(Some Mature Themes. 18+ )
He gave them pain like balm, and they begged him for it, finding not redemption, but a love that transcended the divine
The years of servitude had honed her. Made her ever devoted as a Servant of Naamah, she was ever to be part of the Night blooming flowers. Amiryn after so many years had become a sacred mortal amongst them all, thousands of years had passed without the presence of a chosen mortal marked by Kushiel's dart. Kushiel's dart, the pinprick of red, the scarlet mote to marr the eye and ever reveal one as an anguissette. Throughout history there had only been three known, Amiryn the third to know what it was to be selected as anguissette, one that would ever feel pleasure in pain.
They said like the two before her she would balance the scales. Revered in rarity she was taken under wing and trained as not only servant of Naamah but spy. Those artic blue eyes would watch even as the woman would keep quiet, never to speak of the secrets or of what she had learned.
Even now she stood in silence, watching with fingers curling on the banister of the railing as she took in the many faces and interactions of the patrons below. Some were considered and watched with a far more cautious eye then the others. Her expression never would alter, deceive what she had learned.
Free from servitude she owned her choices now of who she was willing to love. Love as thou wilt. It was the way of her people and something she understood well. That quiet respect, primitive and sophisticated grace marked motions and nature.
Amiryn was like the briar rose that marked her flesh, her presence and spirit would be something archaic, born of dramatic vigor, something abstract. A woman meant to understand the world and the nature of a man and a woman as complex puzzle to be understood, even as she herself would remain a mystery.
The marque told her story for her flesh would never reveal the touch of rod or weal, of a cruel hand, of the passing choices of sadistic lovers. No matter what she endured, flesh would heal clean. Amiryn's soft skin would ever remain flawless and untouched by imprint of all that she had overcome. Her spirit though held the scars like thorns.
He gave them pain like balm, and they begged him for it, finding not redemption, but a love that transcended the divine
The years of servitude had honed her. Made her ever devoted as a Servant of Naamah, she was ever to be part of the Night blooming flowers. Amiryn after so many years had become a sacred mortal amongst them all, thousands of years had passed without the presence of a chosen mortal marked by Kushiel's dart. Kushiel's dart, the pinprick of red, the scarlet mote to marr the eye and ever reveal one as an anguissette. Throughout history there had only been three known, Amiryn the third to know what it was to be selected as anguissette, one that would ever feel pleasure in pain.
They said like the two before her she would balance the scales. Revered in rarity she was taken under wing and trained as not only servant of Naamah but spy. Those artic blue eyes would watch even as the woman would keep quiet, never to speak of the secrets or of what she had learned.
Even now she stood in silence, watching with fingers curling on the banister of the railing as she took in the many faces and interactions of the patrons below. Some were considered and watched with a far more cautious eye then the others. Her expression never would alter, deceive what she had learned.
Free from servitude she owned her choices now of who she was willing to love. Love as thou wilt. It was the way of her people and something she understood well. That quiet respect, primitive and sophisticated grace marked motions and nature.
Amiryn was like the briar rose that marked her flesh, her presence and spirit would be something archaic, born of dramatic vigor, something abstract. A woman meant to understand the world and the nature of a man and a woman as complex puzzle to be understood, even as she herself would remain a mystery.
The marque told her story for her flesh would never reveal the touch of rod or weal, of a cruel hand, of the passing choices of sadistic lovers. No matter what she endured, flesh would heal clean. Amiryn's soft skin would ever remain flawless and untouched by imprint of all that she had overcome. Her spirit though held the scars like thorns.