Seraphine's head tilted back against the rain-slicked wall as her breath came in shallow, desperate gasps. The tang of blood still lingered on her lips, a siren song for the curse that twisted within her, binding her will beneath its suffocating weight. Her hands clawed at Malik's chest, trembling as the beast inside her demanded more. More of him, more of his blood, his flesh, his soul. She couldn’t see him through the haze; her eyes, normally bright and mischievous, were dimmed by the unnatural glow of the curse, pupils dilated wide like a feral creature caught in its primal urges.
But then there was his voice. Low, commanding, steady.
"No more, little dancer, not like this."
The words rippled through the fog of her mind, cutting through the curse's cloying grip. She blinked, the veil over her vision faltering, and for a fleeting moment, she saw him clearly: Malik, torn between his own hunger and something deeper, something that tethered him still to humanity. His hands were firm yet careful on her body, their touch grounding her as much as it inflamed the fire within. He slowed everything, even as it pained them both.
Her lips parted as if to argue, to beg, to surrender, but instead, a weak, shuddering sound escaped her as he traced the blood across her mouth. The curse bucked violently, dragging her back into its thrall, and her body moved on instinct, pressing closer to him, seeking his warmth, his strength. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, desperate and shaking, even as a sharp pang of guilt pierced through the madness. This isn’t you. The thought was faint, fleeting, but it was enough.
Her hands loosened their hold, and her glowing eyes flickered, the unnatural light dimming to reveal the soft amber of her natural hue. She pushed weakly against his chest, her strength sapped and failing as the weight of her actions, and the curse, bore down on her.
She crumpled into his arms, her body boneless and cold, her head lolling against his chest as unconsciousness claimed her. In the darkness, flashes of the night assaulted her: the feel of Yoon's hand in hers as they danced, the vibrant whirl of skirts and music, the intoxicating laughter that had spilled from her lips. Then the memory shifted, jagged and fractured. Yoon’s face twisted in horror, his bloodied hand clutching at his neck as she lunged at him, the sickening sound of flesh tearing, the overwhelming hunger that drowned out her humanity. And the Vrai, pulling her back, steadying her even as she clawed at him like an animal.
His words echoed in the void, low and steady, anchoring her even in the depths of unconsciousness. "Because when you ask that of me, mine will be the only blood on your lips and hands." The promise, or warning, reverberated through her mind, sharp and haunting.
She stirred suddenly, gasping as she woke in an unfamiliar bed, her limbs heavy and unresponsive at first. The room was dimly lit, the scent of rain-soaked wood and herbs filling the air. Her throat was raw, her body aching in ways she couldn’t fully name, but it was the memory of Malik’s gaze, his restraint, the terrifying hunger that burned most vividly in her mind. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips, her heart racing as she struggled to piece together what was real and what was shadow, shrinking into the blankets when a door nearby opened.
The curse whispered in her ear, faint but insistent, promising more if only she would surrender again.
@Malik Vrai
But then there was his voice. Low, commanding, steady.
"No more, little dancer, not like this."
The words rippled through the fog of her mind, cutting through the curse's cloying grip. She blinked, the veil over her vision faltering, and for a fleeting moment, she saw him clearly: Malik, torn between his own hunger and something deeper, something that tethered him still to humanity. His hands were firm yet careful on her body, their touch grounding her as much as it inflamed the fire within. He slowed everything, even as it pained them both.
Her lips parted as if to argue, to beg, to surrender, but instead, a weak, shuddering sound escaped her as he traced the blood across her mouth. The curse bucked violently, dragging her back into its thrall, and her body moved on instinct, pressing closer to him, seeking his warmth, his strength. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, desperate and shaking, even as a sharp pang of guilt pierced through the madness. This isn’t you. The thought was faint, fleeting, but it was enough.
Her hands loosened their hold, and her glowing eyes flickered, the unnatural light dimming to reveal the soft amber of her natural hue. She pushed weakly against his chest, her strength sapped and failing as the weight of her actions, and the curse, bore down on her.
L-Lord Vr…?she murmured, her voice hoarse, trembling with the first hints of clarity and shame. Her strength buckled, and the world tilted violently as the crash he had warned of came far swifter than either of them had expected.
She crumpled into his arms, her body boneless and cold, her head lolling against his chest as unconsciousness claimed her. In the darkness, flashes of the night assaulted her: the feel of Yoon's hand in hers as they danced, the vibrant whirl of skirts and music, the intoxicating laughter that had spilled from her lips. Then the memory shifted, jagged and fractured. Yoon’s face twisted in horror, his bloodied hand clutching at his neck as she lunged at him, the sickening sound of flesh tearing, the overwhelming hunger that drowned out her humanity. And the Vrai, pulling her back, steadying her even as she clawed at him like an animal.
His words echoed in the void, low and steady, anchoring her even in the depths of unconsciousness. "Because when you ask that of me, mine will be the only blood on your lips and hands." The promise, or warning, reverberated through her mind, sharp and haunting.
She stirred suddenly, gasping as she woke in an unfamiliar bed, her limbs heavy and unresponsive at first. The room was dimly lit, the scent of rain-soaked wood and herbs filling the air. Her throat was raw, her body aching in ways she couldn’t fully name, but it was the memory of Malik’s gaze, his restraint, the terrifying hunger that burned most vividly in her mind. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips, her heart racing as she struggled to piece together what was real and what was shadow, shrinking into the blankets when a door nearby opened.
The curse whispered in her ear, faint but insistent, promising more if only she would surrender again.
S-Stop it… Stop…hands pulled at the sheets, her body twisting to try and get off the bed, to escape, but unable to make it far in her condition.
@Malik Vrai
11-23-2024, 05:13 PM
