((Warning: Some graphic content))
The night was dark, and as quiet as it ever got in the area of the Rhy'din Docks. That is to say, not very. Sounds drifted from thin-walled buildings, arguments, cries of passion, and illicit dealings in dark warehouses. Sounds of drunken sailors lurching up the streets arm in arm, singing bawdy tunes, and hookers of all ages calling out their wares to catch the sailor's attention.
Ariane was in her element, and she inhaled deeply through her nose, catching the delicious scents of life, of emotion, in all its forms. Let her pathetic sister work as a "healer", pulling people's pain away from them and living off the scraps of the emotions that others didn't want to bear. Ariane preferred richer fare.
Tonight's prey was one of those drunken sailors, and she had posed herself with exquisite care. The street-lantern shone down on her alabaster skin, glimmered on the draped red satin of her short dress, caught in the tousled mess of her dyed-auburn hair. Her painted crimson lips were barely parted, soft with promise, and her eyes " oh, her eyes! So pale blue that their color was barely visible in the dim light, they both simulated and stimulated heat, desire, longing. She was very good at emulating the emotions she was born without, even better at evoking those emotions in her prey.
It wasn't long before the drunken group staggered by, and it was the one on the end, the youngest, a boy of barely sixteen who was captured by her eyes when they passed. Oh, he was perfect. He practically radiated his drunken good cheer, his lust, and he was young enough that he wouldn't have any dark secrets to corrupt his sweetness. Sometimes she hungered for that tang of darkness, concealed or not, but not tonight.
Several minutes later she was in a dark alley with that young sailor boy, wrapping her arms and legs around him in an imitation of a frenzy of lust. The brick of the wall behind her dug into her back, and he groaned as he fumbled at his clothing and thrust into her. He didn't think anything of the kisses she was plastering over his face and neck, until the first sharp pain of her fangs piercing his throat. Even then he was voiceless, his expression contorted in a mingled expression of pain and pleasure. She finished as he did, and a lick of her tongue over the neat puncture wounds on his neck stopped the droplets of beading blood there.
He was strong, and young, and he survived. But his comrades were heard to say it would have been better if he hadn't. Even after his body had recovered, he moved through life untouched by emotion. He had been drained of all that made him human, friendships forgotten, feeling no pain " but also no joy. He never cried again, but he never laughed, either. When he was asked who " what - had done this to him, he could only vaguely remember a pair of pale blue eyes.
Ariane moved on through the dance of life in the Docks, and her laughter was full of true good humor " at least for a while.
The night was dark, and as quiet as it ever got in the area of the Rhy'din Docks. That is to say, not very. Sounds drifted from thin-walled buildings, arguments, cries of passion, and illicit dealings in dark warehouses. Sounds of drunken sailors lurching up the streets arm in arm, singing bawdy tunes, and hookers of all ages calling out their wares to catch the sailor's attention.
Ariane was in her element, and she inhaled deeply through her nose, catching the delicious scents of life, of emotion, in all its forms. Let her pathetic sister work as a "healer", pulling people's pain away from them and living off the scraps of the emotions that others didn't want to bear. Ariane preferred richer fare.
Tonight's prey was one of those drunken sailors, and she had posed herself with exquisite care. The street-lantern shone down on her alabaster skin, glimmered on the draped red satin of her short dress, caught in the tousled mess of her dyed-auburn hair. Her painted crimson lips were barely parted, soft with promise, and her eyes " oh, her eyes! So pale blue that their color was barely visible in the dim light, they both simulated and stimulated heat, desire, longing. She was very good at emulating the emotions she was born without, even better at evoking those emotions in her prey.
It wasn't long before the drunken group staggered by, and it was the one on the end, the youngest, a boy of barely sixteen who was captured by her eyes when they passed. Oh, he was perfect. He practically radiated his drunken good cheer, his lust, and he was young enough that he wouldn't have any dark secrets to corrupt his sweetness. Sometimes she hungered for that tang of darkness, concealed or not, but not tonight.
Several minutes later she was in a dark alley with that young sailor boy, wrapping her arms and legs around him in an imitation of a frenzy of lust. The brick of the wall behind her dug into her back, and he groaned as he fumbled at his clothing and thrust into her. He didn't think anything of the kisses she was plastering over his face and neck, until the first sharp pain of her fangs piercing his throat. Even then he was voiceless, his expression contorted in a mingled expression of pain and pleasure. She finished as he did, and a lick of her tongue over the neat puncture wounds on his neck stopped the droplets of beading blood there.
He was strong, and young, and he survived. But his comrades were heard to say it would have been better if he hadn't. Even after his body had recovered, he moved through life untouched by emotion. He had been drained of all that made him human, friendships forgotten, feeling no pain " but also no joy. He never cried again, but he never laughed, either. When he was asked who " what - had done this to him, he could only vaguely remember a pair of pale blue eyes.
Ariane moved on through the dance of life in the Docks, and her laughter was full of true good humor " at least for a while.