Jump to content

๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™–๐™™ ๐™‚๐™ž๐™ง๐™ก

Gold Dreamer
  • Dream Count

    85
  • Joined

  • Days Won

    13
  • Country

    United States
  • EcchiCredits

    3,330 [ Donate ]

๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™–๐™™ ๐™‚๐™ž๐™ง๐™ก last won the day on July 31 2024

๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™–๐™™ ๐™‚๐™ž๐™ง๐™ก had the most liked content!

5 Followers

About ๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™–๐™™ ๐™‚๐™ž๐™ง๐™ก

  • Date of Birth 01/26/1995 (31 years old)

Personal Information

  • Sex
    Female

Roleplayer Information

Recent Profile Visitors

4,572 profile views

๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™–๐™™ ๐™‚๐™ž๐™ง๐™ก's Achievements

Experienced

Experienced (11/14)

  • Reacting Well
  • Very Popular Rare
  • First Post
  • Collaborator
  • Conversation Starter

Recent Badges

731

Reputation

  1. This album pertains to Jezebel, her verse (NPCs, locations, creature concepts, etc), and both solo samples & written interactions between myself and Dead Man. To summarize, this space is for: Imageryโ€”edits, aesthetics, moodboards/collages Writing Samplesโ€”snippets, musings, character study posts Of note: If you're curious about an image/writing sample, feel free to glance over the descriptions and/or image titles! They may provide the insight you're looking for. โ™ฅ BASIC CHARACTER INFORMATION ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž: jezebel lavoie ๐š๐ ๐ž: twenty-two ๐ฌ๐ญ๐š๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฌ: (un)alive ๐ฌ๐ค๐ข๐ง ๐ญ๐จ๐ง๐ž: milk-white ๐ž๐ฒ๐ž ๐œ๐จ๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ: blue-silver ๐ก๐š๐ข๐ซ ๐œ๐จ๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ: blonde, almost white ๐ก๐ž๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ: 6'5" ๐ฐ๐ž๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ: weight varies due to illness ๐ ๐ž๐ง๐๐ž๐ซ: femaleโ€”she/her ๐ฅ๐จ๐œ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง: england ๐ฌ๐จ๐›๐ซ๐ข๐ช๐ฎ๐ž๐ญ: bella, petit cygne ๐จ๐œ๐œ๐ฎ๐ฉ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง: freelance artist ๐ฅ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐š๐ ๐ž๐ฌ: english/french/russian ๐ž๐ญ๐ก๐ง๐ข๐œ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ|๐ง๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง๐š๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ: eastern slav | indo-european ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐œ๐š๐ฅ ๐š๐Ÿ๐Ÿ๐ฅ๐ข๐œ๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง(๐ฌ): prosthetic left arm HAND & HOOF the story of Jezebel Lavoie [PERSONALITY] curious, dutiful and reservedโ€”instrument of stockholm syndrome One with a vintage heart and old soul. Jezebel is enigmatic, quizzical, and adheres to her reservations as the daughter of a renowned Priest. As an avid listener, an observer, and someone with a high regard for reservation, she's often one to bite her tongue when confronted with conflict. Her forte lies in her uncanny ability to read body language and react accordingly. This practice was taught early on at the hands of the Holy Church, her psychiatrist, and their inclinations toward evolutionary reticence. [BACKGROUND] A Preliminary Briefing: Fundamentally, Jezebel is human. She looks human, acts human, and, when permitted to, seeks out the joys in life that makes each mortal individual to themselves. In her case, painting is a primary delight. Given the nature of the lore in this verse and how it's heavily inspired by Lovecraftian themes, human sacrifice is a practice among the cults who worship the pantheon of gods and/or the Great Old Ones. Father Gabriel (Jezebel's adoptive father) is no stranger to this knowledge. To conceal his devotion to The Dark Order, Gabriel utilizes the Cathedral of the Holy Church as a facadeโ€”a deception that ร‰lise (Jezebel's mother) ultimately fell victim to. Born god-touched, Jezebel is the embodiment of Gabriel's powerโ€”the blood of the Great Old One, Cthylla, coursing through her veins. "Your mother was touched by a god. Then you came along, harboring its gift and its curse." tw: mention of rape The peculiarities of Jezebel's existence begin with Father Gabriel: a man with a hankering for knowledge since his youth. In his younger years he had joined [enter institute name here because I still need to figure one out] academy, following the teachings of Master Gael and his pursuit for human transcendence. Upon an expedition deep beneath the earth, Master Gael and his students discovered The Dark Order: a sect of beings serving as "translators" for the Gods. But what they'd