Her hands flew over the satin of her crimson dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. She looked up at her own reflection, barely recognizing her own face. The black hair that now framed her face was so alien, even after all those years of being the devil's mistress.
(Angel)
She had laughed at the title when she had first had it hurled it at her. Now she used it, mocking herself. She missed it sometimes, the laughter, but the need, the influence of him was greater. It went much beyond the desire for petty teasing, people who didn't stand paralysied by her, by what her master could do, to them, to their families, warmth.
(Fallen Angel)
She walked down the ornate stairs, her carefully
manicured fingers gliding along the varnished wood. She smiled an ironic smile at the
rat-master's stumbeling attempt at a galant greeting, and nodded, acknowledging the
proud, cloaked figures standing in an icy cluster near the stairs, awaiting their commander's
return. They dissaproved of her, the weakness of taking a mate who's family was so tainted,
not in blood, in belief, afraid of the entracement she supposedly had over him. She smiled again,
never a smile of joy, but one of the pleasure knowing the secrets which would
cause many to be crippled in the lord's eyes, to be maimed by their lord's hand. She clutched to
those tiny threads of power, she had learned never to bare her soul, even to the one who
held it in his palm.
(I'll save you)
He had arrived, the one they anticipated with a mixture of dread and longing. He did not stride
to her side, dissention in the ranks she was not worth. Instead he stood by his most loyal,
the ones that believed, not the ones who jumped to him like a rat on a sinking ship, the ones
that had clung to the hope of his renewal for long, bitter years until the drops of blood had
pooled.
(Take my hand)
She never listened to the reports of torture, pillage, rape, only when the rebellion slid itself into the debate her ears sharpened, her eyes focused on his red-blood eyes. He sensed it, he would not have tolerated it if he wasn't certain he owned all of her. She smiled again. His confidence had blinded his suspicion, the perpetual reports of victory lulling him into the velvety sheets of decadence. Part of her lingered in a hidden safehouse with the boy with emerald eyes, fighting a for the loosing side, for a prophecy had it not been uttered love would have existed in her world, love for litle red haired children with eyes like a pickled toads.
(You can't save me)
(Save me)
(save)
(me)
R/R please