(no subject)

[jholloway.livejournal.com]

It's dark in here and it smells of blood. Dust motes dance lazily in the dim lamplight; candles gutter in front of the shrine. It's dirty but it doesn't smell of sweat, or at least not much. The sheets are rucked and old. We clean them every so often but it all depends on her mood. Clothes are piled high, so many that there's no more room in the wardrobe and we had to stack them on the floor.

Blood is dried thick around her mouth, like lipstick sloppily applied by a child. Some of her hair is caught in it, matted against her face, and droplets have run from her chin and onto her neck and breasts. She was wearing makeup a few nights ago; around her eyes it is smeared black. She walks to us, naked, no more concerned about her nudity than you would be about being naked in front of your cat. She is beautiful. I want to fall to my knees. I want to be sick. When she touches me I want to sob; I actually do fall to my knees.

"This is important," she whispers. Her voice is like a moan of pleasure no matter what she says, like the sounds your first lover made that you've never been able to hear again. "I have read the auguries and they all point in the same direction." I nod. Auguries. Yes. Good.

"I have a mission for you...".