also found in those immense dungeons was an infant Great Old One they named Cthylla. She communed with Master Gael, and it wasn't long before the Essence of Cthylla was acquired, along with several other artifacts and specimens. Gabriel had been thrilled by these discoveries, believing the Essence to be divine. He believed that transfusing it into human bodies would lead to transcendence. Master Gael, on the other hand, disagreed. He felt the substance was too dangerous a risk to humanity, and so Gabriel split off, followed by several others, to establish his own practices. Eventually, Cthylla shed the limitations of her corporeal forms. Considered extremely rare before, the Essence of Cthylla was now deemed extinct, all save for a few samples harvested by Master Gael and the vial that Gabriel had stolen upon his departure from the institute. By this point, some years had passed. Gabriel caught word of Cthylla's transcendence and thought that now was as good a time as any to act. At this stage, he'd established ties within Catholicism, resulting in his acquaintanceship with Jezebel's mother, ร‰lise. Despite ร‰lise being only two years Gabriel's junior, she looked up to him with high regard. They formed somewhat of a bond over a period of months before her tragedy took place. She was raped by a member of the Church and, taking advantage of this vulnerability, Gabriel sacrificed her to The Dark Order mere days before Jezebel was due to be born. During what is called the Rite of Sacrilege, ร‰lise was fed the Essence of Cthylla, granting her child the Great Old One's influence before perishing during the ritual. All-in-all, there are primary aspects about Jezebel that exude pestilence. For example, she's the reason men have succumbed to beasthood. As the founder of Blood Ministration, Father Gabriel promises townspeople a cure for ailments. The substance is harvested from Jezebel and, though it does possess physical healing properties, it is highly corruptive, resulting in illness, and ultimately, transmutation. To top it all off, Cthylla is the progeny of Cthulhu. Destined to birth Cthulhu should he die, Cthylla has chosen Jezebel as a surrogate. ANNOTATIONS: โ€ข Rite of Sacrilege: โ€ข The Dark Order: A sect of beings who serve both Great Ones & the Outer Gods. Also known as "translators", they exist as the incarnations of space and function as an intermediary between the deities of the pantheon (the gods), and their cults. โ€ข Great Old Ones: Cosmic deities. The so-called "gods" of the dreamlands. โ€ข Outer Gods: Cosmic deities existing within the outer voids, beyond the confines of Earth and the Solar System, exerting their influence from deep space or from beyond mortal dimensions. โ€ข Cthylla, The Secret One: A Great Old One. Having transcended the limitations of her corporeal forms, she exists solely as words and consciousness, able to influence Earth's physical realm. Destined to give birth to Cthulhu should he die, she's chosen Jezebel as a human surrogate. โ€ข Essence of Cthylla: The Essence of Cthylla is a rare blood substance no longer obtainable from the now-formless entity, Cthylla. Jezebel's mother, ร‰lise, was fed this corruptive elixir during the Rite of Sacrilege, ultimately granting her unborn child (Jezebel) the Great One's power. โ€ข Hastur, The King In Yellow: โ€ข Church Hunters: Mortals with enhanced prowess used for felling foes. While mostly engaged in assassinations for the Holy Church, they also play the part of beast hunters. Both respected and feared, Church Hunters symbolize the backbone of their faith. They're easily distinguishable by their unique crow garb and dual-wielded weapons. THE SCOURGE An average Scourge Beast is a creature that has recently shed the entirety of his/her humanity, both physically and mentally. Their transformations are generally more gradual, sprouting fur and fangs overtime while maintaining most of their human appearance for the greater period of their transitions. Some may consider these the weakest of The Scourge, but they're not something to scoff at and have an unpredictable nature that can stagger their opponents, especially if underestimated. As for clerics and any who're devoted to the belief that Jezebel's blood is a divine essence, they have the most dramatic transformations: mutating expeditiously and on a much larger size scale. This pertains to exposure (aka the amount/potency of Vile Blood in their systems). Additional Note: Clerics of the Holy Church are the largest beast branch. And finally, you have Nephiriam: both a unique and superior branch of The Scourge. All adapted with better control over the mental afflictions that accompany beasthood. This allows them to hone their transformation abilities from man to monster with the exception that their human forms remain permanently altered in some way. Additional Note: The most common form of blood sickness often results in anatomies similar to lycanthropes and other wolf-like variants. However, there have been reported cases where The Scourge, specifically Nephiriam, have developed physical traits similar to bears or bats. Why and how this occurs is unknown and is as equally complex as the plague itself.
