BDSM & Alternative Lifestyle Personals
 | Blogs > OyaD > Earth Kitt's Apprentice > Celine |
Celine
3/14/2006 12:16 am Last Read: |
I write best when strong emotion is involved. I wrote my Cousins series (about African American vampires) when I got thoroughly disgusted of the idea vampire fiction had to be comprised of Caucasian people. I wrote my first dark fantasy story Lon'Aite out of disgust thanks to the way Disney has destroyed mythos. The writing of Celine was inspired by many things. By some online roleplay with a man playing a fallen angel, but who originally just wanted to have cyber with anyone who came along. It was also inspired by the seediness of Soho, the noir of Camden, the goth culture, my own experiences, a few fantasies thrown in, and magic. Mostly, however, it was inspired by the writing styles of Anais Nin and Tanith Lee - there is a way to tell a sensual story, to allow the reader to fill in the blanks, and have it still remain erotic without sinking into purely clinical insert-flap-a-into-slot-b. Indeed, Anais Nin was told by her "secret reader" to "cut out the poetry, I just want the sex." Her response was very eloquent, and related one cannot seperate sensuality from the act, or the act becomes meaningless. I heartily agree. Netherwhere is another world, a parallel one to ours. Only those who become infested with Dark can enter, stepping sideways into Netherwhere, to frolic and release their dark natures, and sink even further into vice. "Celine" is just one of the many stories of Netherwhere; there are nymphs, satyrs, demons, Fallen, vampires, and all sorts of creatures that wander. While Celine is just a young, disturbed woman learning about the Dark, she's a predator. However, she soon discovers there's some beings even she cannot devour, and thus ensues a wicked dance, each trying to resist the other, as neither will submit. Copyright reserved, and so on and so forth. ************ ...Michael. His name burned her throat, burned her tongue and mouth to speak. She couldn't tear her eyes from him and he stood in the rooftop gardens, staring up into the night sky with an expression so ageless, so melancholy. She didn't want to heal him, to make him smile, of course not. She was a selfish child, just like he'd often accused. She wasn't sure she was in love. Who could love a fallen angel? But she was certainly obsessed; he was a drug. What do you want? The indifference in his voice was wounding; she could be a tree, or a rock, or a bit of wind, or a breeze. She didn't matter to him. Michael had lived for millenia, what difference was a smitten mortal girl to him? His beautiful, seamless face did not change, he did not turn to stare at her with his black eyes. He stood, tall and remote, his hands behind his back. There were no words, she could say nothing. She wanted to say something, anything, but her tongue was cloven to her mouth. Everything she wanted to say sounded amateur, stupid, and she stood stock still and dumb, staring, unable to step forward, equally unable to turn away. When he spoke again, his voice carried its same apathy, remote, detached, as he stared into the evening sky, the stars spread across the black velvet like diamonds scattered by a casual hand. You know nothing about me, Celine. You think you do, but you are only drawn to the mystery, to the allure. That was part of our curse. To be pleasing to mortal-kind, to be desired, to fill humans with obsession. Do you know, they used to catch monkeys long ago by putting bright trinkets into jugs chained to a tree? The monkey would reach in and close his fist around the pretty bauble, and try to pull out his paw, but could not. The monkey wouldn't have the sense to let go of the trinket and be free, but would run about, screeching and calling and crying, dragging the clay pot around on its lead, for hours. You mortals, you monkeys are the same clinging, trapped, and unable to let go. I have stood through millenia, watching the heavens move every night. The Gates of Heaven...I can see them. And they are closed to me. I cannot enter, but must continue as I have always done, wandering the world from its beginning, and thus to its end. I am cursed from heaven for trying to give you monkeys freedom...and have been rewarded with being just another trinket for you to desire. It was I who bedded Lilith in the First Garden...and though she was not the first of her kind, she was not the last. Her crime was to wish to be equal, and as He in Heaven is the greatest fascist of all, she was cast down. And though her desire was strong, and our cries and moans made the garden ring, she could not keep me. And I was there with Isis, though I had another name then, and guided her through her trials, and granted her wisdom. I miss her...but you monkeys are never happy with your baubles, and her power dwindled and faded into nothingness. I wore the feathers of the macaw in jungles, and the skins of bears in the tundra. And when these races ended in their power and were cast down into crude facsimiles of themselves, I wandered still. I have turned cities into salt and rivers into blood. I had turned kings mad at a glance, and burnt out the eyes of women who desired to see me in my full glory. I have spurned the most sanctified and the most wicked in equal measure. I have killed for my Creator and for my brothers, for other gods that came before and after, and even been called a god myself. I have always had one wing dip't in blood. I have led wars, smote entire races from the face of the earth, spread dissent among Men. I have cast pestilence upon the Earth, and turned many a soul to darkness. Tell me, child...how do you think it possible that you can stand against me? And now he turned turned indeed, slowly, like a sleepwalker, his perfect face solemn and expressionless, his hair falling along his brow in a chocolate curl, his hands behind his back. For all his indifference, she could feel the lonliness, the agony of his curse upon him. The despair, the weariness of thousands of years of vice and sin resting now upon his shoulders. Selfish girl, you only want what he is...you take, not give. And this was true...she desired him, the darkness in him calling to her, though as he had said, what difference did it make? She was a young human woman, tainted, beneath his notice. Her chest caught again, her lungs feeling so constricted she couldn't breathe. Blindly, she staggered forward, her arms outstretched, his form a blur. Either she would fall onto him, or careen straight off the rooftop and it mattered little to her which. It all felt the same. Falling...falling... And his arms went round her and caught her up, strong and as hard as marble beneath the folds and fabric of his suit. Michael lifted her up savagely, bruising her in his arms, and pressed his mouth to hers. It was like dying; warmth and desire from his lips to hers, tasting of honey, and of suphuor. He growled like a beast, deep in his chest, his nails digging into her arms as he crushed her to his chest, fingers twining in her hair, pressing her to him. She could feel the lust in him, the want; this close to him, the mask fell away and she could feel he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Celine understood, in a remote, detached way. He had put her off out of necessity and not disinterest. She would be added to the ranks of the millions of women who had fallen to his allure, and she would burn. Then let us burn together. You little fool, he murmured harshly into her ear, his breath hot and scented like cinnamon, nipping at her throat with his perfect teeth, his hands roaming over her skin, scorching it with his lust as she gasped and lolled, swept away by the sensation. You little fool, how I have tried to stay away from you. But you burned into my mind. Once I had caught your scent I smelled it all through London, tracking you like a wolf tracks a lamb. And here is the lamb, leaping into my jaws. He gathered himself up, and thrust her roughly away from him, turning on his heel, and Celine staggered, the loss of contact an agony. She stared, uncomprehending, as he spread his arms, striding for the rooftop, and - Stepped off. He fell, and her scream followed him, fell and fell before his wings ripped free from his back, spreading as big as sails, metal pinions slicing through the air like scythes, sharp as razorblades, embedded in downy black feathers. Up he soared upon the evening sky, fleeing her, and her scream tried to follow but choked and died in her throat. ******************* This work should be out in September. |
 |
 |
 |
| Become a member to comment on this blog | ||
 |
