A snap and snip of strings to break a marionette doll's back. The cry was not that of 'mama' or the wail of a pleading infant. Far more visceral and traumatic. The Doll was still, unmoving. The only time ever she would be so. Will-o-wisp appendages limp. Shattered remains.

In the middle of a house, in the middle of nowhere
Bodies glide from room to room
I hate these walls
They speak to me
Hey skin like a doll
You're no friend of the family

Punishment was worth the price. Others faired not so well. The Doll grimaced, never to shed a tear for the broken marionette at her side. A begging in those ink eyes, but the little Doll she just looked away.

Life or Death. These were choices made in the Doll Maker's home. His home. Their prison. Boy. Girl. Human. Doll. What did it matter for a reverse madness. Perverse twist of a Pinocchio fairytale?

Dolls to children, children to dolls. The Doll had known the life forged for two decades even as the Doll Maker kept the Doll youthful. Perhaps more time had been spent then she realized. Time was different here. A quiver, a tremble the need to be in motion. To know that limbs lived and moved rather then stiff as wood.

Light as feather. Stiff as board.

That was the tragedy of a memory. One that moved like a hummingbird hung on the wall now, limp... lifeless. Save for those depths of blue that glittered like the ocean, like the spark of magic. Healer Spirit.


Catch that light
It falls in suble patterns
It crawls in and tells them when their time is up
And when it's over
He takes her hand, and he kisses her cheek
She's a doll, oh yeah she's his spitting image
Where have you gone
You're still a part of me
Hey skin like a doll
You're no friend of the family

Another night to bear torment through. Then free from strings again. Free to Move in Motion of swirls and patterns and steps. Dancer's path was Doll's determination.

A close of eyes flash of images. Bear and Lynx forging fashion ideal of Goldilocks redeemed. Strings twitched as body was shaped taut and long against the wall, ankles bound in metal before the Doll Maker left for drunken slumber. Tonight was not her torment. Still she would not look to all the rest... it was their promise to each other. Don't pity the broken.

Strung up and useless the Doll heard chimes on the wind like a whisper in her spirit. Never forgive those that strike the Doll was the warning... but it was far too late.

Always too late...

Catch that light
It falls in suble patterns
It crawls in and tells them when their time is up
And now it's over
Where have you gone
You're still a part of me



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-lyrics of Dollskin by the Toadies-

I heard a song today
Reminded me of spain
We were the innocent in springtime
I never liked you much
We never keep in touch
I know your stories from the grapevine

Goldilocks grown up. She imagined that would be what the other 'Dolls' would claim her as. Not as Healer... not as one of the 'Others'... but her hair was always a stand out stamp to them.

Golden waves. Not Rapunzel. Never Cinderella. Certainly not Sleeping Beauty. Those curls spilled to her waist even now as she crouched down form revealed in all its glory save for the black cord with its old metal pendant and the tattoo ink that marked her hands. Inked fingers dusting through ashes, plucking out pieces of glass. The shattered remains of what once was.

Those haunted blues were wary, bare shoulders corded with tension. Muscles rippling in a taut line for the beast waiting to be released at any threaten.

Doll no longer. But what did it mean to be woman after so long? What did it mean to now exist again as the Healer and the One of Change?

And though I found it strange
To watch the change
When what you couldnt say was
Look at me, look at me

A cry in the distance distracted her. A wail like an infant in her mind. Baby doll cry though. She knew the sound.

Some had more difficulty then the rest to 'adjust' from the transformation of Doll to what they were.

"Eloise."

A whisper. She crawled. Hand to knee into ashes, hair like a halo best worn by the angel of justice did spill around the little girl as those inked fingers touched the girl's cheek.

She should have known that all of them would not escape.

"You will not get any of them. Not a one."

A defiant whisper. Features sharp as razors, teeth bared in annoyance to the night sky.

My glory, glory girl
Help me to find a way to know you
Lets show the world
My glory girl
Hide not behind the words that bind you
You dont owe the world
My glory girl
Lets show the world

"This will hurt a bit, Eloise. Be strong."

Hand stroked the dark hair of the little girl soothingly as she looked to the broken leg of the small child.

"Close your eyes and dream of the sweetest treat ever."

Eloise would smile. She loved sweets and candy.

Annike sang that lullaby softly even as hands set to work. Fingers moved tenderly to seek where the bone adjusted. The depths of eyes glowing with near ethereal fire of the Healer gift before same glow licked down her frame and into her palms.

