ANATHEMA.

THE MOUTH OF HER WANT IS LARGE,   wide & hungry,    & in the frozen scape of time that has become this moment,   SHE IS SWALLOWED WHOLE.   there is little she resolves within herself to do but remain,   but to all but melt like wax under violetta’s wrath   —–   YET THIS IS UNCERTAIN : RAGE & LOVE ARE SUCH SYNONYMOUS CREATURES SHE HAS NO WILL TO SEPARATE THEM   —–   & let her words wash over her like scalding water.   ( SHE WILL HOLLOW YOU OUT - MAKE DUST OF YOU YET, )    just as violetta drives the hammer of her ire into her now.   does she know,   natalia wonders,   how she has unwound her & unraveled her for centuries now ?   DOES SHE KNOW HOW LITTLE DIFFERENCE IT MAKES, WHETHER IT IS VIOLETTA HERSELF OR ZENYA THAT SPINS HER LIKE YARN ?    yes,  perhaps she reeks of her,  perhaps she has given every inch of herself to her,   what consolation is there in violetta’s touch to this ?

her head meets the wall to which she is pressed with an unceremonious,   SHAMELESS SOUND,   only to be punctuated by unutterable silence that leaves her shuddered.   THE ABSENCE,  ABRUPT,  STRIKES HER WEARY,    quells the flame that had become her,   & leaves her with naught but a gasp seated at the back of her throat.   she watches through such dying haze the way violetta searches her,   & in the silent ounce of these few seconds she feels the amber of her stare scorch her heart into oblivion.    IF ONLY SHE COULD MAKE PEACE WITH THIS,   if only she would remain with this too,   maybe natalia would not reach for the perfect column of her lover’s wrist with such desperation,   maybe she could bear to see her leave her this way.   HER MOUTH SHAPES AROUND A PLEA,   but she says nothing,   can say nothing   –   for to have her lover stay,   she knows there must be reason,   & SHE KNOWS HER REASON TO BE DESIRE,  & HER DESIRE UNFULFILLED.   the hand not wound around violetta’s wrist slips beneath the cut of fabric that covers her,   & with such lustful elegance she searches for the bliss that the other had abandoned & grabs it for herself once more.   SHE IS NOTHING LESS THAN AN IMAGE OF DESPERATION  :  MARRED MAGDALENE.   her mouth falls open further in tandem to her closing eyes,   & the volume of her keen heightens with the strength of her grip.   STILL, SHE SAYS NOTHING, CAN SAY NOTHING, WILL SAY NOTHING.   [ COME CLOSER, CARVE INTO ME ]

EVERY TOUCH BURNS HER ;  VIOLETTA CANNOT RECALL     the first time she had gone up in flames,  only that she has been burning ever since.   it is the fingers like a cage around her wrist which set her ablaze anew,   &   her body stills like an animal in the wild  [  --  how easily natalia makes a mutilation of her self-control  ].   violetta pivots   &   rids of the distance between their forms,  her hands moving hungrily against natalia’s frame,  brushing past her hips to reach the slit of her gown.  she grasps at it,  tearing the thin fabric with ease,   &   it falls into a soft mass around where natalia’s feet press against the floor.   

there is little hesitation,  no space for consideration to prosper between thought   &   action,   &   within a moment she descends upon her.  violetta kisses her,  drinking the wine of her,  sharpening herself on the edges of her  MARRED MAGDALENE  in a way that only they can achieve.   her hand drops to brush between natalia’s thighs,  covering the hand which has begun to move there before slipping beneath   &  resuming control,  the ghost of her pleasure winding like vines up her spine   &   around the nape of her neck.  her mouth moves to catch at the shell of her ear   &   her fingers press further against her,  into her.    ❛  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU DO TO ME?   no matter the distance of my travels,  you are at the end of every path.  YOU ARE EVERYWHERE:  beneath my skin,  behind the lids of my eyes  --  at times i believe even my shadow is not my own but rather it is you having found a new way to haunt me.  you are my only constant.  HOW MANY TIMES MUST I FALL ON THE BLADE OF YOU?   ❜    

[  WHAT SHE WOULDN'T GIVE TO REACH INTO THE MARROW OF HER,    to find the thread that binds them   &   tug.  the thread would not snap,  it would not fray,  this she knows.  for this reason alone they would never be rid of each other.  like an echo,  natalia resounds within her,  leaving no dark corner of her unmarred.  ]

IF SHE KNOWS WHAT TO MAKE OF THIS,   she does not say.   if she thinks this offers her the greatest confusion,   unknown to her & UNWANTED to her,   she does not say this either.   natalia simply stands,   remains a refraction of every lost word & act between them.   & yet,   SHE DOES NOT REFUSE.

the dark haze of her stare retreats from violetta as she moves forward to the very desk upon which the private pages rested,   & takes the blank parchment,  pad,  & pencil into her quiet possession.  [ THE EFFORT OF FOCUS IS DIFFICULT HERE, WHEN SO CLOSE TO THE OBJECT OF HER SECRETS ]   she takes to the mirror,   & sits.   she considers in her relative stillness what,  exactly,  she must consider about the present,   & as her charcoal glides & scratches along her parchment,   she can only feel violetta’s attention glide & scrape along her.   EACH SECOND STICKS PINS INTO HER SKIN,   torturing her with the monotony of what they have come to be,   & what they have come to not be.