  2. This album pertains to the twins (Annabelle & Isabeth), their verse (NPCs, locations, creature concepts, etc), and both solo samples & written interactions between myself and Dead Man. To summarize, this space is for: Imageryโ€”edits, aesthetics, moodboards/collages Writing Samplesโ€”snippets, musings, character study posts Of note: If you're curious about an image/writing sample, feel free to glance over the descriptions and/or image titles! They may provide the insight you're looking for. โ™ฅ ๐๐€๐’๐ˆ๐‚ ๐‚๐‡๐€๐‘๐€๐‚๐“๐„๐‘ ๐ˆ๐๐…๐Ž๐‘๐Œ๐€๐“๐ˆ๐Ž๐ ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž: annabelle & isabeth carcassonne ๐š๐ ๐ž: eighteen ๐ซ๐š๐œ๐ž: human/fae ๐ฌ๐ญ๐š๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฌ: curious ๐ฌ๐ค๐ข๐ง ๐ญ๐จ๐ง๐ž: pale ๐ž๐ฒ๐ž ๐œ๐จ๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ: โ†ณ belleโ€”mint-green with a silver birthmark in her right eye. โ†ณ bethโ€”mint-green ๐ก๐š๐ข๐ซ ๐œ๐จ๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ: ivory ๐ก๐ž๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ: 5'2" ๐ฐ๐ž๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ: 110-115 lbs ๐ ๐ž๐ง๐๐ž๐ซ: femaleโ€”she/her; they/them ๐ฌ๐ž๐ฑ๐ฎ๐š๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ: undisclosed ๐ฌ๐จ๐›๐ซ๐ข๐ช๐ฎ๐ž๐ญ: - - ๐จ๐œ๐œ๐ฎ๐ฉ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง: - - ๐ž๐ญ๐ก๐ง๐ข๐œ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ|๐ง๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง๐š๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ: french | - -
  3. BASIC DETAILS As an NPC implemented into The Twins' verse, not much is known about Scrapbeak barring the peculiar nature surrounding is character. He has extensive knowledge in the medical field and an obsession with trinkets, landing him in a rather fascinating niche that, on many levels, pair well with the twins given his role as their practitioner. He stands 7'11" in height, is somewhat lanky, and fondly enigmatic. (Information will be added/is likely to change some)
  4. BASIC DETAILS Nefertum: the progeny of both Sobek and Ammit, and a creature with an amalgamation of several physical attributes that rival both hemispheres of her lineage. Despite only being a lesser god, she's still quite the magnificence to behold, used to challenge opponents much like herself. Her closest bond is shared between herself and Jezebel, a special union that formed when Nefertum was presented as a bridal gift from the Pharaoh during matrimony. (Information will be added/is likely to change some)
  5. An album for visual content inspired by stories and other written interactions between Dead Man and Dead Girl. Here, you'll find edits and moodboards/collages that may provide insight into characters, NPCs, locations, and the verse(s) they inhabit.
  6. Joy tickled the twins like a pair of ballerinas attending their first dance recitalโ€”a happiness that surfaced with each rare occasion that their father might feel particularly tolerable that day. Only they had never attended a recital, much less one with him in tow. Annabelle, being the most affectionate of the two and, quite frankly, the one who ofttimes curbed Gascoigneโ€™s wrath, was a bundle almost too sweet to stomach. Calmed and still, she looked like a deflated birthday balloonโ€”the weight of her lashes comparable to the gravity threatening to pull her knees to the floor. She did little else but trace the embroidery of her fatherโ€™s garb in soothing strokes. Isabeth, however, fought the sleep, her swollen, weary eyes moored to dark silhouettes shifting back and forth in the lightless kitchen. From over Gascoigneโ€™s shoulder, past Mabel, she could almost make out the shape of a woman: a tall figure with a tremendous ball gown. She appeared to be weeping, bent over like a toppled ฮ“ whilst cradling her face in her palms. Only there was no face to hold. Her head had been lopped off at the throat. The macabre presentation didnโ€™t disrupt Isabethโ€™s concentration. Sheโ€™d witnessed worse things. Like the time her pet rabbit, Mopsy, wriggled loose from her cage and got her leg snared between a stone crevice constituting one of the manorโ€™s