Warning: Explict Content
Unto you I whisper
The wildest dreams
In the coldness of night
::Rarely did Mina make promises. Because she was not one to break them, and had never been even when it would have suited her better to do so. Times
she could count on both hands that she should have broken faith. But while some might call her soulless, or a monster, she still held tight to the shreds of her humanity. It was that which allowed her to show compassion, that guided her in choosing Childer, and training them. It was that part of her that let her teach the children of Kine about Art, and made her give much of her wealth away to charity. But she was Toreador, sensual by nature and
felt so much deeper than a mortal could understand ... and as Toreador she could explore all emotions thusly.
But rarely did Mina make promises ... and she would not break this one to Haniel. She had promised him that she would watch the one called Mune ...
Shrouded in crystals
Through a frosty dusk
Souls of the fullmoon awaits
Their shadows ablaze
An Oni betrayed is not a force to be trifled with. Red eyes burned in the darkness, like beacons that could draw one in to a depraved soul. Were there a soul in this demon, perhaps it could be seen through those eyes if anyone dared to look. Machival ... a name spat into the depths of the night as
a curse. Even his spit sizzled as it dripped down the wall of a nondescript nunnery. He had felt the tug of ceremony, and recognized this place well. The shadowy form caressed by shadows straightened then, and stepping forth into the lights of the expensive glass paned lanterns was Mune.
At just over six feet he would stand out in the crowd in this town where most were only just over five and a half. His cleanly featured face would draw stares from the women of possibilities and daydreamed lusts. Eyes of deepest jade took in the sign that hung over the entrance archway of the nunnery, some platitude about serving the masses selflessly and he sneered. A brief glimmer of white teeth and his face was once more placid and schooled,
those eyes framed by locks of ebon silk, the rest pulled back in a thick ponytail to sway serpentine down his strong back. The ebon was vivid against a scarlet velvet cloak that seemed to be a hallmark of the decadence of this man.
We are all bending
Our tired leaves over your empty shell
In the sign of true esteem
Are you beloved lord
Sighing deep under these waterfalls?
He didn't knock on the door to the nunnery. It was flung wide and he was drawn in by soft, sleekly rounded arms. Ah, the Mother Superior had at last succumbed to the temptation he had left her with the last time he had slaked his lust in her body. It had been all too easy for him of course. So
simply started, a traveler knocking at the gate for sanctuary ... jade eyes and chocolate exchanging glances over the piously portioned dinner, this woman had been young when she had taken up the responsibilities of Mother Superior and her body knew what he was even if she did not. So simply had he taken her vows from her. Poverty, that all they took in should go to the poor ... the first and easiest, evidenced by the glass all around the nunnery,
the richness of the carpets and tapestries where there before was rush and sackcloth. Soon following that was her vow of Chastity. In her narrow virgin's bed he took her viciously and her purity was a gift now to the darkness.
Betrayal. He reveled in her betrayal of her gods, leading her to new levels of depravity, showing her new depths each time his feet took him this way. His one request was this, and this was her hell. That he would come and go as he pleased ... she was never to summon him. Then of course, the last time he had been here, laying naked with her in her now large bed, the moans and piteous cries of the nuns she had allowed him to beat for his
pleasure surrounding them like a soft breeze, he had given her the key to her temptation. He had almost hoped that she would resist, for he enjoyed the depravity that he had created, the blaspheming of what was holy.
The birds of the sun
Separates these dark clouds
While the winds of winter sleeps gently around
I am sworn to the oath
To breathe…
Still, he was not disappointed as one might think.
Now was the time to show her the folly of what she had done ... and more ... to show the rest of the world. He took her there in the hallway, viciously once more as he had the first, bruising her tender flesh as he pressed her against the wall and
her cries were of sheerest delirious pleasure. The nuns all cringed in their narrow cells for they knew that meant *he* was here. When he had finished, his roar of pleasure echoing in the courtyard, he finally spoke.
You summoned me against my will.
His strong hand wrapped in her silky dark hair, she fought him as he dragged her out into the courtyard. Her cries of excitement had turned to cries of terror, but he spoke no more. She wept as he bound her spread eagle against the wall, silken ties to daggers driven with a mere hint of his strength into the
plain stone. His hands stroked her skin as they often did, soft and gentle ... but this time they were filled with razors it seemed. Strips of golden skin rained down followed by a deluge of crimson to match his velvet cloak. Her cries were deafening, his power twisting pain and pleasure in her until she knew no more. Chocolate eyes gazed at him, her horror stamped there indelibly as he then began to paint the stone of the courtyard with her
blood. In the language of the land, he described her fall from grace, her betrayal of her gods and in the end her betrayal of her Demon Lover.
Wiping his hands in her hair, he kissed her lips and stole her soul as it escaped her ruined body. His steps were loud in the courtyard until he passed the arch, then in the shadows again he stalked more quietly. If he felt the eyes on him there, he did not pause in his random path. There were other betrayals to repay this night.
At the waters I dwell
The wares are still whispering
Ancient lullabies
I die…
While our mystic brothers still seek
::The eyes that he felt upon him were of the sole witness to his actions. A dangerous course she had entered upon to fulfill her promise, and a spark of inspiration lit the chambers of her mind. She would watch Mune and she would make a sort of journal of what he did, a gallery of horrors and
oddities. She would paint what he did to make a permanent record of his moves and then one late night she would present them all to him. That would be a night that she felt would be one to remember. Could she control his wrath should he be angered with it? Ocean deep violet blue eyes gazed down at her petite hands, her artist's hands. They were slim and perfect and looked so gentle. But within them lay the outlet of her vampiric strength as
well as the key to her Art. The same hands that could hold a brush that could paint details on a porcelain cup could bend steel or lift over a ton. The same hands that could comfort a small child could rip into a Garou and come back holding flesh.
Her hands were a perfect cipher for the woman herself. Infinite tenderness balanced against infinite violence, the steel hand encased in velvet glove. They lifted to push through perfect golden ringlets as her pale perfect face looked up at the crescent moon above the scene of Mune's slaughter of the Mother Superior. This was but one horror that she had seen while following Mune, and there were sure to be others. The memory was indelible and
would serve to remind her how dangerous was this demon she followed for the sake of a promise. She took a small vial from her cloak pocket, carefully twitching the edges of it so that none of the gore would stain the pure whiteness of her garment, and filled it with the seeping vitae of the nun. This would be mixed with the paint when she put this scene to canvas, making it far more a testimony to what was done that perhaps Mune would expect.
Part of her felt he would appreciate it.
She inhaled shakily, looking at the moon again.
The scent of vitae here was simply too strong, it had whetted the Beast and Mina could feel her control slipping. Her teeth ached in her mouth, and she whirled as she ran from the abattoir scene into the more clean darkness of this night. Someone dressed all in white should not be able to move so silently and as unnoticed as she but then most did not have her experience or skill. Later that night
she would find a brutal sort of man, her favorite prey ... and teach him a lesson he would not live to use. Simply because one looks helpless and small does not mean that one is an easy target.::
Under your command I will obey
In my vision
You are the embodiment of pure freedom
But through my eyes you are made of stone
