Dracula waited outside the door of his fledgling's room with the patience
of a saint and the excitement of a child on Christmas Day : Today was the
day she was wearing a dress.
Considering the fact that she seldom wore dresses, that WAS a big deal. Especially since she HATED corsets. ("Whoever invented these HATE women!" She had raved and ranted once.)
He looked carefully at his pocket watch. Any moment now...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
"Oh, Sweet God, HOW CAN ANYONE WEAR THESE?!!"
Right on time. Placing the pocket watch back in his pocket, he knocked on the door and asked,
"Need any help?"
Silence. The sound of the door unlocking followed. There she was, her waist- length chocolate streaked inky flowing locks past her pale bare shoulders, her hands crossed, her face a petulant expression. Funnily enough, she looked beautiful like that. The dress he gave her was an ice-blue number. All she wore was the lower part now.
"What do you think?"
"Turn around."
Sighing, she turned around. Taking the strings in his hands, with the skill only one accustomed to doing this-or rather, someone performing a ritual-, he pulled hard at the corset. With perfected skill, he pulled harder. Shirra gripped onto a bedpost as if hanging on for dear life. She was biting her lower lips so hard they started to bleed. Then, tying the laces together swiftly and smoothly, he was done. He raised his eyebrows at Shirra. She had clung onto the bedpost so tightly, sinking her nails into it that she left marks on it. He had to hold back a laugh. Gently, he slid the upper half of the dress onto her form, before slipping a turquoise choker around her lily-white neck.
"Come now dear, the dead don't feel pain."
"This one does."
"Come now-its not so bad is it?"
He asked, stroking her hair.
"Easy for you to say. YOU'RE not wearing it."
"Aren't we fiesty tonight."
She rolled her eyes. Judging from a streak of pride in his voice, she knew she must look lovely-even if she couldn't see it. He slid his hand down her back while encircling her waist with the other, pulling her into his arms. The earlier discomfort of wearing a corset disappeared with his touch. She simply leaned on him, enjoying the silence and safety of her sire's arms. If this was what happened every time she wore a corset, she would certainly start wearing dresses daily come tomorrow.
(Sorry if this sucks..I'm having a bit of writer's block now...)
Considering the fact that she seldom wore dresses, that WAS a big deal. Especially since she HATED corsets. ("Whoever invented these HATE women!" She had raved and ranted once.)
He looked carefully at his pocket watch. Any moment now...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
"Oh, Sweet God, HOW CAN ANYONE WEAR THESE?!!"
Right on time. Placing the pocket watch back in his pocket, he knocked on the door and asked,
"Need any help?"
Silence. The sound of the door unlocking followed. There she was, her waist- length chocolate streaked inky flowing locks past her pale bare shoulders, her hands crossed, her face a petulant expression. Funnily enough, she looked beautiful like that. The dress he gave her was an ice-blue number. All she wore was the lower part now.
"What do you think?"
"Turn around."
Sighing, she turned around. Taking the strings in his hands, with the skill only one accustomed to doing this-or rather, someone performing a ritual-, he pulled hard at the corset. With perfected skill, he pulled harder. Shirra gripped onto a bedpost as if hanging on for dear life. She was biting her lower lips so hard they started to bleed. Then, tying the laces together swiftly and smoothly, he was done. He raised his eyebrows at Shirra. She had clung onto the bedpost so tightly, sinking her nails into it that she left marks on it. He had to hold back a laugh. Gently, he slid the upper half of the dress onto her form, before slipping a turquoise choker around her lily-white neck.
"Come now dear, the dead don't feel pain."
"This one does."
"Come now-its not so bad is it?"
He asked, stroking her hair.
"Easy for you to say. YOU'RE not wearing it."
"Aren't we fiesty tonight."
She rolled her eyes. Judging from a streak of pride in his voice, she knew she must look lovely-even if she couldn't see it. He slid his hand down her back while encircling her waist with the other, pulling her into his arms. The earlier discomfort of wearing a corset disappeared with his touch. She simply leaned on him, enjoying the silence and safety of her sire's arms. If this was what happened every time she wore a corset, she would certainly start wearing dresses daily come tomorrow.
(Sorry if this sucks..I'm having a bit of writer's block now...)