The Red Shirt

She walked into the store, and if I could have waved my arms in the air I would have. I watched as she wandered around, touching some things, just glancing at others. She strolled in my direction, and I held my breath as her eyes lit upon me. She smiled softly, and then ran her fingers down my sleeve. Within minutes she had purchased me, and I was on my way home. I wondered who he was, her husband, her boyfriend, just a friend… all I knew for certain was that I now belonged to him. When we arrived home, she tucked me under something else, hiding me from his eyes until she was ready. She handed me to him, and he smiled, then tried me right on. I was a perfect fit. I knew I was where I belonged.

As time passed, I watched as their girls grew up, the boy they took in and made their son wasn’t around as much but I saw the changes in him as well. My lady, and my gentleman had many changes in their lives, and I was so grateful to still be around. My edges frayed, but instead of tearing me into rags, or throwing me out, I spent most of my time in the closet. At least when the youngest daughter wasn’t stealing me to wear… I admit I liked getting out into the light again.

She stopped stealing me from her Dad, and after my seam tore he stopped wearing me as well. No more working in the yard, or the garage. But still they kept me. I watched as he grew older, then got sick. I watched as she worried, and cried. I watched as things got to the point where he wasn’t coming into the room at all anymore, though I could hear his voice if I listened. They no longer slept in the room I could see, though she would come in and get him clothes regularly. If I could have offered my warmth to him I would have, though I was no longer as warm as I once was.

It happened one morning. I heard the sounds of others in the house, and knew he was off to the healing place again. She didn’t come home, not all day, not all night. Others came into the house. They didn’t speak much though, and then they left again. She came home the next morning, with the son, the youngest daughter, and the ex-husband. She was crying. I heard her explaining on the phone. He wouldn’t be coming home again.

It was time. She’d been looking at us all off and on, and it hurt her to see us. I no longer caused her sweet smile, now I was a reason for tears. She and the youngest began pulling us all out of the closet. I was added to a pile to throw into the bin. The youngest run her fingers down my arm, then pulled me, and another one out of the pile putting us to the side. I watched as the eldest, and her youngest, joined my lady as well going through the clothes in the closet, picking what they wanted to keep. The youngest pulled the blue away from me, and handed it to her sister. I saw tears, and a look wanting confirmation that she was getting to keep blue. The youngest held me up, and said “I’ve got the red”, and suddenly I knew. I wasn’t being thrown out, I wasn’t being torn into rags, the youngest was keeping a memory. I was going to a new home.

My left arm has a tear down the lower seam, my wrists are frayed, there’s paint on me in several places, and I’m not nearly as warm as I once was. My lady, and my gentleman have no need of me any longer, but the youngest finds comfort in my arms. So I am home, again.

Dear Santa….

 

Dear Santa,

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written to you. I’m in my 40’s now. You’d think I’d be able to just get whatever I want for Christmas, go out buy it myself, sweet talk… whoever into buying it for me. Whatever. You… you wouldn’t think that I’d feel the need to write to someone that at my age I shouldn’t even believe in anymore. But Santa I’m really hoping, I’m praying, that they’re wrong, that you do exist, that somehow miracles can happen.

You see Dad’s not doing well,and I’d kinda like to do something about that, you know? I can’t stand that he isn’t doing well. And I kinda need your help. He can’t breathe well, and he’s on oxygen, and uh, and I’m terrified, I don’t really wanna lose my Dad, you know. So if you can maybe think up something, some way, some manner of making it all better. I’d really appreciate it. And you know, if Dad gets better then Mom’s stress will go down and maybe she’ll be healthier too. And ya I’m just kinda terrified right now, I’m afraid of losing my parents. One to lungs that don’t wanna work, one to stress so high that she’s pretty much bursting into tears regularly.

Santa I’m scared, and inside of me is that 5 year old girl. The one who knew all she needed to do was write to Santa, who rarely ever asked you for anything. The one who said “hey my sister would really like…”, the one who always sent you Merry Christmas Santa, and have a safe flight.

And I don’t know who else to ask. Because everybody prays to God, and everybody’s asking him for so much. And I don’t think, I don’t even know if he hears me. But you always used to.

So, Santa… can you hear me?

Much love,

Have a safe flight.

Merry Christmas Santa

Broken

Dear Journal;

Broken

Shattered

Destroyed

I feel as if these words describe not only my heart but my soul as well. Can a soul be shattered? I feel as if there is nothing left to wake up for in the morning, nothing left to care about, nothing left to live for. It has all passed me by and I was looking the other way.

