Four women. One whom would take the lives of two of them to protect the
ones she loved- and one I would learn to truly love.
She was different. She had not the impossible beauty of my brides-Aleera made it her sadistic responsibility to remind her of that. But she did not have Verona's simpering tendencies, nor did she have Aleera's and Marishka's vindictive and selfish jealousy either. To give them credit, they too had their virtues and their uses.
Marishka was a highly intelligent, brave (read:reckless) and very determined woman who refused to let anything get in the way of her goals. She was the fighter.
Verona -her falsely innocent beauty lured so many unsuspecting fools to their doom. Her undying loyalty to me was one of the reasons why she was my favorite. She was the smartest of all my brides.
And yes...Aleera..she hated Humanity, like me-and in truth, both of us were at one with our delight in Evil. Alas, she was far from bright and far from brave. And, her constant showering of false praises which grew fat and fulsome to my ears irritated me to no end.She? Merely self-serving baggage.
Last but not least...HER. SHE, with HER odd taste in men's attire, HER unusual love in the Supernatural and in weaponry, HER sharp quick-fire wit and tongue and HER fighter spirit was very different from any of my brides. I took HERunder my wing when SHE was 17. My brides took an instant dislike to HER. Marishka gave HER the cold shoulder while Aleera taunted HER about not being as lovely as they were. Ironically, HER plainness enhanced HER unorthodox beauty only few could see. Verona ignored HER whenever their paths crossed. What was sad was that SHE didn't mind. Loneliness apparently dominated HER. It was not uncommon to see HER alone in the library with a book, wearing pants and a ruffled blouse. But the pain in HER eyes was undeniable. It was always there.
By the Dark Gods, HER eyes were very much like mine. They were of lonely Mahagony locked within apparently cold Midnight doors. Her shoulder-length hair, ochre-streaked raven, screamed to have my hands run through them. HER lips, neither sensuous nor sneering-but carved into a brooding expression- or curved into an occasional smile. HER flawless fair skin-it ran in HER family - made screaming contrasts with HER dark, unusual attire. HER tapered fingers would be often wrapped around a quill pen, poised upon some parchment, thinking what else to write. Otherwise, around a sword.
SHE did not fear me-unlike the others. Growing up with a rather domineering father had probably taught HER that.
SHE opened my eyes and quelled the devilish lust-that only affection I had for my brides-within. SHE made me feel...alive.
SHE made me feel jealousy when she gave her heart to a werewolf-my bane and foe.
SHE made me remember laughter-and the very incident that caused me to be what I was...and pain.
SHE dared to stand up for what she believed in. SHE dared to challenge me.
SHE made me lend a hand to my brides' deaths-I literally placed the swords in HER hand-and SHE killed Verona and Aleera-just like that. SHE did it-not for HERSELF, nor for me...but to protect the ones SHE cared for. SHE may have darkness within HER, but cross HERor the ones SHE cared for-there would be Hell to pay.
And SHE was not afraid of seeing me in my...other form. After Velkan and Gabriel had killed me, SHE stayed behind-and wept. For me. She took my bleeding face in HER hands-I didn't want HER to. I didn't want HER to dirty HER pure hands...Then, SHE kissed me.
Oh Sweetness...SHE kissed me...SHE kissed my rotting, bleeding mouth. SHE did not want me to die thinking that no one ever loved me- even in the smallest amount. Then, I died, the taste of HER lips on mine the last thing I knew...
88888888
That was many years ago. I returned, both Satan and God not wishing to have me. I look away from the window and watch HER reading on the parapet nearby. SHE wears a white dress and HER now waist length hair wraps round HER neck like silky raven tendrils. I had sired HER again. I wonder now what SHE is to me. Marishka was the brave one, Verona the smart one and Aleera the vicious one. That made HER...the enigmatic one. MY Shirra. MY soulmate., our bonds rooted in darkness.
SHE looks up from HER book and tilts HER head to look at me in that damnably adorable way of HERS.
"What are you staring at?"
"Can't I admire my own wife?"
SHE smiles wryly. Before SHE can reply, I pull HER off the parapet and push HER against the wall. I capture HER mouth at once. HER hair falls in disarray. SHE deepens the kiss as I tear in frustration at the many layers of cloth that separate HER form from my fingers. SHE entwines HER fingers round my hair. My mouth finds her soft bosom, then her waist, her legs - all well toned from hours of fencing -...
SHE throws HER head back and cries out my name over and over again as SHE reaches HER peak. SHE acts so innocently-for an angel of darkness. Pulling a cloak over us both, we leave for our coffin. Before I close the lid, I whisper,
"I love you, my angel of darkness..."
