HomeRegisterLog in

Share | 
 

 Darker Than Fate

Go down 
AuthorMessage
Voice In The Darkness
Admin
avatar

Posts : 88
Join date : 2009-10-07
Age : 51
Location : California

PostSubject: Darker Than Fate   Mon 19 Oct 2009, 7:03 pm

Title: Darker Than Fate

Author: Voice in the Darkness

Rating: PG-13 - R

Disclaimer: The people and places are real, but the events are purely an illustration of my imagination and should be read as such.

Summary: Follow me, Chloe Anne Bronte on a frightening adventure into the darkness; a mysterious journey delving into the land of unknown. In the gloomy London town of my existence, blissfully unaware, I stumble upon an abstruse stranger on a dark, stormy night. Will my passing of time with Elijah Vigee-Lebrun be that of courtly splendor and pleasures, or pain and despair, as many chilling secrets are revealed? Emerging from the shadows of darkness, a mystery is uncovered that could very well dramatically change my life forever.

Part 1

Known to many as a blithe young spirit, today my ventures take me to the cold, dreary Willesden Lane Cemetery, in Brondesbury, London. It is a very damp mild wintry day, in late December, and my mood is quite bleak. I stand solemnly before my dearly beloved Grandmother’s graveside. I am clad in the Victorian mourning attire she insisted I wear upon her passing. Although this era was an age of class and beauty, and I do like to dress up for parties and other such events, I cannot wait to get out of these garments today and slip into something a bit more comfortable. I bow my head, lost in deep thought, as the last remnants of dirt are place upon thee. Everyone who has come to pay their final respect dissipates, leaving me struggling for breath. My head surveys the premises, and the realization settles in. I am alone. Grandmother is gone. Tears begin to fall, one after another, and soon I slowly descend to my knees. Angrily I bend over, slamming my clenched fists and forehead into the ground. “Why dear God, why? Why did you have to take her from me?” Full of despair, I feel so abandoned and alone. There is no one here to cover me in a warm embrace. No one to join in my teary sorrow and no one to understand my discomfort as I cry out in pain.

Minutes turn into hours, as I sit reminiscing over events from our past; valued moments spent together. “Chloe my darling … my dearest Chloe.” Grandmother breathes her words voicelessly; faint, almost a whisper. “My wish is for you to live a prosperous life.” Sonorous, with depth and power she chants in a full voice, rich with emotion. “Live each and every day abundantly.” Her melodic voice begins to fade. I lean closer, straining to hear. “Take my inheritance, do not spend it frivolously.” Upon hearing these words my eyes begin to water, yet a cynical smile remains on my lips.

The first early rays of light fill the air, as morning is cast upon thee. Grandmother’s demeanor changes, yet traces of a smile remain. She continues to speak, “My home in London Borough of Corydon is now your home …” Instantaneously my mind forms thoughts as visions of Grandmother’s flat become the center of my consciousness. Knowledge and memories of her large fully fitted kitchen, diner, downstairs cloakroom and entrance hall generate a smile as her words fill the bedroom. Her voice is shallow, shaky; words fading fast. “Your home, Chloe.”

Grandmother clutches my hand with hers, grasping as tightly as her fragile hands could bear. “Chloe…” My name rolls off the tip of her tongue as her voice fades. I lean closer, straining to hear her. “Yes Grandmother, I’m here.”

“I love you Chloe Anne, dear grandchild of mine.” She whispers, as her grip loosens. I quickly reach for her hand, and brush my fingertips lightly against her pale cheek. “I - I” My voice falters as a tear slips from my eye. “I love you too, Grandmother.”

Upon hearing my affectionate words she smiles one last time, then inhales and exhales a series of short breaths. Within moments Margery Bronte succumbs to the ashes of death. In that final hour she is forever gone from my life, but shall never be forgotten.

“Oh how I love you so.”

Though my mind instructs me to leave with the others, my heart persuades to reluctantly stay at her graveside. With a nervous disposition I sit clutching her rosary beads, my face cradled against my chest, crying. Weeping in this time of sorrow; my only accompanist … intense emotion. My tears fall like raindrops, one after another, as sobs emerge from deep within.

