Editor's Note: Though based on the clans, coteries, and caste system of the White Wolf "Vampire" rpguniverse, these characters are wholly and fully mine so...please don't steal them. Thank you!
He didn't want to wake. If he did, it would mean it was sundown. It would mean she would return. It would mean the pain would return. He shrugged a bit to relieve the pain in his arms; they had been chained above his head all day, left in the position she had finished with him in. He was stiff from sitting on the stone floor, back straight against the wall all day long.
His lips moved in silent prayer that she wouldn't come; that, tonight, she would slake her desire elsewhere. But it was not to be.
The cell door opened and she stood there, silhouetted against the lights from the hallway. "Hello, my prince..." Her voice echoed off the walls of the room.
He did not reply but felt his heartbeat speed up as she stepped into the room, carrying a red leather case and setting it on the table. "Please, mistress..." he began but she shushed him, placing a slender finger to her lips.
"Phillip, dear, what have I told you?" she asked, her voice barely above the sound of a whisper.
This lady Ventrue was painfully beautiful. Her perfect features framed by long, abundant, blue-black hair, her undead paleness well became her porcelain stature. Graceful eyes and a small, pretty mouth accentuated her Asian features, her limbs supple and beautiful in their every movement. Her hands fluttered like doves and her tiny feet were silent upon the stone floor. She wore a deep green linen kimono and smiled gently as she opened the case.
"What would you suggest tonight, Phillip, dear? Oh, I think I know..." She stepped over to a case that stood against the wall, opening it with a flourish. Reaching within, she drew out a long slender instrument, about as long as a four foot dowel rod. But this had a leather handle and the rest of the instrument consisted of a double-edged slender blade, much like what one would find hidden in the sheath of a cane. The tip was so perfect that one could have written on a piece of paper with it. And writing was just what she intended to do.
She uttered some words in Chinese and two men rushed in, unlocked Phillip's chains, pulling him to lie facedown on the floor.
"No, Lady Tsu! Please! I beg of you!" Phillip's cries echoed around the room but he was soon locked into place and Tsu knelt next to him for a moment, running her fingers through his hair.
"Shhhhhhh, dear boy," she crooned, "What have I told you?"
Phillip's eyes glassed over slightly. "I am yours..."
"And?"
"...to do with as you wish."
"Yes, boy. Or would you rather die?" Her fingers tangled in his hair to yank his head back hard.
"N—no, my lady!" Phillip managed to stutter.
Tsu smiled deeply and let his head fall again, standing. "I thought not. Now, hold very still."
The pain was unbelievable! She had laced the blade with a compound that prevented the blood from clotting so that her work remained bright and red as she drew on his back, like a calligrapher drawing in sand. She held the sleeve of her kimono with her off hand so as to not let it brush her work and smear it.
First, the character for "fate". She drew in fluid bold strokes, leaving lines that glowed with the brightness of fresh blood and she smiled at Phillip's screams and cries, savoring them as they bounced off the walls of the cell. When she was done, Tsu stood back and admired her work for a moment before lowering to her knees and drinking deeply of the glowing red and then sealing the wounds.
Only to begin again.