IT DOES NOT TAKE HER LONG.   yet it remained excruciating all the same  :  [ GAZE UPON GAZE UPON GAZE, ]   she sets her instruments down with such finality one would think that she wouldn’t deign to look at her own work.   perhaps she would,   were she alone.

VIOLETTA WATCHES HER WORK IN SILENCE,     the passage of time dripping slowly,  cruelly,  like molasses.   it antagonizes her in the space between seconds.  as natalia’s hand glides along the parchment,  a potent something dawns upon her.  something  --  she can only describe it as something.  words fail her  ;  they unravel at their seam.   there is no unit of speech,  no manner of description,  no language dark enough that can be stitched to the feeling that subdues her.   

what such witchwork could be employed to describe the way her heart whitens at the sight of the finished portrait?   she looks upon the immortalized image of her lover casting the stare of hallowed condemnation that she has grown so accustomed to   &   her gut twists in on itself,  a serpent consuming its own body.  she has known gods with fewer blades tucked behind their eyes.  

THOUGH HER STEPS HAVE BEEN ELSEWHERE,   her hands held by another,   her attention taken by that which should not take it,   the destination of her gaze has not strayed an inch from the one that most deserves her REVERENCE.    the evening dwindles as water from a cistern,   & in this her freedom expands    —-   HER FEET TAKE HER TO THAT WHICH DRAWS HER MOST,   & when she is behind the figure  [ AS ELEGANT AS MINERVA, VIBRANT AS VENUS ]  her mouth dips to the graceful curve of her neck.   is it any surprise,   the softness with which her lips descend upon the softness of skin ?     ❝   𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒚.    ❞

  ⧗  @bloodattar

HOW SWIFTLY HER RABBIT HEART FLUTTERS.     her breath tangles at the back of her throat   &   violetta finds herself pressing further into the golden warmth of the body that shapes against her own.  so blooms the desire to lose herself in this moment,  uninhibited  /  open.  she is then a continuous stream of movement,  fluid   &   honeyed:  she turns to face the red spectre which presently haunts her,  lifting her arms to drape across bare shoulders as if they were partners in a dance.   (  what a coquette the other has made of her;  charmed laughter sits at the lacquered edges of her mouth.  )     

plotted   starter   for   @bloodattar·  (  tentatively   accepting  )

 he   roamed   from    chamber   to   chamber   with   objectless   gait,   his   steps   carrying   him    from    carpeted   floor   to   wide,   stone    walls   as   effortlessly   as    a   mortal   man   might   breathe.    the   vampire   glided   in   on   the   howling   of   wolves,   touching   every   corner   of   available   furniture   and   the   spines   of   books   in   passing.    

 he   invaded   with   the   impetuous   fury   of   winter’s   wind,   unfolding   the   doors   to   her   chambers   without   a   care    ( more   formality,   since   the   man   could   become   as   dust )    for   privacy   she   was    never   guaranteed.  overpowered   by   the   intense   scent   of   change,   he   took   in   his   surroundings   with   sentimental   apathy   and   mild   curiosity.   

 “    i   see    you’ve   wasted   no   time   in   getting   comfortable.   ”       blue   gaze   found   the   squawking   crow   in   the   corner,   lips   puckered   in   greeting   to    the   noisy,   foul    beast.      “   make   a    list    of   things   you    will   be   needing   and    post   it   on   the   door.   you   shall   have   supplied    whatever   you   need   for   this   …   laboratory.                                  but   i   thought   we   might   be   going   over   a   few   rules.   necessary   for   your   SAFETY,   of   course…   ”

THE INTERRUPTION IS TOLERATED,  AT BEST.    violetta is dressed   &   decent,  not entwined in some nefarious deed or secrecy,  so she endures the breach upon her temporary space with passive annoyance the way one might regard the threat of rain on a dull afternoon. having been seated at the edge of her bed,  she stands with the muted flourish of indifference. 

❛   DO COME IN.   ❜   indulgent sarcasm,  her brittle humor bleeding between the sturdy syllables.  she studies him the way he studies her quarters,  faint intrigue prickling at the edge of her gaze.  when his eyes fall upon her familiar,  she crosses the room   &   unlatches the door of his cage.  as if it were a cue,  the crow preens   &   flies free from his confines,  weaving dark circles around the room   &   around the head of the castle’s proprietor before retreating to violetta,  settling quietly upon her shoulder.  