Cognizant I have knowledge of many wise teachings, yet I remain cynical. A young woman left heartbroken as dreaded apprehension settles upon me. Uncomfortable and nervous I ponder my future. I wail my pent up emotions, long keening sounds without words. “Be not afraid, Chloe.” I recall Grandmother’s words, ones spoken frequently. “But where will I go? What shall I do? And who will I turn to now?” I look to the darkened skies, heaven above, seeking answers. “I feel so alone.”

Mum and pop are deceased, and I, Chloe Anne Bronte am left all alone in this unfriendly world. In a time of unquestionable darkness, living in the shadows of the unknown. An unknown darker than fate.

In the days to follow, I struggle with my emotions. Agonizing, but at last making several crucial decisions. I vow to fulfill and abide by my grandmother’s wishes. To preserve her precious memory; the legacy of my adored, and last living ancestor.

Although I tend to be reserved, diffident, and oftentimes uncomfortable in the company of others, I am very bold in my wish. My desire to be a carefree woman … just like Margery Bronte. I desire to live vigorously, claiming my independence, my freedom to soar, for once to take full control of my own life. To become my very own woman … just like my grandmother was teaching me to do so, prior to her passing. “Can I make her proud?” I ask myself, “I can certainly try with every fiber of my being.” I think to myself, in recollection.

“Live abundantly, live abundantly.” I echo Grandmother’s words numerous times. Living in this day and age … in a time of innocence I know there is a whole world to be seen and explored. So much to feel … to experience … a chance to live, to soar. “I most certainly will live abundantly, Grandmother. I will not let you down. I shall keep my promise to thee; I will always make you proud.”

“Here I am twenty-two years old…” I stop speaking, chuckling to myself. “Sure, I confess, I’ve read the text of the Marques de Sade and other banded books, full of explicit sex. Engrossed by the intellectual thoughts of romantic lovemaking, and simplified lustful intercourse. But it’s not the same.” I insist. “I’ve never had sex … and as a matter of fact I’ve never even been kissed.” We all have parallel lives, a fantasy existence that resides in our heads most of the time, a real life existence. “Damn I need to lighten up, relax, live a little and have some fun. But how….”

I close my teary green eyes, and let my frazzled mind wander a thousand miles away. I soon begin to relax, quickly losing myself in the fragments of one of my stimulating fantasies. I lay amidst a field of daisies, making slow passionate love to my man with the warm sun on my face. With the luscious feel of the grass against my back, a cool gentle breeze skitters across my bare skin; together we drift into a state of blissful utter contentment.

Feeling a bit at odds with myself, I sigh in defeat. Frustrated with my lustful feelings, quite embarrassed at how my body is responding. “How can I desire sex so badly, yet in the flesh feel so repulsed by being that close to a man?”

Following a multitude of bittersweet tears, I rise to my feet. Solemnly I bow my head in prayer and say my final goodbye to Grandmother Margery. Tired and weary my boot clad feet carry me swiftly towards home. I think about my Grandmother and her generosity. My mind wraps around her words, and I ponder the fate of my inheritance. “Flesh of my flesh, I shall always remember. I will love thee, my dearest Grandmother with all my might, God bless your soul … may you rest in eternal peace.”

I am no longer encumbered with the worry of employment. “Maybe I’ll just live on Grandmother’s money and not concern myself with the day to day routine of working.” I am tired of settling for low paying positions and hearing that the 19th century still abides… women should be at home, and not in the workplace. I clearly now have enough funds to see me through my entire life and I intend to fill it with French films, tea times, museums, and the pursuit of the gentry. After all don’t I deserve it?

“Would Grandmother consider these thoughts silly and trivial behavior?” I question. “Do not spend my inheritance frivolously.” Again and again her authorative words instruct.

Now how shall I describe myself? By day, a sweet young girl of twenty two. With my stunning green eyes that shine vibrantly, perfect round ass and full voluptuous breasts, I Chloe Anne Bronte consider myself just as deliciously petite and sexy as all my acquaintances. But it is my dangerously coal black hair and ruby red lips that accentuate my freckled skin that give me a distinctive look, one that sets me far apart from my peers.

