HIS MUSE
this is a darker take on the conventional lolita stories;
in its own right the original "lolita" by vladimir nabokov was eerie more than anything.
of course, the general idea of lolita is nabokov's property, i'm only twisting it in my own way.
enjoy, and thank you for reading if you do.
WARNING: this story is intended for adult audiences. this story is filled with mature content - read at your own risk.
i don't condone rape, sexual abuse, or any other forms of abuse nor do i romanticise them. to deal with my own traumas, i make them into stories.
the updates for this story will depend on my own schedule, but if it attracts readers etc then that in itself will be motivating and will probably push the story further.
The epitome of my heart
Perhaps it was the way she would tuck her chestnut colored hair behind her ears.
Or perhaps it was just the way she would smile when she would see me.
Either way, it sort of bothered me.
She made my mind go crazy but at the same time was able to bring me the peace.
She was the epitome of light.
The epitome of art.
The very epitome of my heart.
Perhaps I was just obsessed with her.
Obsessed with her gentle, soft skin,
her bright green eyes or even with her pink heart-shaped lips.
But at least this obsession served the purpose.
The purpose of being my muse.
The purpose of being Mine.
Carlisle Cullen, 2014
xxx
Everything was a blur with Isabella Swan.
Everything about her seemed eerily twisted, and turned, and reversed – so that she left you perplexed and wanting to go after her each time she left. Yet she was unreachable, placing cold distance between herself and the rest of the world so that those that wanted to come closer had to walk on paths of ice. But in the end, no one made it. And so she sat on a lonely throne, where her crown was made of unpleasant, disturbing memories.
She wore her sin as if it were her skin.
And when we love our sin, then we are damned indeed.
Isabella was seventeen, and rather than a fresh, innocent appearance, she had a sinister glow. Her pale skin belonged in the pages of Gothic novels, as did her delicate yet ghostly voice. Isabella was cunning, and yet on the surface she appeared harmless.
Her mother thought differently.
After all, she'd been proven otherwise.
She forced the girl to go to a Christian school until she was fifteen and had sex with a pastor. The pastor was damned, shamed, and condemned away from the isolated town… And Isabella was seen as the victim. Her mother was certain that the girl used her wicked ways to seduce the good man. There was no question about it.
And then she made sure to homeschool Isabella , but every 6 months the tutors – even the women – left off. They told her mother of Isabella's perverted manners; how she would spread her legs on the desk and crawl onto the lap of whichever tutor she had… Isabella was a horrible, sickening young thing.
But the doctors could see nothing wrong with her.
Then she became a student of Christian school in a small town near Washington. Her mother "fell in love" with a man whom she met at one of those pilgrimage the Church organized every now and then, so they moved together at the man's house. (Not that her mother wanted to bring her along, but she was forced because otherwise it would have been a sin).
And unlike her mother, Isabella loved to sin.
It was amusing.
She turned seventeen, finally, and appeared to calm down. Perhaps puberty worked with Isabella differently – rather than make her aware of her sexuality and make her curious about the human body… Her sexuality possessed her, and she had somehow been submerged in the obscure depths of sin.
But soon enough she would sin again.
And this time, she will gladly play the game till the end.
hi, thanks for reading.
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thank you ^~^ xxo.