Ancient Wounds pt 15 (at last)
Memories can be measured physically, our skin a map of where our hearts have taken us. Time heals all wounds, yet the scars never leave. Rather they remain there forever, always with us as constant reminders of the past.
Those who walk the night such as ourselves lose such physical marks when reborn, but always we carry them in our hearts long after our mortal paths have ended so that their lessons are not forgotten.
Our suffering is like no other’s because we understand time does not pass for us, we are forever and all is constant. Is it this absence of measurable time that makes it so hard to move on? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
I have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, I have watched countries being born and divide. I have witnessed people kill and be killed for what they believe in. But I have been only a witness to it since the day I barrelled down the mortal coil and plucked myself from history.
……
I woke the next evening, my mouth tasting like filth and a painful throbbing throughout my chest and limbs. It took me a while to realise it was my heart shuddering inside me. I was back in my bed chambers, very damp and head burning with an onset of terrible fever.
I began to weep weakly into the rich taffetta of my bedspread without even opening my eyes.
I had failed again.
Emmanuel had never been mine.
My last chance of happiness had been ripped from me and thrown to the Baltic winds. I had never been this alone.
I didn’t quite know who to hate. But then, what did it matter? What did any of this matter, this was truly it. I’d given up all hope on life, there was no way I could go on anymore.
My down turned face was hot with sweat and tears as I shook all over with loathing and sorrow, I thought I would die with all the hate coursing inside me.
A hand came down and stroked the back of my damp hair. It was Master Vuori. I would have sensed him before, but right now I really didn’t care where he was or what he intended to do to me.
Somewhere inside I wished he would beat me. I wanted to feel something other than all this saddness. I cried out for it repeatedly.
“Quiet now, little prince” He hushed, his voice low, horribley sympathetic “The time for tears is over, the worst has been done”
I couldn’t understand what he meant. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be left alone and to cry, in hopes that I could slip away in the darkness quietly like my father had done all those years ago.
My Master scooped me up in his arms from the bed into his lap, cradling me like a shivering child. I could hear his heart beat through his decadent clothing. It made him seem oddly human. It was perversely comforting.
“The pain is not forever, Ville,” He hissed quietly, hot breath against my cheek “it too in time, will pass. Take it from one who has lost many things in his time. Years heal all wounds, even the ancient ones”
I finally opend my eyes to look upon him. His skin was flushed and pink, his eyes were dull, his nails less brilliant in the candlelight. He looked almost…kind.
Something in my chest felt as if it were shattering over and over as I looked at him, my thoughts ever spiralling downwards with all thst I had lost so quickly. I wanted the earth to swallow me.
My gaze told him I was hanging by a thread. I trembled as my eyes ran burning tears into my wet shirt. I let him know my weakness, suicidal and hoping he’d take advantage.
He pressed his lips to my pale throat, teeth delicately piercing the white heated flesh there. I whimpered and rolled my head back, giving myself over to him in sickness and sorrow. I let him know I belonged to him ,I let him know I would yield to his every whim if he wanted it so.
As he drank I sent him images in the blood, as I knew I could do so, telling him what I needed. I longed for release from it all; I begged him to end my life in exchange for my body. There were no words, just the methodical pacing of thoughts.
He drank more than he had ever dared before, and I merely lay there and allowed it all to happen. He smelled like the earth and rain, like he places where my brother and I once played and held each other after my father‘s death. I drank that scent like he the blood from me.
As I grew colder I felt his warm hands pull away at my clothing and touch all of me. My vision blurred from tears and blood loss and I sighed daintily as I began to sleep away .
I was filled with the quiet echo of my thoughts, a million voices whispering to me so many different words that confused me. I heard my brother asking me where our father had gone, my mother tell me she was proud of me, I heard Emmanuel pledge his love to me and I heard my own voice choking over the top of it all.
I fought to keep my eyes open, watching my Master sprawled above me, drinking from all parts of me and leaving a tiny bloody stream where he went. I would have been screaming if I weren’t so high.
I watched how his warm skin moved over mine, mimicking the way Emmanuel had, his every move characteristically copied from my ex-lover. Had he plucked it from my thoughts when he drank?
He forced himself inside me and bit hard into my collar, finding hot scarlet run forth from my veins to his lips. He was Emmanuel. He was Master. He was everything and nothing to me because he was all I had left.
I wrapped my arms around his muscled shoulders, touching him for the very first time in the act. We were innocence and evil, Gabriel and Satan, man and boy intertwined in hate and lust and grief.
I was numb, praying he would bleed me dry and give me peace.