A college drama major with a welcoming smile, I have an unfortunate unassertive way about me. I am one who remains quite aloof and elite, caring not what others think of me. The company I keep greatly admires me, thinking I am an erudite, highly educated woman. Mighty clever as well, might I add. I am thought to be witty, humorous and well read.

By nightfall I am a friendly woman sought after for every dinner party, Victorian ball, and other special occasions. From the Viennese Waltz to the Galop Quadrille, I’ve danced with many men, even stepped outside for some fresh air from time to time. Yet no matter how well the evening goes, I, Chloe Anne Bronte am a very old fashioned young woman. I abide by my high moral standards, vowing to hold on to my sense of pride and self respect.

In the back of my mind I know there is something else for me. Consequentially different, more alluring, special and fulfilling. It was during this vulnerable time in my life that I met the count. Was he a real count you ask? I know not. Many would believe he is just a figment of my wildest imagination. But to me, Elijah Vigée-Lebrun is real; as real as any man can ever be in this day and age.

Enthusiastically I smile, marveling in puzzlement over my oddly chance meeting with this mysterious stranger. A man about which very little is known, yet someone who excites considerable curiosity. Privy to his secret, I recall the way his alabaster-colored skin illuminates, so soft and pallid like the moonlight. Yet he’s rather dark and mysterious in all his very essence, with a sexual attraction that is quite palpable. Eerie like the highest point of midnight, his jet black hair sways in the cool night’s breeze, as his radiant bluish silver eyes pierce the nightfall.

Self assured and dignified this poised and strikingly unusual man has an aura of mystery about him. Of great clarity he is so pleasing to my mortal senses; appearing powerful, enticing, and somewhat treacherous. Whether he is a figment of my imagination like many claim, or stood before me in the flesh; my heart aches, my feelings soar, as thoughts of him arouse the utmost desire from deep within me.

My attention blissfully drifts back to the evening of December 19, 1999. The night our paths crossed, leaving me feeling as if it were just yesterday.

The long tiresome day is drawing to a close. Twilight has come and gone hours ago. I glance around at the vast darkness spread out before me. Dark silhouettes of huge oak trees stand off in the distance, and to my left is a clear sparkling stream. Mist hangs lightly as I start to walk home from Grandmother’s funeral. Rain begins to fall, heavy at times; beating down my spirits, making me more miserable than I already am. In the nearby distance I recognize a midtown café. There’s nothing like passing away a few hours enjoying a good nosh and tea in my favourite café. With a deep and steadying breath I saunter into the Embassy Café, taking refuge from the quickly approaching thunderstorm.

I gradually materialized from the darkness which surrounds me, and then noisily shuffle in through the double doors with several other patrons. Amidst the lofty ceilings, glittering chandeliers, gilded trellises and deep cornices my eyes adjust to the brightness of the elegant café. Opting to be alone during this sorrowful time I saunter towards the back of the establishment and quietly take a seat. Surrounded by the tantalizing aroma of delicate piles of sandwiches, scones, petit fours, jam and lashings of cream, I absent mindedly doodle on a napkin.

Pausing momentarily, I look up and smile at three familiar faces. Waiters; Landan, Tristan and Jasper are dressed immaculately in tails, each serving up tea in fine bone china with exact precision. From timeless elegance to contemporary twist, a pianist tinkles the ivories and a harpist plucks away in the background. Views of the royal gardens are a stunning reminder of the many times Grandmother and I came here for afternoon tea. Synonymous with the comfortable colonialism of the old British aristocracy, for Londoners like myself, we enjoy this classic, tasty, thirst quenching ritual.

I sit quietly sipping from my china tea cup, lost in deep thought. As I gather warmth in the comforts of my cozy surroundings the soothing aromas slowly begin to relax and soothe my senses, allowing me to slip into utter contentment. The blend of Uva black teas are simply thee best. The finest Sicilian bergamot and orange peel do bring a balancing and calming mood. “Waiter.” Jasper turns and smiles. “Yes Ma’am, may I help you?” He asks cordially. “Yes, this is absolutely delicious, I must have another.”

“I will be right back with your tea, Miss Chloe.”

