Post by Odette on Jul 21, 2009 20:16:38 GMT -8
Sloane shivered in the cold night air, bare feet tracing their silent way over the damp, mossy ground. It wasn’t raining, for once, but she could taste an impending storm in the wind. The girl pulled the thin fabric of her shawl tighter around her bony frame. She worked her way over the ground with practiced skill and soon found herself beside the large pond that sat behind a grand home, built in stone with turrets and towers. Sloane had always thought it was a bit ostentatious, really, and she’d always imagined that whoever lived there would be stuffy and pretentious. Still, the pond was nice, and she settled among within the reeds and dipped her tiny feet into the cool water with a delighted shiver.
The water’s damp embrace brought the voices rushing to her head, and she welcomed them like old friends. They’d always fascinated her. They voices of someone else’s family, sometimes loud and raucous, but more often prim and disapproving. The disapproval of strangers had never much troubled Sloane, however, and she appreciated the company. It wasn’t often that she could pick out distinct words; when she could, they were always the same two voices.
“This is hardly acceptable behavior for a young woman of your stature!”
“Don’t get your feet wet, Odette. You’ll catch cold.”
The first voice was an angry man’s; the second, a maternal-sounding woman’s. They both frequently called her Odette. She liked to think of it as an affectionate nickname. “Ah, fuck off, you two,” she retorted cheerily, swishing her feet through the icy water. “I do as I please.”
Sloane pushed a strand of her white blonde hair away from her face as a deep voice bubbled up from behind her, drawing gradually closer.
“Sloane,” it whispered eerily, tones carried on the wind.
Sloane turned fearlessly towards the source of the noise, head held high. “What?” she whispered sharply, voice harsh and husky.
The tall, muscular figure of Kieran, the girl’s sometimes-lover, slid into view. Though she couldn’t see very clearly, it was obvious that the expression on his face was intended to frighten her. It didn’t work, of course. Sloane was fearless.
“What do you want?” Her tone was hurried and impatient; the voices in her head always stopped talking when he was around her and she’d been looking forward to receiving a few more clues as to the identities of the speakers, as well as that of the Odette they seemed to have her confused with. She thought of it as her own private mystery.
“I wasn’t finished with you last night,” he responded gruffly, obviously uncaring about his interruption. He gripped her shoulder roughly and Sloane’s heart pounded with excitement. She loved how much he wanted her.
Sloane turned her face away from him, lifting her chin haughtily. “Who’s to say I’m interested?” The coldness of her tone hid the tremors of longing that racked her body.
“It’s sex, you little slut. Of course you’re interested.”
His insults had an odd effect on her. She knew that she ought to be put off by them, but their results were just the opposite. There was something about Kieran’s unbridled manliness and the harsh vulgarity of his speech that Sloane found completely irresistible. “Fine,” she replied simply, offering him her hand.
Kieran hoisted her roughly from the ground and tossed her easily over his shoulders. He began wading through the pond, straight across it. The water splashed Sloane, but she remained decidedly unmoving even at the centermost part of the pond where Kieran had to swim and parts of Sloane were entirely submerged.
It was not until Kieran deposited her roughly on the ground that she moved. “You know, I’m sure I could swim it by myself,” she said crossly. It was what she always told him, and still, he always carried her across the pond. She didn’t mind, honestly; she loved how strong he was. The pair were in front of an old ruin of some sort; Sloan didn’t know what the stones there had once been. Kieran led her past the ruin, as was their routine. Neither of them spoke; also a part of the routine.
After a walk that Sloane was only too accustomed to, the pair crept into a quiet cemetery. She allowed Kieran to pull her to the ground and undress her like a doll, and then, like every night previous for as long as she could remember, Sloane surrendered her body to sin.
The water’s damp embrace brought the voices rushing to her head, and she welcomed them like old friends. They’d always fascinated her. They voices of someone else’s family, sometimes loud and raucous, but more often prim and disapproving. The disapproval of strangers had never much troubled Sloane, however, and she appreciated the company. It wasn’t often that she could pick out distinct words; when she could, they were always the same two voices.
“This is hardly acceptable behavior for a young woman of your stature!”
“Don’t get your feet wet, Odette. You’ll catch cold.”
The first voice was an angry man’s; the second, a maternal-sounding woman’s. They both frequently called her Odette. She liked to think of it as an affectionate nickname. “Ah, fuck off, you two,” she retorted cheerily, swishing her feet through the icy water. “I do as I please.”
Sloane pushed a strand of her white blonde hair away from her face as a deep voice bubbled up from behind her, drawing gradually closer.
“Sloane,” it whispered eerily, tones carried on the wind.
Sloane turned fearlessly towards the source of the noise, head held high. “What?” she whispered sharply, voice harsh and husky.
The tall, muscular figure of Kieran, the girl’s sometimes-lover, slid into view. Though she couldn’t see very clearly, it was obvious that the expression on his face was intended to frighten her. It didn’t work, of course. Sloane was fearless.
“What do you want?” Her tone was hurried and impatient; the voices in her head always stopped talking when he was around her and she’d been looking forward to receiving a few more clues as to the identities of the speakers, as well as that of the Odette they seemed to have her confused with. She thought of it as her own private mystery.
“I wasn’t finished with you last night,” he responded gruffly, obviously uncaring about his interruption. He gripped her shoulder roughly and Sloane’s heart pounded with excitement. She loved how much he wanted her.
Sloane turned her face away from him, lifting her chin haughtily. “Who’s to say I’m interested?” The coldness of her tone hid the tremors of longing that racked her body.
“It’s sex, you little slut. Of course you’re interested.”
His insults had an odd effect on her. She knew that she ought to be put off by them, but their results were just the opposite. There was something about Kieran’s unbridled manliness and the harsh vulgarity of his speech that Sloane found completely irresistible. “Fine,” she replied simply, offering him her hand.
Kieran hoisted her roughly from the ground and tossed her easily over his shoulders. He began wading through the pond, straight across it. The water splashed Sloane, but she remained decidedly unmoving even at the centermost part of the pond where Kieran had to swim and parts of Sloane were entirely submerged.
It was not until Kieran deposited her roughly on the ground that she moved. “You know, I’m sure I could swim it by myself,” she said crossly. It was what she always told him, and still, he always carried her across the pond. She didn’t mind, honestly; she loved how strong he was. The pair were in front of an old ruin of some sort; Sloan didn’t know what the stones there had once been. Kieran led her past the ruin, as was their routine. Neither of them spoke; also a part of the routine.
After a walk that Sloane was only too accustomed to, the pair crept into a quiet cemetery. She allowed Kieran to pull her to the ground and undress her like a doll, and then, like every night previous for as long as she could remember, Sloane surrendered her body to sin.