Whisper of song before Eloise was screaming into the cloth of Annike's skirts as the leg was set.

"I will take you home..."

A confident whisper.

I heard you say today
Youve thrown your life away
But dreams of happiness arent wasted
You tried to reach the moon
You grew up too soon
Denied the freedom that you tasted
But all the tragedy helps me discover you

The journey to find appropriate hunting grounds for Wil ... would have to wait. He she hoped would understand.

Taking the small child in her arms she carried the girl to the small cottage she knew was the child's home. She had heard many a story of the girl's family.

She could not help but envy Eloise.

It did not matter... Geppetto would not get this one. Or any of them.

Never would he touch them. Ever again.

(Lyrics of Amanda Ghost- 'Glory Girl' )

She returned to the gypsy camp with much to ponder, thoughts to consider and contemplate. She did not understand why the Albino would put herself in a place that put her at the risk of so much pain even if it was for the sake of affection. Of letting someone in. Annike looked up to the sky, watching the stars even as she breathed in the night. Its intoxicating scent was a comfort to her. Eased her spirit and calmed the restless nature that ever had been rampant with the Beast. Sharp senses had picked up the conversation, the inquiry of chimes as a gift. Annike could only plead and pray in her thoughts that such gifts would not come to exist. She wished Neikla happiness and comfort and to find what she lacked? but even still she was selfish enough to wish that favors would not come in the form of chimes.

The Ghost was prone to comforts based in the ways of music and sound. Chimes were something that soothed her spirit and offered sweet tranquility to the chaos in her mind. For that emerald eyed male to give chimes when his presence made the wolf?s hackles stand on end was just a risk and inner torment. If such a man was to give chimes? well? chimes would no longer offer tranquility. Their meaning and existence to the Ghost would change forever. Something lost that could not be regained. The gypsies of the camp had called her the Ghost within shadows? and being that Annike had now danced that fine line of upholding balance between Beast and Healer within her very soul? she was ever one stuck in between both worlds. Just like a Ghost that would trespass from Spirit World to the World of the Living.

Her bare feet climbed the steps to Esme?s caravan, that dance of knocks from inked fingers. Esme knew well enough the signal to allow the golden haired woman in.

?Annike it has been a long time??

?Forgive me, my friend? there was much to deal with.?
?This I understand. Come I will help you.?

Even before when Annike was no more then the Cursed Child?s Doll, Esme had been there to take care of the wounds that Annike could not treat. She was the only one besides those that had inflicted such wounds to see the back of the Ghost. The Doll Maker had ever believed that the front of the body should remain perfect. Unblemished and Unmarked? a Flawless Beauty, while the back which could easily be shielded by clothing would hold the Darker side? the marks and brands of torture and punishment. Beatings and Violent nights.

?Annike. Some of these are fresh??

Head bowed as those haunted blues closed. Pale spider limbs of lashes crushing tears that threatened.

?I know. Fabian did not make it well? the change? drove him mad. He attempted to kill Eloise? I had? to stop him.?

Those inked fingers curled into fists? she loathed killing her own. After all they had suffered together? and here she was their unwilling Leader of the old Doll gathering? all of them expecting her for answers and to be the executioner as well when they could not overcome what they had been through. It was not so surprising with Fabian. Half Incubus and cursed to become Puppet. It would only be some time before his wrath would get the best of him.

Still it was not easy to overcome. Her hands? and the nature of the Beast to bring so much destruction to those that had become her ?people? and in her mind her actions to bring upon Fabian?s death made her no more of a monster then the Doll Maker himself.

Head bowed she made not a sound as Esme clicked and murmured over her back. Those branded scars of Norse runes burned into her back throughout the twisting vines of the tattoos that marked her back and curled at her hips as vicious artwork of wolfsbane and nightshade. The salve was spread on the new healing points where flechettes had cut into skin, dragging in jagged lines across her shoulder blades? and the long angry welts where the silver hooks had kept her to the wall. Motionless and trapped? one unable to move? these marks and brands, welts and scars the old and the new. The Past and the Present of her life and the sins she carried upon her shoulders.

There within lasted the irony of her gentle words to Grem to not bear the strife and pain of others to weigh so heavily upon his shoulders? when Annike herself? carried the torture, the agony, the death, and absolute anguish of her people and what they could not recover from. So many facades? so many masks she wore if only to save herself from breaking. Her shoulders moved, body trembling with her silent weeping for all lost? and all to carry alone upon two shoulders that seemed so fragile to bear so much?

The bonfire had been lit again in the center of the gypsy camps. For the Ghost it was nothing more then pleasant to see the sight of her ?kind?- the ?Dolls? there mingling amongst the gypsies. Lucian as ever was present. If the Dolls had been an army and she their General, then surely Lucian was her right hand. A strange notion that. Annike knew well enough that if not pressed with the presence of duty, Lucian would not remain at the camps. This she presumed based on his nature. He never once had told her about his past and what he was, for all of them were different? strange and unique? collector?s pieces that the Doll Maker had specifically chosen. Still, Lucian was a closed box when ever she had pressed to learn his story. Annike had stopped pressing. The others had easily given up their stories. Fabian had been the product of incubus and goddess being joined. Eloise was from a family of selkies that had a distinct bloodline of old magic coursing through their veins. Needless to say they all were forged crafted pieces of power, beauty, intelligence, and skill. Perhaps if the Doll Maker had chose to make them an army they would have been successful.

Annike never had discovered what the Doll Maker?s reason was to collect them all. She knew that he had been a powerful necromancer and a talented wielder of Dark Magic. That was evident by his ability to take their lives and stop them where they were to forge them into dolls? and of course his ability to block their true gifts. Smothering what they were. Giving them ideals every single day of what they were to be, what they could be, what they had to be. Each night another story or vision to possess, Annike had ever been the wisp of a Dancer for him, only because her graceful movements were something that the Doll Maker found exquisite and as intoxicating as a drug to his nights he kept her in that form and presence. It was something that she had not lost. Her ever existing lifeblood symphony of music and dance, the Arts were her body, mind, and soul.

Visible then was that truth of her spirit. The bonfire flames cast exotic glow of phoenix hue against her pale frame. Painting her body in sun kissed strokes. Her hair was ablaze with its marking, fiery angel halo like one seeking redemption and revenge. Battle Angel claimed in ivory. Those intricately tattooed hands were above her head seemingly bound. So still she seemed the witch prepared for sacrifice. Then the music began, a deep thrum of drums. The whisper of fiddle bow against strings and the will-o-wisp figure of the Ghost would sway in rhythm. The subtle suggestion of hips, the slow descent of hands from that locked presence above head. Ever had she been free from touch, caress, affection, love. The intimacy of life had eluded her? but music breathed passion and sensuality through her body. Quickened her blood and burned her soul with a flame of desire. Thrown into the dance she lost herself in the leaps and twists, the undulating move of body to answer the call of fiddle? the muted growl of drums.

Only when the song died was she still again. Achingly aware of the presence of eyes upon her as she crouched low to the ground, sweat painted and wild eyed. Lucian stepped out from the crowd and she inhaled sharply of his scent as a shudder licked down her spine. Senses open she could smell desire, need, and intrigue from so many of them. Even Lucian had that subtle energy rolling off his form, directed towards her. Those inked fingers plunged through Goldilocks curls as the ghost-lit blues locked on him searching his eyes.

He watched her silently and without sound she knew well enough that there was no affection that existed between them. Only a duty to protect and serve as he would any of the other Dolls, by the smell of him she could taste his emotions knew he regretted that brief attraction to her when he loved another. Loved Esme. Such sadness in his eyes, the strife they all had suffered from. Looking in his eyes she saw another and the vision of him was replaced by the one she had seen briefly at the Inn. The vision of eyes that were just as somber and just as sad, a look she knew herself existed in her own haunted blues. It bothered her to see her own emotion reflected in the eyes of a stranger. The man had haunted her dreams as easily as the presence of the Albino?s daily torments, Desiree?s feeling of being lost in a world that Annike herself did not understand, or the frown that ever seemed to mark Grem?s expression.

She only wished to take away it all, all that sadness and pain from them. It spooked her to watch Lucian then and know of his heart and body?s intentions towards Esme, only for her own soul to see another as she looked at him. Graceful as ever she stood with that fluid motion that made her lovely. A subtle shake of head even as Lucian reached out while his lips parted to speak her name? but she was already gone. Another night of the Ghost within Shadows? but still in Healer?s form, she had to get away.

(Just a fore-warning. Some might be considered mature themes)

Dreams could claim a tormented mind. An anguished spirit. Traveling a path from bliss to absolute madness and terror. This was the path of her mind as she slept.

She chose to be away from the camps tonight as much as the Dolls. Perhaps she needed all together to find a new place to stay. The night had begun with her silent watch of Eloise' house to make sure that no new harm would come to the girl and her family. Through their window she watched with a twisting yearning, that bitter longing for family... and home. The envy cut her to the core. Wistful.

Turning away she plunged into the forest. Needed to find something or someone to soothe that inner torment. The Blue Rose of paper fashion rested in her bag along with the other trinkets she had kept. Soundless her bare feet moved until she was in the gypsy camp. Another Bonfire. This night she did not dance.

Watching from the outskirts, seeing the bond that already had developed between Esme and Lucian. Their laughter and comfort in the other as they held each other. Cuddled in blankets before the fire's warmth as Lucian' tenderly stroked Esme's hair out of her face.

Contact. Affection. Desire.

These things did not elude the Ghost, though it seemed she was not meant for them in her own path. The thought disgusted her, made her bitter towards herself. Hollow. Lost in that swallowing pit of Darkness as she dealt with those solitaire matters of the heart Alone.

She had left them then, running in the night to ease away the notion to leap from rock cliff to find out if perhaps she could fly. Instead now she was a collapse of limbs on the forest floor, Goldilocks curls spilling around her like the alchemy of blood had altered and become molten amber to spill pools of gold. And she dreamed...

It began with the hunt... the white wolf, the Ghost within the Shadows running like the four feet under were never meant to touch the ground... instead drifting as if to glide. The shouts were chaos behind her. Those urgent to claim her. The wolf as much as the woman sensed their thoughts and none of them were pleasant. Urges. Desires. All of them brutal and vicious and corrupt. The need for physical and emotional companionship was certainly not wrought in that destiny.

The wolf's thoughts were distracted. A twist of limbs through the forest a second too late as the crack in the air alerted her to the screaming bullet flying from the gun. Then pain. White-hot searing through her shoulder. To many the pain would be horrible but for Annike it could be handled through gritted teeth. She had been 'trained' to tolerate far more then this. The Wolf yelped, went down as the blood spilled down and stained Ghost white fur. It forced her out of the Beast's claim on her spirit. Leaving the woman crumpled on the ground. Back exposed with its history of prior advantages taken upon her spirit.

She heard their jeering and watched their gestures as she came to her feet to stand before them. If she was to die, it would not be on the ground. She would fight.

Arousal and emotions of a darker forging licked the night, suffocating her senses till she choked on them. Shoulders hunched under the weight of it all. Never again. She had sworn that she never would she be touched in such a way. Taking away all that was hers to possess. It was a fickle thing of irony. Her desires, the needs of the flesh and yet this... she did not want.

Growl bared her teeth as she dug the bullet out of her flesh. Before the silver could poison. Even if but half Varulv, the poison would still be unpleasant. Not deadly but horrible. The men nudged each other even as their leader made his advance.

She was ready. Those inked fingers twisted. She could sense from them that she seemed so fragile. Vulnerable and easy for the taking. Naked and weaponless what threat could she cause? The senses of that would amuse the Healer as much as the Beast as they remained conflicted in the Ghost.

It was about survival then. Something snapped within. Fury unleashed like a wild animal set out of the cage. Her mind was filled with red.

Unseeing to her actions she was only conscious of her surroundings and the damages done when she saw those pale hands and the inked tattoos were not visible any longer. Covered in blood.

The vitae of life was coating the floor of the forest, splattered across the trees and painting her skin like a battle maiden's victory. Such carnage. Torment of Healer and Beast fought the urge to retch or scream. Instead she was silent and shaking. The urge to be clean and the wild panic to run.

She knew nothing of these men. They could be important. A crack of tree branch in the night, a snap of twig had gaze darting to watch the man step out into that carnage with a strange indifference to it all.

Blood soaked as well the man was, though she could not recall if he had been a possible attacker or perhaps her own personal savior. He came to her, bloodied hand pressing on her cheek before sliding to the back of her neck and blood streaking Goldilocks curls till she looked like the Phoenix had possessed her soul and body.

His mouth was harsh upon hers, feeding and claiming and demanding. Rather then fighting it she became supple to it. Answering that feral claim upon her body as the Beast poured itself into the kiss. Quickening the blood and making her body a vessel of molten heat. Devouring that passion till it near drove her mad to do more.

She had known before that she had wondered on the man's face even as her body pressed to his as her back was pressed into the tree. The bite of wood into her skin was an irritation rather then pain based on the pattern of what her back had adjusted to, the tree was a reminder of life.

Her own nails raked down his back. The urge to have him was a craving that could not be sedated. Healer and Beast both wanted this like finding a kindred spirit. A consort...

And she wanted to be taken in the night. She remembered nothing more then his eyes... his eyes... so like her own... but she thought windows were meant to be that to the soul. Rather then mirrors. Her eyes twin mirrors of his own...his eyes reflecting back the same.

Understanding set her free. Wrought that passion and lust to something akin to a Beast's hunger and the desires of the flesh.

This was different... so much different...

Gasping for breath the Ghost jolted awake. Losing the dream before its sealing she was near furious as much as shocked at that inward struggle and the raw desire in the dream. Something she would never confess or confide to any. Those ghost-lit blues stroked the night perimeter, body tensed as she heard a branch snap. Hesitation was met with something once a memory but now new again and welcome. Desire.

A grimace as she watched a squirrel dart swift across the forest floor and the Ghost collapsed in frustration of it. A curl of limbs drawn towards herself, blanket fetched from supplies and coiled into..the brutality of her back exposed to the night. Tattoos and Scars. Designs and Torment.

She had never felt so much regret in her life.

All just a dream...



http://images.fashionmodeldirectory.com/model/000000103622-elsa_hosk-fullsize.jpg

(Mature Content)

Another nightmare. While Awake. She found herself staring down as she wandered the perimeter of the ashes of the burnt down Doll Maker's house. Her doing. How many black spots would her soul gather by the destruction that she had caused? Two deaths already on her hands like blood stains and martyr marks. Eloise was safe, blessed with her Happily Ever After. Lucian and Esme were slowly progressing to what Annike could only imagine and assume was love. Light growl came from her lips as her boot kicked at the ashen grass and cindered remains of wood in frustration.

I crawled out from the pain of yesterday
I crawled to you and
I said all the things that you said to say
Have I said enough

I know why you're playin' these dirty games
They're killing me and

I know how you love to watch me beg
Well here I am

"So what will your choice be Annike? Which one shall we kill today?"

She heard the voice from the cindered remains like it was yesterday. The memory playing in her mind as if the world had become a cinema to expose her haunted past. The lacking of track of time had made her elusive to how old she had been when such choices had to be made. The blades in her hand, the thin silver knives that felt like second home to her. She dreamed so many nights of gutting the Doll Maker like a pig, slitting his throat and watching him bleed. That memory though offered no bliss of such a 'dream'. Instead it played her the vision of her with a shackle at her ankle with those blades in hand. Eloise in her rag doll threads, bleeding and beaten by the Doll Maker's own bloody fists... and Duncan the once favorite prodigy now puppet.

"You know what he has done, little Dancer, how he has touched you... caressed Eloise. Taken such precious little things from you. Don't you want to make him pay. Or... would your preferences lie in the little ragdoll. She hasn't been very nice to you has she. Stealing your friends. Turning Lucian against you. Which will it be..."

I don't wanna be a puppet for you
Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding
I don't wanna be a sucker for you, oh yes you
I hate myself for begging
I hate myself for staying
I hate myself for listening to,
You, you, you, you, you

It's too little too late
Well I can't escape
So beggin' you please
I changed all the things that you told me to change
I'm on my knees

The present day had left the Ghost glaring down at the ashes as those Phantoms of her past haunted her mind, dancing behind her eyes. Those tears spilled freely even as the weight of such memories brought her to her hands and knees. Crumpled and collapsed under the sheer weight of the burden of a memory.

How her teeth had bared at that moment in the flashback of memory. She knew that the Doll Maker had poisoned her mind with those whispered words. How Duncan had hurt them. Once a favorite by the Doll Maker when Duncan had begun to 'ruin' the Doll Maker's precious dolls... Duncan himself had become that which he hated. No longer allowed to torment, and torture, abuse in so many ways. But still there was Eloise in that nightmare of a memory. Eloise who Lucian protected and soothed when he found her and Annike after one of Duncan's attacks... and he went to Eloise, already assuming that Annike would survive. Left to suffer alone.

In the flashback of nightmare memory did the Dancer Doll scream out her frustration, hands fists against the sharp bliss of silver. The pain was bliss even as it cut deep into the groove of Doll flesh. Her own. It brought silence in her mind. A strange indifference to her next actions. The memory of a whisper to Eloise to shut her eyes... that it would all be over soon... and then how the little rag doll had been coated in sprays of blood as the life giving symphony of blood was ended for the life of Duncan.