many hearths. The poor creature squealed and screamed, flopping and kicking. In Isabethโ€™s frantic, near-petrified state, all she knew to do was pull. Pull and pull, trying to free her floundering Mopsy from the mouth of a roaring fire, until white fur bled red and skin and tissue shredded from bone in thin, fibrous filaments. With a quarter of the hapless bunny torn from its attachments, Beth hurled back onto the floor, a gush of blood and intestines slopping like leeches across her nightdress. That had nearly been three years ago. Still, the memory of warm wetness seeping onto her belly stuck with her like time hadnโ€™t aged it. Nor did time interfere with Isabethโ€™s readily accepted role as troublemaker. No, not troublemaker. But rather, fearless valiantโ€”an adventurer of sorts. It had been her idea to elude Professor Crow tonight, and even now, at the risk of her fatherโ€™s fury, sheโ€™d do it all over again. โ€œA magic trick?โ€ Annabelle inquired earnestly, her mitts wadded into tight fists, rubbing her eyes. The shrill sound of her sisterโ€™s voice pulled Isabeth from her dark reverie. Both maidservants had gone. It was now just the three of them and the ghosts looming in the hollow hallways. โ€œMagic trick?โ€ Beth repeated. โ€œWhat magic trick?!โ€
  7. Hesitancy lapped the first few droplets of courage building within the girlsโ€™ bellies, but Annabelleโ€™s tentative approach was the first to leap for her fatherโ€™s embrace. โ€œMind your step,โ€ the keeper called after her, and without another momentโ€™s delay, Isabeth followed suit, the two draping Gascoigneโ€™s shoulders in separate pairs of silken sleeves. Clinging to the ill-tempered warlock like they hadnโ€™t seen him since early spring. Such a sight was a fresh breath of air, even for a hardy old hag. The creases in the old womanโ€™s forehead softened with her eyes, and her expression settled for something a little less dry. For much of her life, Eleanor Grimshaw had only known servitude. Her father was a poor man, and her mother perished with the scourge that plagued the entire northern half of France just eight years after sheโ€™d been born. At age sixteen, she met Yusuf Carcassonne and his wife, Cornelia Carcassonneโ€”the first two to have the chateau built back in 1700. Where Gascoigne considered himself old, Ms. Grimshaw was ancient. For a long time, sheโ€™d watched children, and their childrenโ€™s children, grow to renew their familyโ€™s namesake. Feeding, clothing, and caring for each familial generation until they could dictate lives of their own. Well before her current master even became a thought in his motherโ€™s mind. โ€œCan we sleep in your bed tonight?โ€ Annabelle had her face buried in the crook of Gascoineโ€™s neck, her breath a gentle gale against skin as pallid as hers. Isabeth, on the other hand, kept her chin perched atop his opposite shoulder, both still clutching him tightly. โ€œWeโ€™ll promise to behaveโ€ฆโ€ The two appeared utterly fatigued, their fatherโ€™s presence and lullabied vow having soothed them into submission. In the midst of all this, a new pair of heels came clapping down the hallway from which direction Eleanor was facing, and with them, firelight glinting from a handheld lamp. โ€œMabel, clean all of this up for me, will you, please?โ€ The newly-arrived redhead idled there for a moment, her brows stitched with worry, not a single rumple appearing on her youthful canvas. Having heard the recent commotion, she glanced worriedly at the girls, then at the muddled mess on the floor. "Quickly, now,โ€ the eldest keeper urged. โ€œY-Yes, of course, Frรคulein! Right away.โ€
  8. The intrusive sound of ceramic fragments pealing across the floor sent a small cloud of dust billowing through the air. The noise rang loud and far, amplified by, what had been for decades, desolate passageways and deserted chambers. Both twins flinched as scalding hot liquid dappled their exposed ankles, spurring them to stagger back two steps before they exchanged a knowing glimpse. The disquiet on their sun-starved faces meant they knew they were in trouble, and just when the silence became a sliver too much to bear, they pleaded beneath their fatherโ€™s snarled sneer. โ€œDonโ€™t let Scrapbeak take us.โ€ โ€œPlease, papa?โ€ โ€œHeโ€™s going to unstitch us.โ€ โ€œAnd stitch us back together,โ€ they finished simultaneously. โ€œNonsense,โ€ a voice cut in from behind the girls, old eyes snatching a peek at Gascoigneโ€™s galled guise. It was Ms. Grimshawโ€”one of the eldest keepers in the manor and something of a surrogate to the offspring. Thereโ€™s no telling how long it took her to get here. Sheโ€™d come hobbling from the stables occupying the distant tip of the chateauโ€™s west wing with nothing but moonlight pouring in from floor-to-ceiling windows to guide herโ€ฆonly to wind up amid a standoff between father and daughters. โ€œYou two should behave for Professor Crow. He travels a long way to provide his services.