Post by Joliette Thorne on May 28, 2006 20:08:13 GMT -5
Castellian moved deliberately along, his strides taking him forth into the perpetual darkness. How long had they walked? It seemed to matter little, for no progress could be distinguished. It was then, with a soft crunch lifting beneath him, that Castellian realized the ground had turned loose beneath his feet. A crackle lifted, and then another, while light bloomed lazily along the horizon before them. The Drow stood with his fiance at his side, stilling his movements to watch as this 'dawn' opened their eyes to what lay about them. Together they were standing on a knoll of short grass, the blades promising to be cool and soft, and trailing off toward a sandy shore behind them. Fresh water waves pounded relentlessly there, and the world was empty save trees, and a soft, swaying breeze.
Tenebrae blinked slowly, eyes conditioned to the darkness crinkling against the morning light. She took a deep, cleansing breath; the vampiress had not felt such peace for a very long time. It seemed that this morning had dawned not merely a new sun, but somehow healed her, heart and mind, of the burdens she'd carried too long. Slipping her arms around the waist of her Lord, a gentle smile curved rosy lips and she canted her chin up, jewelline-green gaze seeking his own alabaster. Another breath, a sigh of sheer contentment, as his embrace enfolded her. "Caste... I had the most horrible dream last night. Everything was dark, and you weren't there..." On tiptoe now, she pressed her lips to his, rose-pink on ebon, and her words a warm whisper against his mouth. "I love you."
Castellian responded to the warmth from his vampriss' frame with a renewed ease, his body suddenly void of the aches that had burdened it. Sinuous arms, lined with compacted muscle and smooth ebon flesh, wrapped around Tenebrae's lithe form and crushed her softly-curved body into the hard line of his own. They kissed, deeply, his tongue plundering the sweet confines of her mouth before he spoke, breathy and ragged, nuzzling each word into the full pout of her lips. "And I, thee, Tenebrae. Thou art as soft and stunning as snow, wrapped about the black rock of a mountain. I am that stone, and the life of snow is what I have longed for. Thine's embrace warms me to the bone, and thrills me to the boundary of my depths."
Tenebrae's smile broadened; as ever, she loved his poetic praise of her, the archaic phrasing. "You'll spoil me, Castellian D'Onri, if you're not careful." Dropping back to her heels - or as close to it as those rugged arms would allow - she turned to have her back against him, small hands drawing his larger ones around her waist tightly. Leaning back, neck craned aside to look up at her husband, she mused: "How can two people be so happy? Look at the wonder of this world, Caste. The beauty. And here we stand, upon it, blessed with each other." A slight and chill breeze had her press closer, still. "And our son." And as though on cue, a small figure ran toward them, laughing, trailing a makeshift kite behind. Snow-white hair whipped around the lad's face, revealing the pointed ears that marked him half-drow, obsidian eyes the only shade he possessed, other than stark ivory. "Lucien! Watch your feet... don't get them ..." The boy was already racing through the water's edge, the lower half of his pants darkened by the spray. Tene shook her head, laughing. "Love, he's as stubborn as you, I swear it."
Castellian didn't attempt to fight the response his body drew as Tenebrae pressed into him, the feel of her rounded backside crushed to his hips setting a heat to spread along his flesh. Tightening his arms about her, keeping them tight together, he regarded his son's dash along the lake's edge, an avian blade slashing along with remarkable swiftness. His response to Tenebrae was coy, and soft against the curve of her ear. "I would argue, my love, that stubbornness is a trait held with strength by us both."
Tenebrae's lips were pursed in mock-disapproval as she tipped her head back, spine arcing away from Castellian's body. "Caste... not in front of Luc!" This sharp whisper, edged in laughter. "And I fear, as ever, you are right." They watched the child, in silence a moment, his eight year-old body only just beginning to lengthen out of infancy hurtling along the shore, the kite a sodden, forgotten pulp on the water's edge. Her pale fingers gently stroking the smooth midnight skin of his forearm, as that limb once more drew her tight against him, the necromancer added, quietly: "Remember how hard we fought, to gain this peace? I only pray our son reaps the rewards, now. He deserves a good life."
Tenebrae blinked slowly, eyes conditioned to the darkness crinkling against the morning light. She took a deep, cleansing breath; the vampiress had not felt such peace for a very long time. It seemed that this morning had dawned not merely a new sun, but somehow healed her, heart and mind, of the burdens she'd carried too long. Slipping her arms around the waist of her Lord, a gentle smile curved rosy lips and she canted her chin up, jewelline-green gaze seeking his own alabaster. Another breath, a sigh of sheer contentment, as his embrace enfolded her. "Caste... I had the most horrible dream last night. Everything was dark, and you weren't there..." On tiptoe now, she pressed her lips to his, rose-pink on ebon, and her words a warm whisper against his mouth. "I love you."
Castellian responded to the warmth from his vampriss' frame with a renewed ease, his body suddenly void of the aches that had burdened it. Sinuous arms, lined with compacted muscle and smooth ebon flesh, wrapped around Tenebrae's lithe form and crushed her softly-curved body into the hard line of his own. They kissed, deeply, his tongue plundering the sweet confines of her mouth before he spoke, breathy and ragged, nuzzling each word into the full pout of her lips. "And I, thee, Tenebrae. Thou art as soft and stunning as snow, wrapped about the black rock of a mountain. I am that stone, and the life of snow is what I have longed for. Thine's embrace warms me to the bone, and thrills me to the boundary of my depths."
Tenebrae's smile broadened; as ever, she loved his poetic praise of her, the archaic phrasing. "You'll spoil me, Castellian D'Onri, if you're not careful." Dropping back to her heels - or as close to it as those rugged arms would allow - she turned to have her back against him, small hands drawing his larger ones around her waist tightly. Leaning back, neck craned aside to look up at her husband, she mused: "How can two people be so happy? Look at the wonder of this world, Caste. The beauty. And here we stand, upon it, blessed with each other." A slight and chill breeze had her press closer, still. "And our son." And as though on cue, a small figure ran toward them, laughing, trailing a makeshift kite behind. Snow-white hair whipped around the lad's face, revealing the pointed ears that marked him half-drow, obsidian eyes the only shade he possessed, other than stark ivory. "Lucien! Watch your feet... don't get them ..." The boy was already racing through the water's edge, the lower half of his pants darkened by the spray. Tene shook her head, laughing. "Love, he's as stubborn as you, I swear it."
Castellian didn't attempt to fight the response his body drew as Tenebrae pressed into him, the feel of her rounded backside crushed to his hips setting a heat to spread along his flesh. Tightening his arms about her, keeping them tight together, he regarded his son's dash along the lake's edge, an avian blade slashing along with remarkable swiftness. His response to Tenebrae was coy, and soft against the curve of her ear. "I would argue, my love, that stubbornness is a trait held with strength by us both."
Tenebrae's lips were pursed in mock-disapproval as she tipped her head back, spine arcing away from Castellian's body. "Caste... not in front of Luc!" This sharp whisper, edged in laughter. "And I fear, as ever, you are right." They watched the child, in silence a moment, his eight year-old body only just beginning to lengthen out of infancy hurtling along the shore, the kite a sodden, forgotten pulp on the water's edge. Her pale fingers gently stroking the smooth midnight skin of his forearm, as that limb once more drew her tight against him, the necromancer added, quietly: "Remember how hard we fought, to gain this peace? I only pray our son reaps the rewards, now. He deserves a good life."