Suddenly my reverie is broken when a man approaches my table. A very soft spoken voice simply asks if I would mind some company on this dark and gloomy day. He appears quiet and very mysterious, yet relaxed and friendly. Sensing I might need a shoulder to cry on, or to engage in some lighthearted conversation, he proceeds to ask if he may join me. Timidly I look up, staring into the eyes of this handsome stranger. The first glance leaves me breathless. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Be not afraid.” The astounding sensation of his fingertips and soft spoken words leaves me feeling exhilarated. It’s like a fire that melts right through my soul. I feel as if this mysterious stranger has tapped into my very essence and as he stares deep into my inhibitions he slowly begins to reveal my innermost thoughts.

Without another moment’s hesitation, with a warm and welcome smile, I said, “Hello and I’m not afraid.”

The first thing I notice about this man is his alluring bright blue eyes, tinged with the palest of silver, an impossible shade that seems to glow translucently, even in the well lit room. Fascinated by their sparkling depth, they are the most riveting orbs I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. They completely fix and hold my attention, ensnarling me, as I am pulled further into him. It is the most unexplainable feeling I’ve ever experienced; as if I was being hypnotized. Behind his mysterious eyes I see a glimpse of a sweet soul residing within.

A soft, gentle smile touches his slightly full lips, which are nearly crimson in color, as though marred by blood. His expression causes me to grin in response. I begin to relax in his company, absorbed by this stranger’s presence. My heart flutters slightly, and my breath catches in my throat. I cannot even begin to explain the feelings swarming through my frazzled mind. Question after question, with no comprehensible answers in sight. “Well then, may I?” He asks politely. I can barely bring myself to utter a word of reliance, so I simply nod my head and insist he sit down beside me.

His intense bold eyes look straight into mine, his pupils widen. “Thank you, Ma’am.” He slows his breathing, I do the same. He continues to stare, yet says very little. It’s as if he is delving directly into my soul. So very few words are exchanged, yet they are always sparse and his impact is quite emphatic.

“You haven’t told me your name.” I state in a calm quiet voice.

He grins, and before speaking contemplates many things. What kind of personality shall I show this beautiful young woman? Playful and mischievous? Mature and wistful? Tough and action-ready? Warm and wise? Or all of the above….. Opting not to be too brooding, he politely responds.

“Elijah. My name is Elijah Ma’am …Elijah Vigee-Lebrun.” He pauses briefly and takes a glance around the room. “Known in some parts of the world as Thor of The Steely Moon.” I look at him and smile, graciously acknowledging this information. “Cold, determined, by the light in the night.” I sit quietly, mesmerized by his words. “Or perhaps a lonely one who guides the lost; but not to safety, to their doom.”

He definitely startled me with these words and I nervously gasp in fear. Hesitantly I turn once more; looking around the café, then divert my attention back to the eerie presence of a man that sits only inches away as he grasps a subtly glinting, silver object in his hand.

“And you are …” He whispers softly, using an unusual foreign accent. “Chloe.”

“Shit…” I curse in sheer exasperation. “Ex …excuse me?” I partially falter, shyly struggling to hold his piercing gaze. As I continue to stare at him in moderate disbelief, I tentatively brush my dark tresses aside and nervously await his response.

Without a word, he smirks. I turn; half in fear, and partly in anticipation. I search for any clue behind the possible reasoning for this puzzling encounter with Elijah Vigee-Lebrun, and what it might mean. Perhaps he was notified of Grandmother’s passing and sought me out? I swallow hard. It is because of this resilient, elemental nature that he demands to be explored thoroughly.

How does he know my name? I ask myself. My mouth opens to speak but I stop at once when I feel the soft sensation of his fingertips upon my lips. “I know many things about you, Chloe.” He murmurs in my ear. Terrified I look away, then back at this stranger. He smirks a slow smile and continues speaking in a soft sensual tone. “You’re Chloe Anne Bronte.”

“How - how do you ….”

Elijah Vigee-Lebrun looks deep into my solemn eyes. “I’m right, aren’t I?” I stare at him through bleary, pale green eyes. While emitting a deep sigh, I absorb his words and ponder my next move.