โ€ Each Annabelle and Isabeth clung to the old croneโ€™s linens, their hands gripping for purchase against her worn, tarnished garb. Ms. Grimshaw stilled, seemingly adapted to the desperation in their cadaverous countenances, before her disappointed gaze settled back on Gascoigne. If there was one person in this entire death trap who could challenge her Masterโ€™s misdeeds towards his children, it was her. โ€œNow, all this babel Iโ€™m hearingโ€”are you up again, sending your father into another fit? Look at the mess!โ€
  9. The antique doorknob rattled and popped free from its mortise, only for a mess of locks and two identical heads to peer out from the slim opening. Four eyes scanned the corridor outside their bedroom while two sets of ears tuned to the creaks and groans of the chateauโ€™s gurgling bowels. None of the halls were lit during this time of night, but that didnโ€™t discourage the curiosities of two audacious adolescents with an interest in the dead. From the time they were pulled from their motherโ€™s belly to the time now, most had considered them a peculiar pair. Consequently, being peculiar attracted attentionโ€”far more than they had hopedโ€”but none seemed quite as intrigued, nor as fascinated, as the family practitioner. Professor Crow was what the townsfolk called him, but the twins had unique monikers they stood by. Sawbones and Rotwurst were of a few, but Scrapbeak seemed the most prevalent given the Doctorโ€™s hoard of shiny metals. When asked where he accumulated his collection, the girls would shiver. The dead offer many gifts, my children, heโ€™d say. It was enough to explain the noises theyโ€™d hear in the early mornings before the sun roseโ€”the scratching and digging in the courtyard tombs all a sign of Professor Crowโ€™s endeavors in search of new trinkets and treasures. Father always told them not to meddle, and, to their indifference, they obeyed. So long as they werenโ€™t strapped to a medical bed and fed serum through a needle or sliced open at the front to have their innards poked and prodded. Theyโ€™d very nearly come close to that two nights prior when the doctor had last visited, and tonight, he appeared again, provoking yet another game of hide-and-seek. โ€œNot that way,โ€ Annabelle whimpered before gripping her other half by the arm. Isabeth backpedaled, and the two veered to the right, heading straight for the scullery. Scrapbeak wouldnโ€™t think to look there! But that hope withered as a shadow darker than the rest swelled around the end of the hallway.
  10. Iโ€™d be happy to discuss something with you. Feel free to message me privately.
  11. Plot Craving(s) ๐‘‰๐ผ๐ฟ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฟ๐‘‚๐‘‚๐ท: ๐‘†๐‘‚๐‘€๐ต๐ธ๐‘… ๐‘†๐ด๐ถ๐‘…๐ผ๐ฟ๐ธ๐บ๐ธ: ๐ด ๐บ๐‘‚๐ท ๐ผ๐‘ ๐‘‡๐ป๐ธ ๐ต๐ด๐‘†๐ธ๐‘€๐ธ๐‘๐‘‡: >>More information/ideas coming soon<<
  12. About the Writer Hello, hello. Welcome to my general cravings bulletin! I suppose for starters I should mention that I'm a very patient person and expect that same leniency in return. Impatience not only makes me anxious, but it's also a huge turn-off. We all have lives outside of this hobby so please stay kind. Length is something I'm not picky about. Quality over quantity, right? All I ask is that your posts help push the story forward. The minimum I'll allow is a single, well-written paragraph. As for me, I write comfortably anywhere between 2-5 paragraphs (sometimes more if I'm really engaged in a post). This aside, there may be times our post lengths won't match, and that's okay! Grammar is a must. Some More Fetishes Anything sexual should meld well with the story. I'm not here for pure smut. โ€ข Gore โ€ข Gags โ€ข Violence โ€ข Humiliation โ€ข Blood Play โ€ข Impact Play โ€ข Medical Play โ€ข Knives & Guns โ€ข Non-Con/Rape โ€ข Breath Control โ€ข Oral Stimulation โ€ข Abduction/Trafficking โ€ข Stockholm Syndrome โ€ข Aftercare (soft or rough) โ€ข Mutilation (mild or extreme) Limits Limits are few and far between. Just ask me if you have any particular questions. Era Preferences I'd say I'm most comfortable in a modern era setting. However, if I'm encouraged enough to do so, I can make attempts to Roleplay within the parameters of a vintage setting. Futurism isn't something I normally engage in. Pairings โ€ข Beast x Girl โ€ข Vampire x Target โ€ข Scientist x Subject โ€ข Trafficker x Victim โ€ข Stepfather x Adopted Daughter โ€ข Mob Boss x Rival Mob Boss's Stepdaughter
