors and left them unhealed).
Now, a strange calm washed over my body as I stripped myself of clothing and ran my hands through the sticky dried ink remnants of my once beautiful hair and ran my fingertips over the tender bruises all over my pale face.
It took me courage to look at my reflection that morning, to face what was left of me. I approached my dresses cautiously, and stepping into view of the pewter mirror locked eyes on the new me.
I was hideous. The blow from my head crashing into the desk had created one ugly, fat purple mark surrounding an emerald eye, and above the other a smaller black welt, swollen and joining a dark brown dried weeping of blood from a spilt in my forehead that had trickled its way down both my eyes.
But what stood out for me the most one part of me that could not heal nor be washed away so quickly: my hair.
What once had cascaded over my shoulders in dark brown waves had be chopped brutishly just past my ears and at a terrible direction.
I was hideous.
I did not cry, but instead stare long and hard at what I had become. Who on earth would want this?
With a hand that would gladly make a tight and grudging fist I slowly opened the dresser draw, and felt around in the dark until my fingertips found a cold sharp instrument.
I bringing it up to my eyesight, I clutched in my hands a pair of polished scissors, decorated with ornate and useless patterns.
I took those scissors to my face cut the first tress loose from my head, and watched as it fell softly to the ground besides my feet.
The silence of the room was broken by the violent and busy snipping sounds my anger brought forth from my scalding hatred of the creature I called Master. I wouldn’t stop until I had made clean the mess he had left of me.
The sound grew louder and faster until I dropped the scissors to the floor. I stared long into the mirror and saw something beaten and bruised, I saw something ugly. But I saw something that would not live this way any longer.
My beauty taken, my appearance made presentable and the ink cut from my neatened hair I left the manor in search of my lover, seeking his comfort more than ever before but fearing his reactions.
The whole time that my footsteps beat into the packed ice Master Vuori’s words echoes through my skull-
“Let that be a lesson to you Ville, just look at you. Not even I would touch you”
I needn’t have gone looking far for him, for as sure as day would turn to night; there was Emmanuel in his stables.
I flung myself into his embrace without care for who might see it or explanation for my appearance.
He held me in his arms as I gave way to tears into his shoulder. He stared at me open mouthed in shock running his fingers through what was now my hair as if it ask what had happened to it.
He took me into the safe retreat of the stables where he held me by the waist and back crushingly close to him as I bawled.
“Who did this to you?” He demanded cupping my face examining the blemishes there, blue eyes wide with anger and voice shaking with temper.
“My keeper,” I replied through sobs “he wished to disfigure me after he found I was with you”
His full lips parted in a hateful and awe struck expression. I continued to the best I could whilst struggling not to choke on my salt tears.
“He says that I am his possession and if he finds I have lain with you he tells me he will kill you”
My consoling angel listened as I recounted all the secret evenings I had been taken by Master Vuori and how he had beaten me since I was a child.
With every detail I saw something within my sweet and understanding Emmanuel turn into rage and spite.
It was not until a while later that all had been revealed did he speak freely again.
“I refuse to let that happen, Ville” He defied taking my hands and looking at what a state I must have been “He cannot hurt either of us if we run away from here”
-------------------------------<3
Sorry for the lateness but now is teh time of severe exams and that lot:p lol I hope you enjoy, i think you'll find there's a twist to come...