As I felt the sweet sting of my wet cheeks and the rasp of my raw gasps, I realised I had been audibly bawling the second he began his tender rape.
Those who walk the night such as ourselves lose such physical marks when reborn, but always we carry them in our hearts long after our mortal paths have ended so that their lessons are not forgotten.
Our suffering is like no other’s because we understand time does not pass for us, we are forever and all is constant. Is it this absence of measurable time that makes it so hard to move on? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
I have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, I have watched countries being born and divide. I have witnessed people kill and be killed for what they believe in. But I have been only a witness to it since the day I barrelled down the mortal coil and plucked myself from history.
……
I woke the next evening, my mouth tasting like filth and a painful throbbing throughout my chest and limbs. It took me a while to realise it was my heart shuddering inside me. I was back in my bed chambers, very damp and head burning with an onset of terrible fever.
I began to weep weakly into the rich taffetta of my bedspread without even opening my eyes.
I had failed again.
Emmanuel had never been mine.
My last chance of happiness had been ripped from me and thrown to the Baltic winds. I had never been this alone.
I didn’t quite know who to hate. But then, what did it matter? What did any of this matter, this was truly it. I’d given up all hope on life, there was no way I could go on anymore.
My down turned face was hot with sweat and tears as I shook all over with loathing and sorrow, I thought I would die with all the hate coursing inside me.
A hand came down and stroked the back of my damp hair. It was Master Vuori. I would have sensed him before, but right now I really didn’t care where he was or what he intended to do to me.
Somewhere inside I wished he would beat me. I wanted to feel something other than all this saddness. I cried out for it repeatedly.
“Quiet now, little prince” He hushed, his voice low, horribley sympathetic “The time for tears is over, the worst has been done”
I couldn’t understand what he meant. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be left alone and to cry, in hopes that I could slip away in the darkness quietly like my father had done all those years ago.
My Master scooped me up in his arms from the bed into his lap, cradling me like a shivering child. I could hear his heart beat through his decadent clothing. It made him seem oddly human. It was perversely comforting.
“The pain is not forever, Ville,” He hissed quietly, hot breath against my cheek “it too in time, will pass. Take it from one who has lost many things in his time. Years heal all wounds, even the ancient ones”
I finally opend my eyes to look upon him. His skin was flushed and pink, his eyes were dull, his nails less brilliant in the candlelight. He looked almost…kind.
Something in my chest felt as if it were shattering over and over as I looked at him, my thoughts ever spiralling downwards with all thst I had lost so quickly. I wanted the earth to swallow me.
My gaze told him I was hanging by a thread. I trembled as my eyes ran burning tears into my wet shirt. I let him know my weakness, suicidal and hoping he’d take advantage.
He pressed his lips to my pale throat, teeth delicately piercing the white heated flesh there. I whimpered and rolled my head back, giving myself over to him in sickness and sorrow. I let him know I belonged to him ,I let him know I would yield to his every whim if he wanted it so.
As he drank I sent him images in the blood, as I knew I could do so, telling him what I needed. I longed for release from it all; I begged him to end my life in exchange for my body. There were no words, just the methodical pacing of thoughts.
He drank more than he had ever dared before, and I merely lay there and allowed it all to happen. He smelled like the earth and rain, like he places where my brother and I once played and held each other after my father‘s death. I drank that scent like he the blood from me.
As I grew colder I felt his warm hands pull away at my clothing and touch all of me. My vision blurred from tears and blood loss and I sighed daintily as I began to sleep away .
I was filled with the quiet echo of my thoughts, a million voices whispering to me so many different words that confused me. I heard my brother asking me where our father had gone, my mother tell me she was proud of me, I heard Emmanuel pledge his love to me and I heard my own voice choking over the top of it all.
I fought to keep my eyes open, watching my Master sprawled above me, drinking from all parts of me and leaving a tiny bloody stream where he went. I would have been screaming if I weren’t so high.
I watched how his warm skin moved over mine, mimicking the way Emmanuel had, his every move characteristically copied from my ex-lover. Had he plucked it from my thoughts when he drank?
He forced himself inside me and bit hard into my collar, finding hot scarlet run forth from my veins to his lips. He was Emmanuel. He was Master. He was everything and nothing to me because he was all I had left.
I wrapped my arms around his muscled shoulders, touching him for the very first time in the act. We were innocence and evil, Gabriel and Satan, man and boy intertwined in hate and lust and grief.
I was numb, praying he would bleed me dry and give me peace.
As I felt the sweet sting of my wet cheeks and the rasp of my raw gasps, I realised I had been audibly bawling the second he began his tender rape.