“Sir, I’m not at all amused.” I mutter in discomfort, and rise from my seat

“Sit back down, Chloe.” He instructs with a distinct air of arrogance. As I continue to stare at him with a slightly perplexed conveyance my green eyes extensively widen. In stunned disbelief I remain silent, as an inexplicable feeling of curiosity abruptly assaults my senses, then fear settles in. Sighing heavily, I take a deep one shuddering breath. I can do one of two things. Turn and walk away, never looking back; but what if I am followed. And two, do as he says and sit back down.

After finally recovering from his astonished statement and more from sheer curiosity than anything else I do as he asks. I take my seat.

“Thank you,” he smiles enigmatically, exposing attractively white teeth and conveying a seductive mannerism as he speaks. “You won’t regret your decision, Chloe.” A smile remains firmly etched upon his translucent face. Thick wisps of black hair frame his face and glisten luminously as he stares almost icily at me through eyes of mystery. My fearful eyes widen in response, flickering across his intriguingly handsome face.

Elijah looks deep into my solemn green eyes. He sees pain in my misty orbs, swollen and red from crying, and this forces a change in his demeanor. “I am…” He places his cool palm against my cheek and lightly strokes my warm flesh with gentle caresses of his fingertips. His eyes can see the pain in mine. “I am truly sorry for your loss, Chloe.” A powerful sensation travels along the entire length of his arm and settles firmly in the center of his muscular chest. He draws in a deep, startled breath, as the feel of my silky, smooth skin beneath his fingers cause a burning desire to radiate through his body. Startled by his words, I quickly pull away.

“How dare you…. “I am so overcome with emotion I cannot even finish my sentence. My thoughts run rampant. Every emotion surfaces and with each passing second I grow more angry; wondering how long he’s been following me.

“I didn’t follow you, if that’s what you’re asking?”

How does he know what I’m thinking ….who is he and what does he want with me? My mind runs wild. What if ultimately I’ve been stalked for months? Or perhaps even years, by this dark elusive figure. What if now that I’m alone, he has emerged from the darkness to capture me?

“You can’t possibly be serious, Chloe?”

“What?” I look at him with a puzzled look cast upon my face. “Serious about what?” I ask. He remains silent. I didn’t tell him a damn thing about Grandmother. How does he know all these things? I am really starting to get a bit freaked out by all this.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you, Chloe.”

“Don’t be afraid? I just buried Grandmother today, and out of nowhere you show up. You know my name, and you tell me not to be afraid? Who are you and what do you want from me?”

“I’m sorry.” He looks at me intently. Elijah’s eyes are piercing, and seem to stare straight through to my soul. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He takes my hand in his. “Will you please forgive me?”

Anger at Elijah melts from me, replaced by a much more tender emotion, one that yearns for simplicity, for answers to this puzzling stranger’s existence. Though he appears to have a compelling and complex personality, there is something about this man that calms my presence and brings me to ease. I find him charging to the brim with mystery and excitement, with a glow of genuine enthusiasm. He is quite sexy, speaking fluently with grace and confidence. Every word shared speaks directly to my heart and soul, almost a promise of unfaltering delights, and pleasures beyond my wildest fantasy.

With chiseled features, his muscular six foot frame is clad in stylish clothing which blends perfectly with the unnerving mystery that surrounds him. A charcoal gray shirt fits snugly over his broad shoulders and is tucked into faded black jeans that are almost gray. His feet are clad in black boots and he wears a long black jacket on this cold rainy night. His ensemble is accessorized with some sort of macabre, silver medallion around his neck.

Intrigued by his nature I sit quietly, mesmerized by this enticing sight. He stares at me lovingly. His entrancing blue eyes are overshadowed by the most beautiful lashes; displaying a deep mysterious look. Below is a cute nose, followed by soft, yielding red lips. Full and sumptuous, locked in a mesmerizing smile. His silky jet black hair falls from his head, neatly trimmed. I look into his eyes, seeing nothing but warmth. His alabaster skin is flawless, soft and pale. The likeliness of which cannot be mortal.

Continuing to stare intently he watches as I raise my cup and take a small sip, savoring the tea’s warmth and flavor on my tongue. I can only return his stare in obvious astonishment while a warm and tingling sensation courses through my body. My hands tremble uncontrollably, causing my grip to tightly more firmly around the delicate tea cup.

