#bloodattar

[romanva]

OLD & ANCIENT, BLOOD & CRUOR, TRIED & TRUE.

[draculyr-a]

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...   ”

[vlyuvdova]

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 ?    ❞

  ⧗  @bloodattar​

[vlyuvdova]

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

[romanva]

I TERRIFY   :   @bloodattar

[vlyuvdova]

@bloodattar​ [ violetta ]asked: ( HOVER )

THE MOON LOOMS,     high - hung above woods of witches  &  floods of festival - mirth.   there are drums that surround the fire,   voices that sing upon the flame   -------    &  though they have since removed themselves,   have since retreated to places unknown [ KNOWN ONLY TO THEM ],   they remain watchful,   even if their attentions have been thus mutually stolen.   IS IT ANY WONDER, THEN,   that though the sharp cut of emerald that is found in her gaze is less than focused on the festivities that play out below them,    &  that it is rather the delicate touch of hot fingertips  &  the caress of a lover’s breath that call to her most of all ?

IT IS IN THESE MOMENTS THAT FORGETFULNESS FINDS HER, & SHE FINDS THAT FORGETTING SUITS HER BEST.     what use are jagged - edged memories to the fluid - present,   the blade of past to the sea of now ?   in another time she would feed from them as she would from bitter berries,   relish the sting as they slipped down her throat    -----    but here,   WITH THE VERY OBJECT OF HER PAIN NOW MADE HER PLEASURE,   she cannot think of such a thing.    &  what pleasure it is  :  her breath catches,   eyes pulled closed  &  body pulled closer to the burning sun around whom she is destined to orbit.

❝   violetta,   ❞    she whispers,   on the very edge of awareness,   HER VOICE BUT NIGHT’S BREATH.   no bitterness,   no indignation   --   the name is only simple,   yet holds beyond comprehension the fact of want.   her eyes find those of her lover,   just as wives are meant to,   new  &  ancient,    &  natalia cannot help but wish to drown in the amber - dusk of her stare &  the heat of their closeness.   her thighs tremble beneath her hands with the presage of what is to come,    &  if she had not already become the IMAGE OF DESIRE : TO BE DESIRED,   it would now be all that she could possibly be.   her mouth parts,   SO NEAR,   lips shaping around what would be a plea,   a begging for satiation    -----   but she knows these games,    &  if there is anything that the centuries have granted her,   it is that she  &  only she is able to know her wife.   SHE FORSAKES PRETENSE,   forsakes pride,    &  at the screeching song of flame  &  dance from below,   she wraps her hands about the beautiful pillar of violetta’s neck  &  pulls her to her,   to close the chasm between them,   to kiss her  &  be kissed in return.   natalia breathes a groan,   a gentle song not yet reaching its chorus,   against her mouth as she feels her knees pulled apart,    &  she smiles.    ❝   you’ll be the end of me.   ❞

  ⧗

[volchyas]

recce    rifle    for    eyen    hunts    seeking    exquisite    beauty    in    keen    desirous    crosshair.    aims,    engorges    at    the    enchantress,    hungrily    and    whole.    her    lips    the    shade    of    cleanly    sheared    roses    ＳＣＯＲＮＩＮＧ    her    wilt    at    the    edges;    endlessly    bleeding    red.    she    does    not    allow    her    fate    to    deny    her;    her    death    to    encompass    her    striking    youth.    heeding    her    is    cast,    cloaked    in    flanking    willows,    ＴＨＵＭＰＩＮＧ    the    most    dire    darkest    of    spells.    enshround    in    the    most    sunless    vicinity.    a    universe    littered    with    stars    and    yet    present    with    the    black;    the    void    that    presides    it.    webbing    her    in    his    gaze    derives    a    sense    of    likeness    at    marrow    core.    he    is    deathless    as    she    wishes    to    be,    only    she    can    see    her    untimely    demise    no    matter    how    much    blood    of    others    she    spills    and    conjures    from    dark    arts.    the    secrets    whisper    to    her,    seeping    in    temporal    lobes    as    they    are    the    walls    that    encase    her.    ＷＥ    ＡＬＬ    ＨＡＶＥ    ＡＮ    ＥＮＤ. all    flesh    to    the    murderess    is    made    for    a    slow,    ongoing    and    eventual    ＲＯＴ.    few    could    claim    immunity,    but    such    a    recital    was    in    his    clutch    exempt    from    death’s    mark    and    touch.    for    this,    adam’s    death,    incorporeal,    flowerbed    consumption    by    the    dirt,    was    something    ＰＲＥＣＩＯＵＳ,    and    as    with    all    uncommon,    precious   entities,    zenya    yearns    for    it.    to    pinch,    to    rob    it    like    a    limping    heart,    a    locked    up    crimson-ruby.    steal    the    death    she    fears    even    in    the    most    unlikely    adversary. slight,    petty    robbery    was    not    in    her    character,    she    swore    long    ago    to    take    a    man’s    last    dying    gasping    respire    or    nothing    at    all.    adam    would    be    no    different,    as    would    koschei    be    no    different    and    she    would    find    his    death.    her    enigmatic    pull    felt    no    different    from    being    chained    to    her,    their    meeting    merely    a    few    steps    off    of    being      ＥＴＥＲＮＡＬ;    an    endless    quarry    of    them    circling    one    another    until    the    other              ＷＩＴＨＥＲＳ.    ❝    privet,    zenya,    ❞    slender    form    that    looms    bows    before    her,    stretches    to    scaling    height    as    he    hands    her    a    glass    of    the    finest    wine.     ❝    ＰＡＲＣＨＥＤ    ?    i    must    say,    i    could    not    keep    my    eyes    off    you    at    the    feast    gathering.    i    am    koschei    bessmertniy.    the    tsar    of    life.    i    have    heard    only    the    most    marvellous    prate.    tell    me,    what    does    such    a    ＦＡＢＬＥＤ    ＶＥＤＭＡ    with    a    mortal    fate    as    such    as    yourself    do    with    such    recital    ?    does    it    make    you    swell    to    know    your    legend    soars    while    you    turn    in    your    grave    ?    ❞      @bloodattar​

[vlyuvdova]

@bloodattar​ (zenya) asked: “I’m glad you are here, I was going to send word for you.”

TO NEED & TO WANT   have often been oldest of friends,   sharing gentle things between one another,   & just as often have been bitter enemies,   with snapping jaws & snarling teeth.   they are not beheld to exist as anything beside these,   yet natalia considers herself & knows only that they sit in silence in the hollow depths of her.   SHE HAS WANTED MUCH, SHE HAS NEEDED MUCH,    but perhaps she has wanted & needed with such ferocity for so long that she neither knows the difference nor cares to.   & when she stands here,   shrouded in shadow & licks of golden flame,   she only feels the pang of desperation.

❝    some say i have a skill for foresight.    ❞   her words are kept level,   as if she has no interest in the way her host’s hair shimmers in the fire - light,   nor the way her eyes glow so agonizingly blue she could freeze in them  [ WHAT LENGTHS YOU GO TO TO HIDE YOURSELF IN YOUR DELICATE FEAR OF REFUSAL ].   the things she would give to have those eyes look at her with even an ounce of interest more than what she already offers.   natalia slips these thoughts away,   & steps further into the high priestess’ chambers.    ❝    but perhaps i only wanted to sate a curiosity.    ❞

  ⧗