  13. Feel free to hop on over to my craving's bulletin for more in-depth ideas! The link is provided below. โ™ฅ [THIS THREAD IS IN NEED OF AN UPDATE. Iโ€™LL GET TO THAT AS SOON AS Iโ€™M ABLE] Carnal Cravingsโ€”Bulletin Thread
  14. Time hadnโ€™t been kind to Adalina. Her weak legs, decrepit and unreliable, had been her undoing. All it took was an ill-placed step and a twisted ankle before jaws welcomed her at the end of a backward fall. Witnessing the bloodshed, the slaughter, Jezebel's ghost doubled over and wept in devastation. Her ear-shattering cries transcended the astral plane, felt through her physical body, as tears brimmed the surface of her vision before descending against the collar of the deceased. With each mindless morsel, skin popped around her teeth as if she'd bitten into an underripe apple, arterial spray squirting against the back of her throat in ropes of warm, pungent fluid. Dead eyes peered straight through, and cold lips embraced saturated flesh like a newborn would a wet nurse. Adalina's shrieks and thrashing torso had since tapered into a cacophony of gurgling gags, her corpse convulsing, as precious Bella chewed one side of her neckโ€“masticating muscle and tendon until she reduced the entire structure to minced meat. It should've stopped at that, but it didn't. He wouldn't let it. A tangle of emotions stifled Jezebel's apparition, feeding off her dismay as she watched Hannibal's knees buckle. Watched as her body reciprocated his touch, spine curved, hips arching forward, pressing Ms. Lacrosse ever-closer between them. His mouth tore shreds from the woman who helped raise her and something similar to relief flooded each fissure of his guise. The sight was vile. And soon, that vileness stirred. Darker than blood and thicker than oil, it moved within the vessel of her spirit, its whip-like appendages slithering inside her abdomen. Blindly, it prodded her pallid, see-through frame, probing outward, retreating inward, before spreading its mass throughout her entire soul. Corrupting, changing, consuming. A sharp pain jolts from Jezebel's ankles to her temples, piercing her navel along the way. It stirs her from her stupor for only an instant. And in that moment of transience, Hannibal's hand is in her hairโ€”loosening the pins from her kempt coiffure, spilling it in waves against her back. She can't speak. She can't even move as the image of his profile molds into that of her father amidst their frightening feast. Through the haze of her exhaustionโ€“through a memory she can't be sure is her ownโ€“Jezebel is deposited into an unfamiliar room, bare and broken, one leg lifted, and one arm pinned to the fire screen of a burning hearth. Gabriel's eyes hover above, his breath heavy. Sweat shines across his broad, exposed shoulders, his straining muscles, glistening down the length of his spine and the peaks of his undulating pelvis. Pushing, withdrawing, and pushing again. Like a wound healed over, it opens once more, infecting her mind and existence. Heat sears vine-like shapes into her back. She can feel his fingers coiling against her thigh as he thrusts her against the fire, reassuring her that it wouldn't last too much longer, that the pain would all be over soon. It is within these words that she feels his desolation. And in his shuddering movements, he buries himself in a body that is not his. All she can do is stare, shoved against the fireplace screen, hips tilted, eyes peering over Gabrielโ€™s shoulder to settle across the room. Seeing nothing as a sheen clouds her gazeโ€”not with terror or agony, but incurable resignationโ€”a terrifying acceptance of the inevitable. ...He'll come back for you. He always does. Faintly, the hybridization of a groan and a murmur croons up Jezebel's throat. Her soul snaps into her body like a rubber band that'd been pulled too tight, awakening her to a spectacle most alarming. At some point during her recollective blackout, a skirmish ensued, apparent by the way Hannibal had her bruised beneath him on the Chesterfield cushions, her bodice torn and threadbare across her ribs, and the needle-like end of a hairpin trained directly at his right eye. Her pulse shimmers with the living remnants of their kill, biofluids marinating the slender column of her neck and the dip that valleys into a v against her velvet bones. Had Hannibalโ€™s hand not restrained her, Jezebelโ€™s wrist mightโ€™ve plunged forth, and with it, the shaft of a particularly unpleasant point.
ร—
ร—
  • Create New...

Important Information

We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue. Read our Privacy Policy for more information.

Please Sign In or Sign Up