The room was bathed in a soft flickering light, shadows dancing upon the
walls as she paced the room trying to abate her swirling anger. It
swathed within her, coiling like a deadly snake ready to strike. Her
cloak billowed behind her, the heavy fabric twisting and releasing with
each deft turn as she absentmindedly zigzagged across the wooden
floorboards. Her brow was drawn into a steely glare, an icy glow
punctuating the dark pools of her eyes, a glittering blue hue that cast a
chilling light across her luminous skin, framed in the shadow of her
ebony hair. The balls of her fists tightened and released at her side,
dreadful silent pauses broken only by the sound of her deep and steady
breaths as she attempted to calm and regain control of the invading
wrath. She momentarily closed her eyes, concentrating on its hypnotic
rhythm, her footsteps silent as she continued her pacing.
Eventually she came to a stop beside the window, roused by the sound of distant shouts. The view was pitch; a thick darkness had descended upon the port, and even though housed upon the hillside shadowed fingers appeared to cling to the walls almost as if the night had come alive and sought to drag her down the join the blackness. She stretched out her hands in habit towards the candle on Alexander's desk, Her skin glowed pale like snow, no longer any sign of the mysterious blue aura but she could still feel its icy chill against her skin. She raised elegant long fingers to her throat, lightly tracing an arcing pattern downwards towards the frill of her corset, peeking out from the fold of her cloak. She tipped her had back, closing her eyes, in brief reverie of the sensual burning that still tingled, like a teasing hint of what she imagined it must feel like to be truly alive. She glanced back to the table, her lip curling slightly as she remembered his arrogance at sitting in the master’s chair. The strange black goblets had gone, as too had the decanter. She frowned slightly, exhaling a long worthless breath. It stirred an unwelcome and ambiguous memory.
Gliding towards the table she slumped into the chair, her hand against her forehead, trying to focus on the many senses spinning and colliding. Her memory was at odds with her sense of presence. Despite knowing she sat alone safely at her table she felt herself kneeling in the snow, just as before, her hooded eyes lifted to his cruel face, animated by his growing insanity as he pushed the glass to her lips, forcing her to drink. She remembered its taste, bitter like poison, causing her almost to choke on its vileness but regardless she had swallowed it down, having no choice, knowing what was at stake. With the last depraved gulp she had fallen back with the agony of its burning chill....so deathly cold that it had scolded her insides on its chaotic journey throughout her body.
She flicked open her eyes, the present rushing back to greet her with shadowed walls and diminishing candlelight once again. She knew that contorting and agonising power was still within her, buried deep, latched around her being like a parasite, sleeping dormant. She despised its hold on her, it made her feel weak. But yet she found herself shamefully intrigued by its nature, where every episode of irrational anger caused it to rise and swell as if trying to escape and take her captive once more.
The scent of pending war loomed on the distant horizon, it engulfed her, bringing with it further unwelcome memories of the fall of her homeland. She knew that she should be at the front lines, defending her home, but she knew with his new position Alexander was well representing their family and if she was honest, the rising agitation of this anger inside her caused her concern for such an atmosphere as one of war. She did not understand its secret, how to control it or rid herself of its grasp. All she knew for certain was that she was a walking weapon...at the mercy of a power she could not comprehend.
Eventually she came to a stop beside the window, roused by the sound of distant shouts. The view was pitch; a thick darkness had descended upon the port, and even though housed upon the hillside shadowed fingers appeared to cling to the walls almost as if the night had come alive and sought to drag her down the join the blackness. She stretched out her hands in habit towards the candle on Alexander's desk, Her skin glowed pale like snow, no longer any sign of the mysterious blue aura but she could still feel its icy chill against her skin. She raised elegant long fingers to her throat, lightly tracing an arcing pattern downwards towards the frill of her corset, peeking out from the fold of her cloak. She tipped her had back, closing her eyes, in brief reverie of the sensual burning that still tingled, like a teasing hint of what she imagined it must feel like to be truly alive. She glanced back to the table, her lip curling slightly as she remembered his arrogance at sitting in the master’s chair. The strange black goblets had gone, as too had the decanter. She frowned slightly, exhaling a long worthless breath. It stirred an unwelcome and ambiguous memory.
Gliding towards the table she slumped into the chair, her hand against her forehead, trying to focus on the many senses spinning and colliding. Her memory was at odds with her sense of presence. Despite knowing she sat alone safely at her table she felt herself kneeling in the snow, just as before, her hooded eyes lifted to his cruel face, animated by his growing insanity as he pushed the glass to her lips, forcing her to drink. She remembered its taste, bitter like poison, causing her almost to choke on its vileness but regardless she had swallowed it down, having no choice, knowing what was at stake. With the last depraved gulp she had fallen back with the agony of its burning chill....so deathly cold that it had scolded her insides on its chaotic journey throughout her body.
She flicked open her eyes, the present rushing back to greet her with shadowed walls and diminishing candlelight once again. She knew that contorting and agonising power was still within her, buried deep, latched around her being like a parasite, sleeping dormant. She despised its hold on her, it made her feel weak. But yet she found herself shamefully intrigued by its nature, where every episode of irrational anger caused it to rise and swell as if trying to escape and take her captive once more.
The scent of pending war loomed on the distant horizon, it engulfed her, bringing with it further unwelcome memories of the fall of her homeland. She knew that she should be at the front lines, defending her home, but she knew with his new position Alexander was well representing their family and if she was honest, the rising agitation of this anger inside her caused her concern for such an atmosphere as one of war. She did not understand its secret, how to control it or rid herself of its grasp. All she knew for certain was that she was a walking weapon...at the mercy of a power she could not comprehend.
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