“Does the tea satisfy you?” He asks, innocently, yet seductively. Holding a shear look of interest in his eyes, I raise my own brow with the same amount of curiosity and wonder. Charismatic and sophisticated, I find his voice to be quite soothing, leaving me susceptible to hypnosis once again, lost in his words and the feelings they stir inside me.

“Chloe…”

I blush, running a hand through my long dark hair and open my mouth to speak. But no words come out. Therefore, I sit quietly for a few moments, asking myself what need has driven or lured this stranger here. Here with me tonight. I also think about Elijah’s words. Quite a simple question; just one, spoken in such innocence.

“About earlier, there is nothing to fear, Chloe.” His thoughts enter my mind. Surrender yourself, mind and body to me. Hold nothing back, no secrets, no pleasure, no pain, no hesitation. Let go of your mind and succumb to the pleasures that wait.

“Okay. “ I answer softly. But these feelings of surrender. I don’t understand…My mind reels, not knowing how to fight off these feelings. If I could, would I? My thoughts duel fiercely with his, and my emotions thrust wantonly at him. Flushed, I sit quietly, gathering my thoughts. My cheeks are reddening with a shade of crimson, as my head begins to feel light and my body tingles all over. His eyes flash with laughter and intelligence as I try to regain my composure. I feel the breath catch in my throat.

But how will I answer his question? Such a simple question. I ask myself as I turn my attention back to the object of my utmost desire. The tea, yes it’s satisfying. Just say yes, Chloe. I persuade myself. I simply do not have words to respond to such an easy question, especially knowing the feelings I am experiencing. The last thing I desire is to say or do something displaying a sign of ignorance and be made a fool of.

“Are you okay?” He asks. “Did I say something wrong?” His exquisite tenderness is almost more than I can bear. My body is set aflame by his every touch, and move. I look into his warm eyes again. Promises for the night are left unspoken in his vibrant blue eyes. Oh no, you’re saying all the right things! Damn you!

The look on his face tells me he knows the many questionable thoughts running through my mind. So why lie? Why try to hide my insecurities, fears and hidden desires. I immediately breathe in a sigh of relief and regain my composure. Refusing to show the unraveling of my nerves I smile diligently at him. Then look away momentarily. Returning the stare, I lift my head high, arching a delicate eyebrow and utter the words, “Yes sir, very much so.” In a remarkably calm voice. One that even surprises me.

He muses over the fact I struggle to give a quick reply, then follows with one of his own. “Good, I’m so glad.” He replies, as his fingertips lightly caress the top of my hand then return to rest comfortably on the table beside mine. “So ….Chloe.” He speaks softly and smiles graciously. It is as if he calms my nerves with his existence. He continues to stare deep within my soul, tapping into each and every thought as I’m processing them.

In one swift movement, he scoots closer to me. I sigh heavily as his fingertips trail tenderly up and down my left thigh. Light enough to gain my attention, yet rough enough that I fully understand he has no intention of stopping until he’s finished what he’s started. A tendril of lust curls about me as his hand touches me lightly, expectantly working its way inward. I sighed loudly as he rubs through the layers of fabric.
I can feel my face turning a shade of crimson as my nipples peak further and moisture begins to grow between my legs. He stares into my green orbs, registering my expression. As my gaze finds his, I again feel warmth rush to my cheeks. Quickly I notice how his eyes have the depths of his soul written across them.

Curiosity kills the cat, so the saying goes, and with that thought my own curiosity takes on a tinge of apprehension or maybe even fear. Yet each moment grows more intense and exciting. Pulsing wetly, a soft moan escapes my lips. He smiles, chuckling quietly, knowing my body approves of what he is doing. Teasingly he removes his hand from my thigh, and stares intently into my lust filled eyes. “You like that, did you not, my sweet one?” He asks playfully, laughing softly, as his breath floats over to me in a wave of intimacy. Again that mischievous smile flits across his face. I feel myself being drawn in. Into what, I have no clue. I cannot comprehend my simplest of thoughts the way I normally can. All I can do is sip my tea and stare into his mesmerizing silvery blueorbs, feeling as if with each glance I am drowning in them; slowly losing myself within each passing moment.