HE PARTS THROUGH THE CROWD LIKE A BLADE,  all the sharpened edges of him aimed in her direction.  despite the flush of neon,  darkness brims him   &   it is cut from the same cloth as anyone else here:  the grit   &   muck of the city,  the grey abscess inspired by the soullessness of society.  the harbinger that he is,  zenya finds herself overtly aware that he is not here to facilitate pleasant chatter with her.  

nevertheless   her mouth imitates the placid crescent of a smile:  half - docile,  half - predatory.  malignancy clings to her skin like the odor of death.  preemptively she removes her bag from the seat adjacent to her,  placing it in her lap as if performing some sort of courtesy toward him.  the toe of her shoe nudges the empty chair toward the opposite side of the table.  a wordless invitation:   sit,  please.  i’m sure you have so much to discuss.

❛   CAN I HELP YOU?   ❜

VEIN - VULNERABLE,   down to the white - ivory of bone  ( PAST TO MARROW )  in such un - permissable abruptness it hurts her  :  DIGS INTO THE DEPTHS OF HER & DRAWS OUT ACHE.   eyes not her own lit upon the skewed pages of her own private wishes  [ DREAMS : DISTRESS, DESOLATION ]  send waves of prick - needles through her skin,   grips her belly tight & wrenches it in its confines.   WHAT ELSE IS SHE TO DO BUT STAND IN THE CAGE OF HER OWN YEARNING   —-   faced with the very subject of it ?   fire - light & flame can do nothing to warm the cold flush of consternation.

natalia hardly listens to what comes next from beneath the thudding of her own heart   —   surely a compliment,   a praise of skill she does not need  —   rather finding herself as anxious as she is angry.   HOW CARELESS OF HER TO LEAVE THEM OUT SO PLAINLY.    she cannot entertain the mere thought of how she had always desired for violetta to see them in the dark hours of her artistry.    a breath is taken between them,   LONG & LABORED,   before her unquestionable muse asks her something else  –  asks her to find muse in herself.   this,  finally,  draws movement from her,   a jerk of her head backward in disbelief,   SUBTLE AS IT IS.    ❝   why ?    ❞

THERE IS SOME TRUTH IN EVERY MIRAGE.    as her fingers graze the edge of parchment,  eyes following the dark contours that culminate in an image  --  several images  --  of herself,  she feels as if she is dreaming within tortured fervor.   there is a softness at her edges,  a pale vignette that swathes her,   &   she cannot feel where her body ends   &   the haze begins.  under her breath violetta lauds the artistry,  head tilted toward her shoulder curiously as if the drawings had somehow confirmed her otherwise dubious existence.  it strikes her with such intrigue that she does not glean the melancholy lying in wait beneath her curiosity  --  does not notice when her eyes begin to burn with tears.     

then,  as if unwitting to herself,  she speaks aloud,  asking for a different shade of intimacy that is no longer hers to pursue.  she does not realize how odd,  HOW INAPPROPRIATE,  the request is until natalia volleys a question of her own in return.   violetta blanches   &   spins from the desk suddenly,  burnished eyes latched so fervently onto a point just beyond natalia’s shoulder that she appears to harbor the intention of pitching herself into the backdrop.  what she would give to meld into the tapestry or diffuse into the bleeding candlelight,  ANYWHERE BUT HERE.   

THE CHALLENGE GLIDES BENEATH HER TONGUE LIKE HONEY.    this seems to satisfy her in her oppositional way   &   the sideways smile of hers is witch-work alone.    ❛   LET US MAKE A GAME OF IT THEN,  SHALL WE?   ❜   violetta draws her arming sword,  the hilt of it pressing into her palm with the easy favor of holding a mere stone-fruit.  certainly,  the dark leather of it is just as smooth as the fruits of the earth   &   just as much in her dominion for it had been forged for her hands alone.  the polished steel glints against the drowning sun as she swings it at her side for good measure   &   vain emphasis.

violetta encroaches the way a brazen beast might:  slow,  measured steps,  the grass silent as death beneath the paltry weight of her feet.  when she stops,  their forms are adjacent,  their shoulders brushing as if by mistake in the way two lovers may court one another  --  utterly contrived   &   yearning for connection.   

❛   IF YOU BEST ME IN COMBAT,  I WILL SETTLE FOR THE BLOOD OF A GOAT.   if i best you,  i will use the blood of man   &   you must settle with that.   ❜   she turns her head toward her counterpart,  dusky illumination from a fallen afternoon half - cut across her face.  with the brevity of spring rain,  the haughty curl of her mouth rests aside natalia’s ear.  it gives her a keen yet secret pleasure the way their orbits stitch together so predictably,  always trespassing the faintly scribbled line of personal space   &   always woven up in each other’s gravity.