Zane crept cautiously down the main corridor of Ariaís magnificent household. He winced as each step created a light tap, echoing from one wall to another. Though he knew that there was nothing to worry about, for the sun raised high and menacingly in the sky. Still, he had always felt that the walls seemed to watch him carefully, almost as if they suspected foul play. Still, he continued on, ignoring the chills that ran ceaselessly across his spine, tingling frightfully pleasant throughout his flesh.
Finally, he reached his chosen destination. Quietly, maybe even wearily, he pushed the cumbersome doors ajar, careful not to let its well-aged hinges to creek. Failing, it creaked ominously, wide and prolonged. Zane hesitated, checking the room briefly for any signs of movement. Everything was in place, and perfectly spotless. As to Ariaís particular taste, no dust or dirt could be found, for filth was like the plague, a dreadful disease, long extinct but never forgotten.
Moving to the center of the room, he parted the layers of lace set around Ariaís coffin. It was a exquisute piece of art, made of a brilliantly polished marble and encrusted with close-cut diamonds and her personal favorite, Jade. Along the sides, images of Venus, Isis, Hera, and Diana had been engraved. Aria had always been a firm believer in the power of Gods that were no longer held in high grace with the human religions. She assumed that since they starved for the attention once offered without question, their full power and concentration would be focused more on the giver of belief, for without followers, a god does not exist.
Precautious as he ever had been, Zane delicately lifted the cover from the artful tomb, balancing it against the opposing outer wall. Ever so carefully, he pushed away the characteristic ebony hair that shrouded her face from view, and tenderly, he observed his beloved sire. Even in sleep her skin glowed majestically, and her eyelashes fluttered prettily in some sense of sleep-driven dreams. She seemed completely at peace, no longer hungry for sovereignty and rule, and just beneath the confinement of appealing silk and lace, lay her perfect and womanly body, flawless and amaranthine for all eternity. This too had the tranquil effect of her face and for an instant he fancied not being able to hold his restrain against this tantalizing specimen. Oh, if for one moment allowed it, he would take her in his arms and- no. She would never allow this, and he knew it well. Aria allowed nothing of the intimate sort to be shown neither in her presence, nor with herself. In her eyes, emotion was a weakness, but a powerful one to hold against others, as in Zaneís case.
Now he could stand it no longer, her serene state of immortal beauty held too much of a charm for him to imprison his overwhelming love for her. Steadily, he lowered his head to hers, moving at such a painstakingly slow pace that with each quiver of her eyelids, he stopped and waited patiently to be sure she did not awake. At last came the moment he had been anticipating. Softly, he pressed his lips against her own, prepared for her to reach up in an angered rage, and disperse of his afterlife. However, she did not, and surprisingly her lips felt warm and moist, not cold and stony like the emotions she put forth. In a fleeting moment, he thought of her as a woman; another being like himself, needy for the affection of the opposite sex. It was simplicity at itís best, a secretive world of innocence, hidden from all others and reached only with a key held in the heart; even ones that donít beat.
|15 Aug 2003|| Althea|
I like it...
|21 Aug 2003|| Anonymous|
Yeah, I forgot to say, I wanna be tortured with the rest of the story! J. Dunfield
replies: "Oh, no, no, no, no, no.. No... No... no. The rest truly is torture."
|21 Aug 2003|| Anonymous|
WOW! I, um, can't say anything, this story is just absolutly perfect,
I have to go now
*wonders out of room with a dazed expression on her face while muttering wow all the while*