Drifting

Lost

Abandoned

My mind is wandering, aimless, unsure. Lost in a morass of fear, doubt, pain. My focus is gone, my thoughts scattered to the four winds, hidden from myself. Before I had hearts, hands, souls to help me find my way back. Now, now I am alone.

I know who I am, who I am supposed to be, what my purpose is. I have found though that I do not care. It began several months ago. I am only now free of that place, that man, the drugs, and the fear. Well perhaps not the fear. If I were free of the fear I would not be constantly glancing over my shoulder, would I? I would not have a need to have every light in the house turned on, only turning them off in the light of day. When my sisters see my electric bill they will not be pleased with me. Oh dear god, my sisters. I’m going to have to tell my sisters. Of course, it would have been nice if even one had noticed that I was not attending our usual Sunday dinners. Noticed and then come to see if they could locate me. I know I have missed a dinner or two in the past but I have never missed without letting someone know. Normally I would have contacted someone. My other sisters have missed previously, without a call, or a text. I’ve always made a point of swinging by to see if everything was alright….

No, this is his fault. His alone. Not theirs. They would not have known where to look for me, and had one come along perhaps he would have kept her as well. Or killed her. No I can’t think about that. I must remember that everyone else is alright. I could not bring myself to speak with any of them tonight, I needed to come home, shower. Did you know that showering in an empty house can be terrifying? The silence is oppressive. However do not turn on the radio or television before you shower. The silence is preferable to the sounds that cover up footsteps, breathing, doors opening….

Stop! I went by our family home before I came here. I silently peered through the living room window, and in doing so determined it was Sunday. The wine was open, popcorn made, they were watching a movie. It’s one we’ve all watched several times in the past. I was surprised to see my brothers as well. They seldom join us and I will admit that I wanted to go inside, crawl into the lap of one of our boys, and stay there. Of course I could not let them see me like that. Stolen clothes, covered in blood (not all of it mine, he felt pain before he died), my hair full of dirt, my skin covered in cuts, bruises, needle tracks…. Thank God I have seven days until Sunday.

My family is a little… unusual. We are none of us family by blood, simply by choice. We found each other gradually over the years. We know that we will most likely find more as time passes, it is the nature of our bond. We have had siblings leave, their paths veering away from ours. We have also suggested, rather firmly I might add, that a sibling or two is no longer welcome in the family home. I cannot help but wonder if my recent actions will cause my departure to be desired.

We each have a virtue that we identify with strongly. My gift has been eloquence, the capability to speak and be heard, to bring the truth to light without causing offense. I have been told that although I was not born with a silver spoon, I was blessed with a silver tongue. My family knows that a portion of my gift is the ability to broadcast my desired outcome, the positive emotions that I wish to be felt by the others involved. I have recently found out that I am also capable of permitting my fear, my anger, and my hate to be felt by others as well. How I wish I had never been taught that lesson.

I don’t actually know how it began, one moment I was home, the next I was not. The day had begun like most any other. My phone ringing. It was, of course, one of my sisters. Raven needed my help. Her primary talent is Justice but she sometimes let it over take her. She’d gotten herself into a little bit of a pickle and needed me to talk to the group and smooth things over. Not a huge issue. So I told her I would have a quick shower, then head on to meet up with her. I never made it. I was in the shower, I heard a thump and I called out. I thought one of my sisters was over. I saw a shadow on the curtain. And then nothingness.

When I awoke all I could feel was heat, surrounding me, entrapping me. No escape. I couldn’t move, my eyes opened in panic to see nothing, darkness. I couldn’t help myself and I began to twist, whimper, cry. Suddenly I was able to move, the heat dissipating, and I felt a light touch on my arm. “Shhhhh…relax my sweet. Everything is fine, you’re safe.” A soft, masculine voice, unfortunately not a familiar voice.

“Where am I? Why can’t I see?” I wanted to shout with every fiber of my being, but that never gets anyone anywhere. I felt myself broadcast a little of my fear, just a small amount. I didn’t know if it would work, I’d never tried fear before. Concern but never fear. But then again, what had I ever truly been afraid of?

“No my sweet, none of that.” I felt a sharp prick in my arm and that was the end of that. Every time I woke he was there. If I tried to broadcast my emotions, another needle. If I screamed, another needle. If I cried, or carried on in any fashion, again the needle. As time passed I began to wake more quietly. I felt around my space using what senses I had available. As touch and sight were out of the equation I had to listen, keep myself calm and pay attention when he entered the room.

Damn it, Jes just pulled into the drive. I’ll be back. She can’t see this.

home-safesecure-large

Dear Journal;

Jes saw a light on and decided to stop. She said she thought I was out of town. Wanted to know where I went for six months without telling anyone. Six months. She also gave me shit for disappearing on our sister. She had to go help Raven, though she said there was a bad taste left behind that nothing could fix. I told her to stop ranting at me that I’d explain on Sunday what happened so I only have to do so once. The light was behind me so she couldn’t see the bruises.

Anyway, after a time (I’m not sure how long) I realized that when it was really quiet, I could hear other voices. The only one that seemed able to tell when I was broadcasting was the man in charge of me, so to speak. I began to send out gentle waves of concern. I could sense a woman in the room to my left, and a man in the one to my right. I knew without trying though that he wasn’t going to be around much longer. I could feel he was letting go. I tried to send him courage, strength, hope. All I received in return was despair. The next time I woke, I sensed nothing. He was gone.

The next day I made contact, of a sort, with the woman. I could tell when she was medicated, when she was simply sleeping, and when she was awake. Sleeping meant nightmares. Fear. Awake meant terror. I could only help for short periods of time. Her fear, her terror, increased my own. So I had to keep my contact with her to a minimum. I believed that instead of becoming despondent like that man had, that she was losing her mind. There were times I heard her screaming, but the laughing was the worst. Neither lasted long though, and then I could sense she’d been drugged again.

My captor was away more. I had more time between his visits. More time awake. I’d begun to notice that my body was in pain. The only times I knew anyone was in the room was when he would come in and the world would disappear with the prick in my arm. I started to wonder what was happening when I was unaware.

I’m not certain how long it took but I must have built up a resistance to the drug. He didn’t know as I tried to be silent when I woke. I could hear him in the room sometimes, writing on occasion, sounds I didn’t recognize other times. I would stay silent, contained, hidden. I would wait, sometimes half an hour, sometimes longer before I’d try to send out calm, hope, to the lady in the next room. If I didn’t wait long enough he would come back and I’d get another needle. I finally woke very early one day. I could feel his hands on my body. He was touching me, everywhere. Pinching, squeezing, slapping. No wonder I hurt every day. After that nearly every time I woke he was touching me in some manner. I did my best to remain calm, quiet, let him think I was still out. I didn’t always succeed.

Then one day I felt the needle when he came in, but I didn’t go completely under. I could hear him talking to another man. I couldn’t track the words though, the drug made that nearly impossible. I couldn’t move either but I was aware. And then I wished I wasn’t. They took turns using my body. Not just the two, but several men. Different touches, different voices, different men all using my body for their enjoyment. Now I knew why I was bound, blindfolded, why I was being held against my will. My terror overwhelmed me, and that was all I knew for a while.

Next time I woke I awoke screaming. He spoke to me and I did not stop, I think it was a few days before I woke again. He changed my drug, I was solidly out again. This time when I woke I planned. I needed to get out. I’d been waiting, hoping that one of my sisters would arrive, tell me that I was in the hospital, tell me what had happened. They would never have left me in a place like this though. So now I knew, I had to get out on my own. But how? My hands and feet were firmly strapped to the bed. I wondered about the lady in the other room. Was she trapped as I was? Were they doing to her what they were doing to me?

Then a couple of days ago, while it was still quiet all around me, I woke suddenly. In the silence I could hear her tears. Her fears filled the room with screaming, though there was no sound to be heard. Her pain, her sense of loss, her anguish surrounded me, drowning me in her.

I began to speak. Softly, gently, low. If there was anyone walking past none but she could hear. And she heard. If only she had not heard. My words fueled her, commanded her. My words drove her. Her actions were my thoughts. My pain, my sorrow, my hatred. Her body was free, mine was not. My mind, my voice were all I had. She became my avatar. My puppet. My saviour. Their death.

She had been unresponsive for days. They no longer bothered to bind her to the bed. When her controller entered the room, she used my anger, my hatred, my out and out uncontrollable rage as her fuel. I whispered thoughts of death, mayhem, blood and she made them real. When he was dead I still did not release her from me. She killed the man in the hall, tore him limb from limb. After she released me from my bindings I stumbled to the door, leaning against it I looked out and watched his life merge with the water he had been washing the floor with. I did not mourn him though. If he was not one of the men that raped us, then he left us to them.

God damn it, who’s here now? I need to finish this. I need to get it out. But the doorbell is ringing. I’ll be back.

Screaming

Dear Journal;

I need to be more careful. Devine stopped in, noticed all the lights on, and started to walk around turning them off. I had to lie, I told her I was looking for a mouse. That I thought I’d seen one and didn’t want to turn off the lights until I found it. She turned to look at me, she looked concerned and I thought I hadn’t done a good enough job with the cover-up but then she shivered and said she hoped I was wrong but maybe I could borrow a cat. I’m going to have to stop leaving the lights on all the time. It’s attracting too much attention. Tomorrow I’m going to get a lock for my bedroom door. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep. With my room at the back of the house my sisters shouldn’t notice these lights on all night.

I still don’t know her name. I guess I never will now. They killed her, they killed her as if they had plunged the knife into her body themselves. But he wasn’t there yet. They’d called him so he was on his way. But he wasn’t there yet and none of the others seemed to feel my broadcast as an outside thing.

We’d gotten part way down the hall. We were opening doors, trying to release anyone else we found. We only found two others that could walk. There were others but they weren’t going anywhere. One man had his legs broken, and they didn’t set them properly. He told me he’d tried to escape and that was his punishment. He asked me to kill him. I told him I couldn’t. I should have then, I did later but not by choice. She’d picked up the mop, and broken off the handle. As I was untying another lady she turned and put it through some guy’s throat. He came running into the room, yelling at us. She didn’t like the yelling. I tried to rein in my emotions a little, the other lady was becoming violent as well and I realized I was still affecting them. I should have let it be though.

We found a man near the end of the hall, he could walk but there was something about him that made me nervous. We let him free anyway and he joined us. We went around a corner and into a large open space, there was a kitchen area on the other side of the room and I could see knives from where I was standing. I thought it was odd that there was no one around but I took it as a blessing and we went across the room. We each collected a couple of knives. The new lady didn’t want to but I told her to grab a couple anyway. I said she didn’t have to use them but it would keep her from looking like easy prey.

As we slipped into the next hallway, I noticed all the doors were open, no one to rescue, nowhere for anyone to be hiding. I started to calm down. I could see the doors leading to the outside world just a few meters away. As I calmed down so too did my companions, but I didn’t see it. I was walking in front with the first woman. I really wish I’d asked her name. As my emotions settled, my broadcast ebbed. I thought we were all there for the same thing. I thought we were all being used in the same manner. I have to admit I was confused when behind me I heard a gurgle. As we turned around we saw that the man we had rescued had cut the other woman’s throat. He was smiling. He was covered in her blood, and he was smiling as he moved towards us.

I froze. And because I froze so did the lady I started all of this with. Because she froze, he plunged a knife into her stomach. He did it almost as an afterthought. He was walking towards us, his eyes holding my own, he was nearly past her, she had stopped sooner than I did. Then his hand moved almost lazily to the side and I heard the sound of the knife plunging into her. His smile grew as he pulled it back out, his hand covered in gore as he sliced to the side. He made it two more steps towards me, a couple more and he would be close enough to kill me too, and still I stood. My fear had paralyzed me, he was nearly to me when he stopped with a look of confusion on his face. He should have made certain she was dead, or at least down for the count. Her pain woke her from my fear. Her kitchen knives were in his back. One in the middle, one looked to be in his kidney. As he fell her eyes locked on mine. I caught her before she hit the ground, I held her as she bled out, I cried as the light left her eyes, and I could no longer feel her presence.

I’m not certain how long I sat on the floor with her in my arms. Her blood pooled around me on the floor, his blood mingled with hers but I could not make myself move further away. I hear the doorbell but I need to finish this now. Whoever it is can come back later. It’s taken me two days to get this far, and I have yet to sleep. Maybe when I finish I will.

I heard voices coming towards me. One man was talking on a cell phone, telling someone that we were free, that the others were dead, I was the only one remaining. I waited until he was off the phone, until he and the other men were closer, and then I sent them my rage. Their targets? Each other. I sent my rage, my hatred, and my fear to all of them. The one with the phone suddenly turned to the man beside him and the phone went through his mouth. That was the only one to die quickly. As he turned to another, he turned his back to one and he suddenly lost a part of his spine. He collapsed and I watched him die. It took a while. The one holding the spine suddenly had a chair smash over his head. I lost track of what was happening for a little while as the remaining 5 men made each other bleed. When it was down to one, I put her gently on the floor, took up my knives and walked towards him. I sent him wave upon wave of trust, love, desire. By the time I was close to him he was rather randy. I let him watch as I cut it off. Then one of my knives went through his eye into his brain, he was dead before his scream fully materialized. I went and sat back with the lady, pulled her back onto my lap, and told her that they had paid for what they did to us and that I was going to take a short rest before I went home. I believe I passed out for a while.

Controller

The next thing I remember is looking up and seeing the man that was my controller. I’d never seen him before but I recognized his voice when he spoke. He tried to take her away from me. I screamed, loud. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a needle. I know it was to calm me down but after everything I had just been through I was not going back into that room. No one would touch me again. This man would not get near enough ever again. As he came closer I gathered my strength, and flung her at him. It knocked him over, the needle went flying. By the time he got out from under her, the needle was in my hand, and then in his arm. He was out in moments.

Had I left then I could have told my family what happened. They would have helped me deal with the repercussions, with the stress, and the fear. I would have spent the last two days with my sisters helping me to pack while my brothers went looking for a new place for me, something with enough security to please them. But I didn’t. I should have but I stayed.

I took him to one of the empty rooms that we had passed, I didn’t think there would be enough time to put him through even half of what we went through but I wanted him to feel fear. So I put the cuffs on him, and a blindfold. The door closed, locked, just in case. In another drawer I found a gag, I didn’t want him to be able to distract me, to make me change my mind. I didn’t want to hear him beg. And then I waited for him to wake.

It must have been a low dosage as he woke no more than an hour later, I think. I’m afraid my sense of time has escaped me somewhat. He jerked awake, his screams muffled by the gag, his muscles straining against the cuffs. I spoke quietly to him. He had to stop screaming if he was to hear my words. He did for a moment, and then he realized what I was saying. The screams began again. As he thrashed, and pulled I slid a knife under his pants leg. He felt the cool metal and stopped moving. I think he was afraid that I might cut him. Up one leg at a time, at the top I allowed the blade to touch his manhood, gently but enough to make him scream in fear. As I cut his shirt off I turned the blade over and left a thin slice along his pectoral muscles, very lightly, it was barely there. But it made him shriek and I was beginning to enjoy his muffled sounds. That should have told me it was time to leave but I didn’t want to.

After I disrobed him I began to broadcast my fear to him. He was already afraid and I made him terrified. I whispered softly to him, telling him what I wanted him to do, what I wanted him to feel. I told him what she had felt, what she had done, and I whispered that he would do so much more. I took control of his feelings, subtlety playing no role. I told him a story about what had been done to she and I from our perspectives. I told him a tale about how he was going to make it up to us. I could feel his resistance, his desire to break free from my control, and I laughed. And then I amplified it all twice again as much. I shattered him, and then…. then I released him from the bonds.

I instructed him to harm himself. And he did as he was bid. He cut himself, so deeply that I could see bone, and sinew. He sliced his own legs so deeply that the muscles we no longer attached, he could not have stood, walked, run…nothing, and I was pleased. But still it wasn’t enough, and I was lost to my own madness. I took the knife back, and tied him back to the bed. I’d been preventing him from feeling the pain so far. The pain would have given him strength to break my control and I could not allow that. As soon as he was bound tightly, I released my control including the pain suppression. He roared and then passed out.

Bloody Hand

Somehow some sanity broke through. I could not leave him as he was, but I no longer desired to torture him. I picked up the knife and I slit his throat. Within moments I was bathed in his blood, and yet I stood there. I watched until there was no chance of life remaining. And still I felt unsafe. I lost what control I had regained and the next thing I recall his head was no longer attached to his body. His legs weren’t even in the same room. I left his hands bound as I pulled on a lab coat I found in a closet at the back of the room.

I didn’t even try to wash up. Suddenly the fear was overwhelming me again. Any moment someone was going to walk through the door and I was never going to leave this place. I tried to school myself, control it. I couldn’t leave things as they were. Eventually someone would show up even if it wasn’t right now. If they didn’t call the cops, and I was fairly certain they wouldn’t, this would continue. They’d do this to someone else. Some part of me knew that there were others still tied to their beds but they were dead already, even if they were still breathing. I couldn’t rescue them, and by the time I could get help I was positive that the people running this place would have killed them rather than move them. This was my rationalization. And so I went back to the kitchen, I went through the cupboards and I found alcohol. I poured some out down the hallway I had been in. I poured the rest down the hallway I would leave by, and over that man’s body. Then I went back and lit all the candles I could find. I put them by the trails of booze, by the oven. I sure hoped this was going to work, it did in the movies. I kept one candle with me and I went back to the kitchen to turn on the gas stove. I wasn’t sure candles would set it off but I was fairly sure that a fire would. As I got to the doorway leading to freedom I lit my candle, left the flame up on the lighter I’d found, and tossed them both down the hall towards the booze. I peered out the door carefully. It was dark enough outside that I felt I could slip into the shadows unobserved. When I was a little a couple of blocks away I heard an explosion, I could see flames in the distance. What do you know, it worked.

I still don’t know how I made it to the family home. Or even why I went that way at all. My place would have been closer, there would have been no risk of a family member spotting me had I just gone home. And well, here I am. Somehow I made it home from there.

I am dreading Sunday. For the first time ever I am afraid to go to my family. I could lie to them. I could make up a story, something easy, light. Something with no blood, no pain, no death. I could. But I love them. I made a promise long ago, no lies. Not within the family. They all know what I can do, although they don’t know what I am capable of. They will though. It won’t be long and I will be alone, adrift, shunned.

There’s the doorbell again. It’s being held down, that means it’s Jes and she won’t leave until she gets her way. I’ll go talk to her and then I’m going to try to sleep.

Goodnight, dear Journal.

I close the book, check my makeup to be certain she won’t be able to tell anything, and go answer the door. It’s not just Jes, it’s Raven as well. She’s hoping I can help her out and this time she’s taking me with her. It doesn’t matter that I’m exhausted, I’ll go and do my thing for my sister. I only hope I can control my emotions. I can’t exactly be broadcasting fear every time someone comes near me, touches me, invades my space…. crap. Jes comes back down the hall from the washroom and I tease her about falling in. She laughs and tells me it’s time I changed the lock on that door, that it tries to keep her in every single time. I tell her not to worry about that door, that I’m going to start looking for a new place tomorrow. That this place is too big for just me. My sisters, the loves that they are, offer to help and as we head out we discuss what I’m looking for in a new place. Raven insists that this time I get a place with a pool. As we get into the car we’re laughing, it very nearly drowns out the screaming in my head.

I’m going to try to enjoy their company. It might be the last time.

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Silver Tongued Duchess

 

 

Crossroads

Standing in the shade, eyes closed, the sound of the River at my back. I hear the various voices of my family calling out, looking for me. I know that some of them have decided to wander the Twisted Path, see where it takes them, and of course I’m welcome to go along should I wish to. Others have chosen to stay put, swim in the River, sleep in the Keep. There has been discontent wrapped around these people that I love, causing unhappiness and strife and my heart aches for us all.

I am picturing the route of the lovely Twisted Path, I have wandered it extensively on my own when I require peace and quiet. I know that it touches the River often, dipping into the crimson waters, at times nearly being absorbed by it. There are also places where, even straining, there is no sound from the River. The Path and the River both occupy my heart, I’ve lived in both my whole life even before I knew it.

The River will always be there. As will my Path. The Path I have been following my whole life, when I first met the River I felt renewed, rejuvenated. Now I feel tired, dragged down, as if I’m drowning. So perhaps it’s time to wander the Path again. The River will always be there, not always so close but I know my Path will cross it often.

I love my family. All of it. Even those I no longer speak with. There will always be room for any of them on my Path, and I hope that the River will always flow.

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Crimson Duchess

Envy Is My Name

Envy? Truly? Me? Envious? Of whom might I ask? You should all be envying me. I do as I wish and I get away with it. When your sister is Death Incarnate who is going to argue? And although Scythe is lovely… I have my daggers. Where you ask? Wouldn’t you like to know? *grins*

Alright, I will admit that I do admire a few things that members of my family possess. But envy? Of course not. It’s not envious to admire things. Besides, it’s not really my role you know. I don’t envy others… much. But you will. Once I get my dainty little hands on you that is. Oh! You mean you didn’t know? You thought that as Envy it meant that I desired what others have? Oh no my love! But you will, you will very soon, you will with everything that you are. With every breath you take you will exhale “why isn’t that mine?” and every inhale “that will be mine”. My sisters and I join up on occasion, we direct your possessive desires in whichever direction amuses us the most. Lust, on her own, will cause you cravings so sweet as to make your very blood burn with desire. Add me into the mix and you’ll want someone that already belongs to another with a fire so strong that you’ll not be able to resist.

sins

What? I supposed you’d prefer I amuse myself with another? I suppose I could but where would be the fun in that? The only question I have tonight is this. Should I call in a sister or play with you on my own? My finger tips trail along the back of your neck, my breath hot and sweet against your cheek as I speak softly into your ear. You feel a tingling where my fingers trace their patterns, a soft desire begins to well up deep in your soul, yearning, reaching, for something you know not what. What would you wish for the most? What is the least of your desires? I can switch them around, play with your priorities, cause you to absolutely need what you’ve never considered before. And you will hate everyone that has it because they are not you. I can leave your desires, your needs as they are as well. You’ll simply want them more. Much much more. So very much more. My fingers travel down your spine, your gut aches with need, you feel the desire so exquisitely that you cannot stand it. You’re trembling, you feel my hands grasp yours fiercely, I place them on my hips and move in closer. You can feel the heat from my body pressing gently against you. You’re oblivious now to all but the want. You have forgotten that I am here, that I am holding you softly to me, that I am still whispering in your ear.

Can you hear me, love? See me? Do you even still know I exist? No? Good. I’ve been watching you for days now. You desire the woman you work with even though she is married. I would not need Lust’s help to turn that into an all consuming need. You already have that desire. Or perhaps I should intensify that want for the life your neighbour lives. He’s so lucky. He gets to fly around all the time, go to exotic places, sleep with whomever he wishes, and his house, car, and other possessions cause your mouth to water even now. You don’t know where the money comes from, nor do you really care. You actually know nothing about him other than what you see when he gets home on the weekends.

Whispers

Oh! I know! I know how I want to direct you! You shall want both! My lips brush gently against your ear as I begin to tell you why she should wish to be with you. She probably already wants you as badly as you want her but she’s afraid to leave her husband. She’s afraid that she’s misreading you. She’s scared that you don’t truly desire her. You’ll have to prove it you know. You’ll have to show her just how badly you want her, how badly you need her to be yours. What about her husband? Will he let her leave? Will he try to make her stay? You may have to help her you know. If you truly want her (I press against you a little stronger, my fingers travel lower to remind you of how your body needs her touch, my lips softly kiss your neck leaving my brand behind) and you do, then you may end up having to get a little rough with him. Just remember, it’s all for her. She needs you as badly as you do her. More even. So badly she is in constant agony awaiting your courage to save her from her own personal hell. You must save her.

I slip around quietly to your back. My fingers trace your wallet in your back pocket. I reach around to your front pockets and turn them out. As for your neighbour, why should he have everything and you have so very little? What has he ever done to deserve it? You’ve never noticed anyone else so much as stopping by the house. Sometimes he’s gone for weeks at a time. I wonder if anyone would even notice if he stopped coming home after his trips. Perhaps you should talk to him, reason with him. He has no need for such a home and you, well you’re going to have the woman of your dreams soon. So you obviously require a grand home. You wish to impress your lady fair after all. She will need an amazing home to showcase her beauty after all. Not like this place, this dump you call home, for now. And your car. Really, it’s at least ten years old. He has the newest model sports car, and you’re certain you’ve seen an SUV in the garage on occasion. Why should he have two new cars when your piece of shit is sitting in the driveway destroying the property values as we speak? I pull slightly away from you, walk back to face you, my fingers still trailing patterns on your arms. No one would notice if he stopped coming back from his trips you know. You could always say that he sold you his house, the cars too. He moved, that’s it, he’s moved to be closer to work. He’s tired of traveling all of the time. I’m certain you can work something out between the two of you. Just remember, it should be yours, you deserve it, he doesn’t need it. I complete my pattern and step back to watch it absorb into his skin. This one was a little more complicated but it will work. Perhaps I’ll ask Lust to swing by his coworkers place and add a little compulsion to her.

Snake2

Time for me to go home, I wonder if Gluttony has any snacks left. Probably not, I should pick something up on the way home. I wish I’d borrowed Greed’s car, mine is lovely but her’s goes like a bat out of hell.

Envy

Crimson Duchess

An Interlude

The suede was soft against her closed eyes, pressing gently against her cheeks, the silk ties wrapped tightly around her head holding it in place; the blindfold heightening her awareness of her body, of the room. She could feel the air in the room moving across her warm skin, cooling her slightly, causing her nipples to tighten. She moved her arm slightly, all that she was able. The silk rope tied tightly, restricting her movements, increasing her desire to move. Her feet were bound in a similar fashion, leaving her centre open, leaving her completely vulnerable. She could feel the silk sheet cool to the touch, but warm beneath her, increasing her temperature. She could not hear him, she could not see him, but she could feel his presence. As if he were laying with her, touching her already. She felt her nipples tighten further in anticipation; she could feel a dampness forming between her legs.

She shivered slightly, but he was aware that she was far from cold. He stayed by the doorway, looking over his handiwork one last time. He stepped closer to the bed silently, stopping when he was even with her waist. He slowly began to glide the feather from the tips of her toes up her leg, pausing briefly to fan her, tease her, before moving along to her belly, up to her breasts. He knows what she expects, they’ve played this game before. But he chooses to change the rules a little. He doesn’t wish to wait, tonight he is hungry.

She feels him step away. This is unusual but she presumes he’s forgotten something, heard something, whatever. They’ve been doing this in stages, tonight is the first with the blindfold. They’ve only just begun playing with each other, but she’s known him a few months now. He was right, the blindfold makes everything more intense. She hears him come back, he slides his finger along her lower lip and she opens her mouth. She feels his finger lightly touch her tongue, she tastes something, sort of medicinal. When he removes his finger she tries to ask him what it was but her tongue is numb. She feels it slowly spreading, down her throat, her chest, her arms. She’s trying to move, trying to scream now, but she has no control of her body any longer, her vocal cords inert. She can’t move, can’t scream, but she can feel and she wishes she couldn’t.

By the time they found her on Monday, he was long gone.

Crimson Duchess

It Begins

Light in my eyes. Bright, obscene, enraging. I preferred the shadows, the darkness, the total absence of light that I had been living in. But no, they had to drag me out. Kicking, screaming, begging to be let free. Now I am here. Stuck. Tied to a chair, the light shining on me, on my eyes, into my soul.

She will be free, she will be whole again, she will cease her unwanted behaviour. They want to make me who I was. Once, long ago, I was her. They loved her. But she was only a part of me. Slowly we became one, when they weren’t looking. We became me.

There were once several of us. The different faces for different situations, different people. Not separate personalities per se, more like separate masks. They miss the mask they knew. They don’t seem to realize that behind it was always me.

She was the first mask. The first one I created. The first one I had to be to fit in, to keep them unaware. It worked for so long that I forgot myself. I was her. I was hidden even from myself. For years I was other. Other masks over the one that was her. They hid even her from the outside world, from the ones that would hurt her.

And then he came. He stripped away all the other masks, washed away all the other paint. All that remained was her, and me. He did not know about me. He thought that she was all there was. He wanted someone that wasn’t her though. He wanted more of me. He didn’t know what he was asking for.

He thought that he was adding to her, he was stripping more and more away. He wanted a woman to do his bidding. He gained a woman that knew how to anticipate his needs, his wants, his every desire. He wanted a woman that would not question his orders, his requests, his decisions. He did not see that he gained a woman that saw everything, I had no need to question, I knew I was going to make him pay.

I tried to simply let him go. I grew tired of being hurt and so I gave it one last try to just let him walk away. It hurt so much to watch him walk away but I knew that all that remained between me and the rest of the world was the smallest part of my mask. I tried to rebuild her, I truly did. I needed her. She was all that kept me safe from the world. She was all that kept the world safe from me.

I did all I could to build her back up. But he kept trying to come back into my life. Every time he tried to strip more away. He kept taking what was rebuilt. And with every bit he took, he took a little more. My only way to survive was to take what was left of her and merge her in with myself. I didn’t know what would happen.

I blocked every access to me that I knew still remained. I ran. I hid. I tried to no longer exist as far as he would know. But still he found me. He used a path I forgot existed, one I could not close. He found me in the morning, and through the day he reminded me that I was his. He told me that I had no one else. He told me no one else would even notice if I was no longer around. He told me that I had no choice, that I was still, and would always be, his.

Did you know that when the only good remaining in you is under attack that the rest of you will defend it? I tried to bolster my light, I made my calls. Again I was without support. No one that would understand was there. The only one I could find I could not confide in, he would kill for me. I would die for him. And so I did the only thing I could.

I took the remainder of my light, I let my darkness engulf it, surround it, absorb it.  I saw her in my eyes, the new me, the fully integrated me. I watched as the light withdrew, hid. I watched as the crimson grew, became vibrant, filled my eyes, my heart. I would guard the light, save it for those that deserved it.

Within a few days I did as I was requested, I went to see him. I allowed him to touch me. I permitted his kiss. I welcomed his taste. When he was no longer watchful, when he allowed his walls to rest, when his cock was buried deep inside of me, I made him pay. I gently stroked his cheek, a move he was accustomed to from me. As my thumbs slid down I adjusted my course and pressed them deep into his eyes. As I did, I locked my legs around his thighs, he could not back away, he could not pull out, his cock was deep inside of me and I felt it harden with the pain before the rest of his body reacted.

Knife

When he could not see, as he opened his mouth to scream, I pulled my daggers from beneath the pillows. One was stabbed through his throat, blood sprayed over my hot, sweaty body. The other slid between our bodies and removed what connected us. I released my legs, he flew backwards, I felt his cock slip from my pussy, the blood pouring over my legs. I stepped over to him, I removed my dagger from his throat, more blood, I was coated in it. I stood and watched him as he died. The last words he heard was my nearly silent goodbye.

Bloody Woman

I suppose I would have gotten away with it had I thought before I left. A naked, blood coated woman tends to attract attention after all. They decided that his harassment of me had caused me to snap. So now I am here. Sitting in the light as they discuss what they think should be done. I know what I have to do to gain my freedom. I will build her back up. She will return, in a fashion. She will be simply a mask again though. The portions of her that they search for, that they believe count, the light is no longer. No one will see it again. But the mask, the mask will return.

Mask

I will remain. There are others out there, others that hurt, others that must pay. And I will be there.

Crimson Duchess

(With thanks to Emory & Crimson Princess for the pictures)