A smile twists across his dark features. Suddenly an uneasy feeling comes upon me. I can feel his power. Can he feel mine? I wonder. Then I chuckle absentmindedly to myself. What power? I question. I have no power over this man.

After a short period of relative silence our conversation resumes. We speak for roughly an hour and a half. The more our thoughts and opinions are expressed, the more comfortable I become. I am increasingly intrigued by his knowledge, and soon my fears begin to diminish. It wasn’t long before I bore my soul to this stranger. With greater frequency and intensity he does the same. I hang on every word as it is so delicately told by Elijah. Words that contain some of the most utterly beautiful sentiments I have ever read or heard about.

My heart wants him; my body needs him, my mind calls out to his. Elijah really seems to know me. To know everything about me. Not just the things in relevance to my customary, everyday life, but my most personal, deepest darkest embedded feelings, secrets, fantasies and ultimate hidden desires. Unspecified emotions that are retained only in my mind never bore to another. Yet he sees deep into my inner being … to my soul, and everything is shared openly and honestly, without hesitation.

Sweet and earnestly I sense the promise and danger of the fire that will light up the night. Unbeknownst to me, Elijah Vigee-Lebrun can hear my heart beating rapidly and the blood coursing through my veins, which triggers a raging hunger that he can no longer control. Overcome with an animalistic, urgent need to fill my orifices with his lustful flesh and feed upon me. Elijah knows that I, Chloe Anne Bronte, the beautiful young woman sitting in his presence has no idea what lay in wait for me.

I close my eyes as he playfully trails his lips soothingly over my exposed throat. I feel something scrape lightly against the throbbing vein in my neck. My eyes grow dark and hungry with need, as does his, but I merely withdraw.

“Elijah, will you please excuse me.” I rise from the table and make my way toward the ladies room. As I continue my slow walk through the café, I look back over my shoulder. Elijah is staring at me, his eyes intently studying my profile, as his shimmer of longing drinks up my body. He sits alone for several minutes averting his gaze throughout the café.

It was not meant to be like this. He thought to himself, his head still in a whirl. I should not have these kinds of feelings for this mortal woman. If I take her tonight, I might very well kill her. I must get out of here, at once. Moving hastily with a smooth glide, he flashes the waiter a contemptuous sneer upon leaving the café.

Moments later I return to our table. My eyes widen. Elijah Vigee-Lebrun is gone.

The darkness outside is heavily devoid of anything as he disappears into the shadows of the night. The only remnants left of Elijah Vigee-Lebrun is eerie swirls of mist that hover in the gloomy space cast in front of me.
Back to top Go down
http://writersfortress.forumotion.net
Wolf's Lonely Cry

avatar

Posts : 15
Join date : 2009-10-15
Age : 39
Location : Mississippi

PostSubject: Re: Darker Than Fate   Tue 20 Oct 2009, 8:39 pm

A compelling start to your latest story. Traci, I have always admired your work. It really makes on sit and take notice. This is no exception. Chloe Anne Bronte sounds very alluring and quite sexy. Elijah Vigee-Lebrun is an interesting character. Please tell me more about him. I love the setting for this story. London is a fabulous city, with more than its fair share of characters, both good and bad. Continue this when you can. cheers cheers cheers
Back to top Go down
Night's Sweet Caress

avatar

Posts : 46
Join date : 2009-10-13
Age : 55
Location : North Carolina

PostSubject: Re: Darker Than Fate   Sun 25 Oct 2009, 5:38 pm

Very, very interesting beginning. The mood is wonderfully captured. The characters are three dimensional and intriguing. I wonder how the rest of this will unfold. Bring on the next update. wootwave Very Happy cheers
Back to top Go down
Sponsored content




PostSubject: Re: Darker Than Fate   

Back to top Go down
 
Darker Than Fate
Back to top 
Page 1 of 1
 Similar topics
-
» The darker aspects of Sailor Moon
» Witch of Catoblepas and Fate VS Gorz
» Red String of Fate
» Phantom Wristbands
» Cox Cylinders darker system?

Permissions in this forum:You cannot reply to topics in this forum
WRITERS FORTRESS :: LITERARY GENRES :: Short Stories / One Shots-
Jump to: