Hello All! A special thanks to all my reviewers so far. Here's the latest Installment...I had to take a few days off from writing but I now have a clear idea of where the story is headed. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you will let me know.
Warm Regards,
Natasha
Sacrificial Lamb
Chapter 6
After Dinner, after mints and coffee, which she laps from a saucer on the floor, After an afternoon that shaped up much more delightfully that I had ever expected, I feel like a night out.
"Alexandra, why don't you clear."
She rises with her saucer and gathers up my cup and plate. I watch her move until she disappears in a whisper of gray silk. Her carriage could be better. She could learn proper elocution, though I must say considering her background she has progressed impressively under her own tutelage. I'm half tempted to chisel out of her a glorious incarnation of womanhood, a fit consort, a Pygmalion plaything to while away lonely evenings. For a moment I allow my mind to calculate the infinite possibilities, the concept of an amusing creature to be tucked away until needed, the idea of an affectionate little wraith to torment or coddle as the mood strikes me. It would be easy enough, just a little reprogramming, a few weeks of real work, then the occasional little tweak to perfect her. I reign in my revere...the matter warrants further consideration, but now is not the time. Now, I dress for the evening entertainments.
The spacious walk-in closet is lined with several well-appointed suits and dress shirts. I select a black tuxedo with clean, classic lines, and a crisp white shirt with French cuffs. Opening my leather valet, I rummage through my cuff link collection, and decide upon sterling silver with delicate gray marble inlay. They'll match her dress nicely. I wonder if she'll notice.
I glance at myself in the mirror, and straighten my cuffs slightly before exiting the room and moving down the hall. In her room, I reach for her make-up bag and sit on the edge of her bed. Funny, I have come to think of it as her room, though she has yet to spend a night in it. The corners of my lips turn up in a faint smile. The supposition is very telling. Leaning back, I bark down the hallway.
"Alexandra!"
I can hear the clink of a dropped cup, the sound of it shattering as it falls from her startled hands. Will she pause to clean it up, or immediately hearken to the summons? I hear rapid footfalls, and am assured she has opted for the latter. There will be time later to punish her for her nonexistent crime. I do so love the sound of shattering china. It never quite looses its effect.
She appears at the doorway, and stops at the threshold. I hook a finger towards her and beckon her closer. She stops at the foot of the bed, facing me.
"Kneel."
She does so, and I lean forward with the small silver clutch. Silver is her color scheme. The frosty elegance suits her. I unzip the bag, and draw out a few items.
"I purchased this make-up for you, so that you would use it, and yet you've barely cracked the seals on half the items in this bag."
She looks down, and stays silent. It is a humble and pretty reaction.
"Close your eyes, and raise your chin."
She does so. I'm momentarily tempted to bite through her lips, but instead I run the applicator over the gray cake of eye shadow, and apply it to her lower lids. There's a momentary flinch as the brush meets her eye. I choose to ignore it. She has already proven her bravery; I can forgive her one little flinch, surely. I lay the pigment upon her other eye, then draw darker gray eyeliner from its sheath.
"Hold Still."
I cup my fingers around her chin, and hold her firmly. I drag the pencil over her lash line, and coat the delicate fronds with one coat of black mascara. Lovely. Still cupping her chin, I study her closed eyes, then lean in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. When I pull back from her, her eyes are wide open, liquid and bright, emotion swimming in their murky depths.
"I don't recall telling you to open your eyes."
She looks down in shame. I take her by the shoulders and bring her to her feet, her reflection gazing back at her from the mirror.
"Now that is how a woman should look."
I leave her there to contemplate her reflection, as I open the closet and retrieve the black velvet cape. Returning to her, I drape it across her shoulders and fasten it shut about her neck. Pulling the cowl over her head, I marvel at the richness of the fabric, the smooth, resilient grain. I feel the urge to crush it about her throat, feeling the fabric crumble as her larynx snaps under my fingers. I could relish those sensations for hours. It's a pity how fragile the human form is.
I take her arm and guide her out of her room. The garage is inhabited by a sleek black jaguar. I open the passenger side for her and take her hand to help her in. Settling in behind the wheel, I smile, as I pull the jaguar out.
"Where are we going?"
They are the first words I've heard out of her since dinner.
"You mustn't ask. It spoils the surprise."
**********************************************
Clarice Starling has dried her body and dried her tears, and dressed simply in a modest black cocktail dress. She has tied her hair back on the sides, brushed a hint of rouge over her cheekbones, and bronzed her lips and eyes with a soft copper glaze. The effect is warming, although she feels no warmth in her heart when faced with the prospect of the next few hours. Being a decoy does not suit her. It is the weakest form of hunting, based not on skill but on trickery and deceptions. Words like this turn her stomach.
She slips on low, sensible pumps, and reaches for her handbag. The flash of her copper hair catches her eye in the mirror. She regards herself a moment, her eyes trailing over her face and body. She knows she is not unattractive. She knows she can pass for a woman of quality in the public's eye. And yet, whenever she attends one of these events, with the express purpose of tracking down a serial killer who is no doubt half way around the world in a paradise or hell of his own making, she can't help feeling like a rube lost in the shuffle. Shrugging off the feeling, she checks her purse for her ticket, and locks the hotel room behind her.
Warm Regards,
Natasha
Sacrificial Lamb
Chapter 6
After Dinner, after mints and coffee, which she laps from a saucer on the floor, After an afternoon that shaped up much more delightfully that I had ever expected, I feel like a night out.
"Alexandra, why don't you clear."
She rises with her saucer and gathers up my cup and plate. I watch her move until she disappears in a whisper of gray silk. Her carriage could be better. She could learn proper elocution, though I must say considering her background she has progressed impressively under her own tutelage. I'm half tempted to chisel out of her a glorious incarnation of womanhood, a fit consort, a Pygmalion plaything to while away lonely evenings. For a moment I allow my mind to calculate the infinite possibilities, the concept of an amusing creature to be tucked away until needed, the idea of an affectionate little wraith to torment or coddle as the mood strikes me. It would be easy enough, just a little reprogramming, a few weeks of real work, then the occasional little tweak to perfect her. I reign in my revere...the matter warrants further consideration, but now is not the time. Now, I dress for the evening entertainments.
The spacious walk-in closet is lined with several well-appointed suits and dress shirts. I select a black tuxedo with clean, classic lines, and a crisp white shirt with French cuffs. Opening my leather valet, I rummage through my cuff link collection, and decide upon sterling silver with delicate gray marble inlay. They'll match her dress nicely. I wonder if she'll notice.
I glance at myself in the mirror, and straighten my cuffs slightly before exiting the room and moving down the hall. In her room, I reach for her make-up bag and sit on the edge of her bed. Funny, I have come to think of it as her room, though she has yet to spend a night in it. The corners of my lips turn up in a faint smile. The supposition is very telling. Leaning back, I bark down the hallway.
"Alexandra!"
I can hear the clink of a dropped cup, the sound of it shattering as it falls from her startled hands. Will she pause to clean it up, or immediately hearken to the summons? I hear rapid footfalls, and am assured she has opted for the latter. There will be time later to punish her for her nonexistent crime. I do so love the sound of shattering china. It never quite looses its effect.
She appears at the doorway, and stops at the threshold. I hook a finger towards her and beckon her closer. She stops at the foot of the bed, facing me.
"Kneel."
She does so, and I lean forward with the small silver clutch. Silver is her color scheme. The frosty elegance suits her. I unzip the bag, and draw out a few items.
"I purchased this make-up for you, so that you would use it, and yet you've barely cracked the seals on half the items in this bag."
She looks down, and stays silent. It is a humble and pretty reaction.
"Close your eyes, and raise your chin."
She does so. I'm momentarily tempted to bite through her lips, but instead I run the applicator over the gray cake of eye shadow, and apply it to her lower lids. There's a momentary flinch as the brush meets her eye. I choose to ignore it. She has already proven her bravery; I can forgive her one little flinch, surely. I lay the pigment upon her other eye, then draw darker gray eyeliner from its sheath.
"Hold Still."
I cup my fingers around her chin, and hold her firmly. I drag the pencil over her lash line, and coat the delicate fronds with one coat of black mascara. Lovely. Still cupping her chin, I study her closed eyes, then lean in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. When I pull back from her, her eyes are wide open, liquid and bright, emotion swimming in their murky depths.
"I don't recall telling you to open your eyes."
She looks down in shame. I take her by the shoulders and bring her to her feet, her reflection gazing back at her from the mirror.
"Now that is how a woman should look."
I leave her there to contemplate her reflection, as I open the closet and retrieve the black velvet cape. Returning to her, I drape it across her shoulders and fasten it shut about her neck. Pulling the cowl over her head, I marvel at the richness of the fabric, the smooth, resilient grain. I feel the urge to crush it about her throat, feeling the fabric crumble as her larynx snaps under my fingers. I could relish those sensations for hours. It's a pity how fragile the human form is.
I take her arm and guide her out of her room. The garage is inhabited by a sleek black jaguar. I open the passenger side for her and take her hand to help her in. Settling in behind the wheel, I smile, as I pull the jaguar out.
"Where are we going?"
They are the first words I've heard out of her since dinner.
"You mustn't ask. It spoils the surprise."
**********************************************
Clarice Starling has dried her body and dried her tears, and dressed simply in a modest black cocktail dress. She has tied her hair back on the sides, brushed a hint of rouge over her cheekbones, and bronzed her lips and eyes with a soft copper glaze. The effect is warming, although she feels no warmth in her heart when faced with the prospect of the next few hours. Being a decoy does not suit her. It is the weakest form of hunting, based not on skill but on trickery and deceptions. Words like this turn her stomach.
She slips on low, sensible pumps, and reaches for her handbag. The flash of her copper hair catches her eye in the mirror. She regards herself a moment, her eyes trailing over her face and body. She knows she is not unattractive. She knows she can pass for a woman of quality in the public's eye. And yet, whenever she attends one of these events, with the express purpose of tracking down a serial killer who is no doubt half way around the world in a paradise or hell of his own making, she can't help feeling like a rube lost in the shuffle. Shrugging off the feeling, she checks her purse for her ticket, and locks the hotel room behind her.