(Sorry if This Sucks..First Time writing a character study of sorts...)
She was different. She had not the impossible beauty of my brides-Aleera made it her sadistic responsibility to remind her of that. But she did not have Verona's simpering tendencies, nor did she have Aleera's and Marishka's vindictive and selfish jealousy either. To give them credit, they too had their virtues and their uses.
Marishka was a highly intelligent, brave (read:reckless) and very determined woman who refused to let anything get in the way of her goals. She was the fighter.
Verona -her falsely innocent beauty lured so many unsuspecting fools to their doom. Her undying loyalty to me was one of the reasons why she was my favorite. She was the smartest of all my brides.
And yes...Aleera..she hated Humanity, like me-and in truth, both of us were at one with our delight in Evil. Alas, she was far from bright and far from brave. And, her constant showering of false praises which grew fat and fulsome to my ears irritated me to no end.She? Merely self-serving baggage.
Last but not least...HER. SHE, with HER odd taste in men's attire, HER unusual love in the Supernatural and in weaponry, HER sharp quick-fire wit and tongue and HER fighter spirit was very different from any of my brides. I took HERunder my wing when SHE was 17. My brides took an instant dislike to HER. Marishka gave HER the cold shoulder while Aleera taunted HER about not being as lovely as they were. Ironically, HER plainness enhanced HER unorthodox beauty only few could see. Verona ignored HER whenever their paths crossed. What was sad was that SHE didn't mind. Loneliness apparently dominated HER. It was not uncommon to see HER alone in the library with a book, wearing pants and a ruffled blouse. But the pain in HER eyes was undeniable. It was always there.
By the Dark Gods, HER eyes were very much like mine. They were of lonely Mahagony locked within apparently cold Midnight doors. Her shoulder-length hair, ochre-streaked raven, screamed to have my hands run through them. HER lips, neither sensuous nor sneering-but carved into a brooding expression- or curved into an occasional smile. HER flawless fair skin-it ran in HER family - made screaming contrasts with HER dark, unusual attire. HER tapered fingers would be often wrapped around a quill pen, poised upon some parchment, thinking what else to write. Otherwise, around a sword.
SHE did not fear me-unlike the others. Growing up with a rather domineering father had probably taught HER that.
SHE opened my eyes and quelled the devilish lust-that only affection I had for my brides-within. SHE made me feel...alive.
SHE made me feel jealousy when she gave her heart to a werewolf-my bane and foe.
SHE made me remember laughter-and the very incident that caused me to be what I was...and pain.
SHE dared to stand up for what she believed in. SHE dared to challenge me.
SHE made me lend a hand to my brides' deaths-I literally placed the swords in HER hand-and SHE killed Verona and Aleera-just like that. SHE did it-not for HERSELF, nor for me...but to protect the ones SHE cared for. SHE may have darkness within HER, but cross HERor the ones SHE cared for-there would be Hell to pay.
And SHE was not afraid of seeing me in my...other form. After Velkan and Gabriel had killed me, SHE stayed behind-and wept. For me. She took my bleeding face in HER hands-I didn't want HER to. I didn't want HER to dirty HER pure hands...Then, SHE kissed me.
Oh Sweetness...SHE kissed me...SHE kissed my rotting, bleeding mouth. SHE did not want me to die thinking that no one ever loved me- even in the smallest amount. Then, I died, the taste of HER lips on mine the last thing I knew...
88888888
That was many years ago. I returned, both Satan and God not wishing to have me. I look away from the window and watch HER reading on the parapet nearby. SHE wears a white dress and HER now waist length hair wraps round HER neck like silky raven tendrils. I had sired HER again. I wonder now what SHE is to me. Marishka was the brave one, Verona the smart one and Aleera the vicious one. That made HER...the enigmatic one. MY Shirra. MY soulmate., our bonds rooted in darkness.
SHE looks up from HER book and tilts HER head to look at me in that damnably adorable way of HERS.
"What are you staring at?"
"Can't I admire my own wife?"
SHE smiles wryly. Before SHE can reply, I pull HER off the parapet and push HER against the wall. I capture HER mouth at once. HER hair falls in disarray. SHE deepens the kiss as I tear in frustration at the many layers of cloth that separate HER form from my fingers. SHE entwines HER fingers round my hair. My mouth finds her soft bosom, then her waist, her legs - all well toned from hours of fencing -...
SHE throws HER head back and cries out my name over and over again as SHE reaches HER peak. SHE acts so innocently-for an angel of darkness. Pulling a cloak over us both, we leave for our coffin. Before I close the lid, I whisper,
"I love you, my angel of darkness..."
(Sorry if This Sucks..First Time writing a character study of sorts...)