Prologue

A Chapter by songstress

In the language of fleurs, you are my withered white rose. Transient and out of reach. Yet, if I had things my way I’d show you hues of red passionate adoration… But, it seems unjust to paint you red.

Close your eyes, and letting gray droplets fall upon on pale dry flesh, it yields to pain... But the pain reminds you that you are alive...

Then she looks down seeing not dry white bark about to break from stress, but pale olive flesh. Firm in its youth, yet soft. Suddenly, black eyes flash before a silver, rose vined mirror. Therein lies twin pools which echo out a haggardness that's been long torn by drought, famine, and war.... She can't breathe, can't muster movement, nor summon any will of her own to act. Yet, within the mirror, there lies a spark in her eyes, deep, violent and unyielding. Then the mirror cracks.

There are pearl colored claws lain upon it, and crimson rivers dancing down pale flesh. At that point, the eyes of the beast, her eyes closed... Letting out a heavy sigh, she brings her wound to drawn fangs, allowing them to glance over soft skin. Almost as if testing to see how far she can go. Will pressing into the wound, allow her to forget sinful thoughts?

Suddenly, as if summoned back, there runs the sound of rushing water. And as the sound of it beats within her mind, the gray rain follows the tempo. Slowly, sucking in a breath, the world goes sepia, and the pain numbs... There's a cold here, except in the song of water, and a cherub’s song. Then she walks, out of the room, her hair fine tendrils like silver vines fans out searching. Neigh there's nothing here, no meaning stop it...stop the need. But the song, like silver bells within black oblivion calls...

Finally, she, the beast, came upon a loveliness that was irrevocably immaculate. A doll of petite stature, with a paler to rival pure ivory. Eyes, of blue like gray storm clouds, bringing fourth images of gentle blue waves cresting white shores. Then there are the long thin legs decorated in silver vines, which touch upon white bejeweled toes. At which point, the figure decided to tilt her head. Of course not to acknowledge, the young woman behind her. Yet, she can’t help but stare at her, the figure. The figure’s chestnut locks fall upon an undeveloped chest, yet they existed--twin rubies placed delicately within cream fading out subtly into pale pink. Gently, wings unfold, or at least a halo of white capes her. Warmth from the shower floods. And unhurriedly, and painfully, twin eyes look up. Sapphire now they dance in light. She then licks her lips clumsily, coating the rose pale- lips in a thin veil of nectar. Unexpectedly, she calls fourth without stretched arms.

And the beast, wants to swoop in and embrace her. Make real that this warmth be not temporal. Instead she pulls behind her a black towel, and begins to dry off the figure. She looks up with a thin flush from heat, while the beast’s hair gently locks unto her small wrist. Almost as if echoing the need to suck in the warmth. To quiet the war…and the figure slips. But, the mistress, if only temporarily human, was prepared; however, the beast wasn't. For as they clinged unto the figure. The beast, licked their lips glancing, the jaggedness of her fangs. Soon after licking them, the fangs sank down, they sucked in the sweet taste of rose. She, the mistress, closed her eyes tight in denial, thinking no, no, no, I can't. Yet, her breathing was jagged, her heart breaking all the glass walls she resided within, and most of all, her tears unveiled her heart. But, her humanity, her arms yielded. She let go...

Then the figure fell back. She touched her lips with pearl painted fingers, glanced down abashed, and looked up. Now, her eyes were alight, with her bewilderment. Pale-rose like lips parted, and wind filled the space disturbing the sepia world.

"aunty, I love you," she whispered.

And then, there was a piercing howl, through the gray world.