writing_shadows

This one is for

sisterkenna. :)

She doesn’t get a lot of opportunity to simply relax, wind down, let the dreamy haze wash over her. You don’t when you’re a politician. Sensualist and hedonist she may claim to be, but her time for enjoying these things declines in direct proportion to the growth of her influence. So she strips down to nothing and adorns her cold, pale frame with the skimpy scraps of beautifully cut fabric that have been laid out for her.

She pulls a wry smile as she realises, belatedly, that removing her clothes is no concern at all, but removing her choker and gloves will give Grace, Kenna and Lizzie more insight than they were perhaps looking for into her past. She stands, a picture of womanly elegance, all curves and sun-shy flesh, and yet her gut throbs with envy and affection as Lola appears at her side, narrow hips that span no wider than her waist and boyish frame, all angles and bones. And Lola, she gazes back with a timid self-awareness that says she knows, somewhere inside though she cannot articulate it, that Darcy would as joyfully devour her as adore her.

The ice pool is quite something, and even she feels sluggish in there, but the Jacuzzi, the prickling heat that floods her skin and burrows right to her core… that’s what makes her head swim. Feeling her blood warm without her willing it, an artificial sweat coating her skin and the gradual softening of her long dead flesh is intoxicating. As she lowers her cut wrists into the water, the searing shock of it makes her shiver and gasp for long spent breaths. And a dark satisfaction fills her eyes and smile as the water becomes tinged with ribbons of pink, the heady scent of her blood, potent and fragrant like death, rising from the water to greet her senses.