From: angelfyres@aol.com (AngelFyres)
Date: 13 Oct 1998 05:52:43 EDT
~Roses are red.....~
The tune began again, a rhyme that the deep-timbred voice insisted upon singing, like a lullaby. His voice was beautiful, there was-even with the prior knowledge of what came next- denying that fact. The empty warehouse echoed with the lingering notes, hanging on the rafters were the longings for the next notes to begin.
Down beneath the rafters, down to where the shadows pooled in puddles of night, shattered only by slivers of light from the torches that flickered weakly through the broken windows, she waited. With bated breath, those longings generated by her, unconsciously, she called to him. Unwittingly from a place of naivety she thought lost to her by her experiences, she cried out to him in a manner that captured his attentions as he now held hers with
his song.
~And violets are blue....~
She lifted her chin away from her knees, her arms still clinging about her legs. She shivered, not from the bite of wintery air, but from a fear that she couldn't explain and at the time, didn't want to try. Eyes black as smooth onyx stared intently across the rubble and trash that lay shrewn upon the floor of the abandoned building; abandoned much like herself as he approached, cloaked in shadow.
~Honey is sweet, but not as sweet as you....~
A voice in her mind screamed for her to turn away, run away, fast, but it couldn't make itself heard above the singing of this nightengale. His voice permeated ever fiber of her soul and pinned her immobile against the rough wooden wall, waiting only for him.
He stepped closer and her ears registered the quickly drawn breath she took; his physical appearance surpassed the stunning beauty of his voice. Enraptured, she did nothing as silent footsteps brought him closer; her gaze drifting over the cascade of his dark lockes, that fell to his shoulders, the sharp curves of his face and back to his eyes which in the dim light seemed to sparkle with an inner fire.
* * *
She awoke with a start, confused and disoriented; a common occurance when you're a vagabond. The sensation of her hands slipping into his as he pulled her from the floor to face him lingered on her flesh and she wiped her hands furiously down the front of her jeans. Remembering vaguely where it was she holed up for the night calmed her nerves down a little.
She remained sitting up, wrapping her arms around her knees and setting her chin down in the crook of her elbow. That damn rhyme still dancing in her thoughts, always... always, no matter how far she went, it never failed to cross the distances with her.
((Authors' note: This is the beginning of a story that will tie into the Arena, please be patient :-) ))
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From: angelfyres@aol.com (AngelFyres)
Date: 09 Nov 1998 20:20:22 EST
Every now and again these moods would descend on me. Couldn't quite explain the precise emotions that built the black clouds, just that they appeared and that it took a damn bright ray of sunshine to pierce them once they gathered.
There was an ironic thought.
Her hair scattered across the floor, she had cut it all off. It felt like a cleansing, a purging of something important to her. All in all, nothing felt like anything. She placed the dagger she had used to shave her scalp down on the edge of the sink, staring at her face in the mirror. She wasn't ugly, her features were dark; her eyes, hair, her complexion. Some had called her appearance exotic, but she attributed that to the distances she
traveled and the changes she had endured from the virus.
It's in the eyes. They never let the light out, always draining, seeking, destroying. Blue eyes, should have been born with blue eyes. Eyes that mirror the sky at noon, not midnight. His eyes, damn everything, I have eyes like his.
When I close my eyes, I see his face. When I stop to think, it's his voice that fills my mind. When I'm alone, it's the thought of him close that makes my blood runs cold, if it could run colder than usual.
Her hands rose to skim over her head, the blade hadn't taken the hair off smoothly. Beneath her sensitive fingertips she could feel patches of infinitely short hair, she might let it grow back a bit, not much though.
"Not so bad.", her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.
Then it changed. The image in the mirror, not by much, but different none the less. It was small thing, the candle behind her on the shelf dimmed in the reflection, nearly seeming to have gone out completely. She didn't bother to glance over her shoulder, Angel knew it still burned as brightly. There was something, or someone, that muted it, just like he muted the colors for his pleasure.
He won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity....
The litany or prayer spilled from her thoughts to her lips. She could see the outline of his form in the reflection, standing behind her looking over her intently.
"He won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity...", her tone growing more insistant.
Look away! Look away, he'll find you. I'm not ready to face him again, not yet, just a little more time.
It was too late, she could see the smile that formed upon those perfect lips. He knew where she was and as the image dissipated she knew he would come.
Date: 09 Nov 1998 20:20:22 EST
Every now and again these moods would descend on me. Couldn't quite explain the precise emotions that built the black clouds, just that they appeared and that it took a damn bright ray of sunshine to pierce them once they gathered.
There was an ironic thought.
Her hair scattered across the floor, she had cut it all off. It felt like a cleansing, a purging of something important to her. All in all, nothing felt like anything. She placed the dagger she had used to shave her scalp down on the edge of the sink, staring at her face in the mirror. She wasn't ugly, her features were dark; her eyes, hair, her complexion. Some had called her appearance exotic, but she attributed that to the distances she
traveled and the changes she had endured from the virus.
It's in the eyes. They never let the light out, always draining, seeking, destroying. Blue eyes, should have been born with blue eyes. Eyes that mirror the sky at noon, not midnight. His eyes, damn everything, I have eyes like his.
When I close my eyes, I see his face. When I stop to think, it's his voice that fills my mind. When I'm alone, it's the thought of him close that makes my blood runs cold, if it could run colder than usual.
Her hands rose to skim over her head, the blade hadn't taken the hair off smoothly. Beneath her sensitive fingertips she could feel patches of infinitely short hair, she might let it grow back a bit, not much though.
"Not so bad.", her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.
Then it changed. The image in the mirror, not by much, but different none the less. It was small thing, the candle behind her on the shelf dimmed in the reflection, nearly seeming to have gone out completely. She didn't bother to glance over her shoulder, Angel knew it still burned as brightly. There was something, or someone, that muted it, just like he muted the colors for his pleasure.
He won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity....
The litany or prayer spilled from her thoughts to her lips. She could see the outline of his form in the reflection, standing behind her looking over her intently.
"He won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity... he won't have my sanity...", her tone growing more insistant.
Look away! Look away, he'll find you. I'm not ready to face him again, not yet, just a little more time.
It was too late, she could see the smile that formed upon those perfect lips. He knew where she was and as the image dissipated she knew he would come.