Those knives cut him into a ruin till once more did the Dancing Doll that had once been Annike... did find that music...and it broke her heart... but brought the peace of awareness that she was still alive. The knives thrown away from her. Far away as she darted into the corner to retch up the contents of her stomach... and the Doll Maker laughed. Lifting Eloise to the Bathing room to be cleansed of all that blood that would so easily soil rag doll garments. Once again the Dancer Doll that had been Annike was left Alone. Alone with but a whisper.

"I'm proud of you, my little Dancer, I knew you could do it..."

I don't wanna be a puppet for you
Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding
I don't wanna be a sucker for you, ah yes you
I hate myself for begging
I hate myself for staying
I hate myself for listening to you

The nightmare of a memory did shatter. Leaving Annike alone upon hands and knees as those tears fell freely to stream down her cheeks as tattooed hands dug into the cinders and remains of what she had been free from. Here in the quiet hours where she was alone she could be weak and broken. Terrified and Crushed. Wistful and Envious. Of all that had been and all that would be. Of all that she had done...and all that she would do. The Past and the Present.

A monster. Abomination. Like the infamous question of Beauty and the Beast. ~Who could ever love a Beast~ A lingering tremble, and perhaps an awareness of the song that the shattered remains of a heart could sing... the eulogy of a broken, dark spotted soul that could be heard in her own once unconquerable spirit. She didn't know if she was strong enough anymore to bear it on her own.

The anguished sound broke the night. Tortured soul of a woman that had near lost everything including herself... a symphony of sound that became a heartbreaking howl within the darkest hours...

just wanna get out
Stuck inside of this
Waiting for something else
Waiting to exist
Can you offer me help
Help from what I missed, I missed, I...

(Italized Lyrics from Do You Like It- Our Lady Peace)

The Full Moon. Soon it would be hers. The first seen in freedom with spell broken. Looking at it now explained so much. Made her understand actions, emotions, feelings, needs.

She stood in the gypsy camp dripping wet but oblivious to the cold. Black cloth of the dress worn prior clung to willow frame, accentuated as that preternatural grace moved muscle in sinuous roll beneath flesh.

Her eyes were pale blue fire staring through the gold tendrils of hair that in moonlight seemed angel halo about features. A visual perhaps and silent tribute to her mother's heritage. Her mother though had been no angel.

Tattooed hands still burned with the fever of touch. The wolf's awakening made the core of her white hot, made her mood feral with so many carnal needs and desires. Life would be different with a mate.

Bare foot again her dripping form moved towards the fire glowing in the middle of the camp. Many still asleep. Lucian she knew would watch from afar. It was his way.

He knew well enough that come the Full Moon she would feed and hunt... running the night as white wolf and that the morning hours would be chaos for her. Even as Varulv where she could be woman still throughout the days of the full moon the call was still an aching burn within her. Threatening to set her soul on afire.

Thoughts drifted, moved in restless anticipation as there was the strange dance of Healer and Beast within mind, body, soul. She danced if only to find some release from those emotions and sensations welling up inside of her before they took her over the edge. Fingers raked across her stomach, dragging in nails even as that lifeblood symphony provided the new bewitching melody to be drawn to.

Movements as erotic and carnal as the Beast within. A moon dance for predestined greeting of her spirit. A closing of eyes. The image of her caught on paper had been set with the blue paper rose. Her mind was filled with those blue roses, her senses filled with the scent of Paxton, tasting the night on the tip of her tongue, listening to the reminding beat of heart reminding her of life...even as beat of heart quickened... blood running hot through veins as inner sight was enraptured with eyes like her own... blue eyes that easily could ensnare the very fiber of her being... and now eyes of green and pale ones that made her wonder on her past. wonder on family.

She spun on naked soles tattooed fingers moving down wet cloth to move along the lines of her form. Hair flung back licked by the heat of fire... pale skin would glow from beneath as if ember kissed. Foggy jades lingered in memory and she trembled in private delight of that heat.

The melody of her spirit was hushed, the earlier hunt and now the dance and her thoughts temporarily would satiate the Beast. Ghost lit blues lifted to linger on the moon before retreating to her tent.

To be wild was an aching burn... and tonight... was but the beginning of what was to come.

She should have listened to the wolf within. The nagging nip at her spirit. The warning that far surpassed woman's intuition.

Abjured another that had taken new form like a Trickster God coming to torture her. Any surprise that would be if the man walked in the skin of Loki himself. Her mother after all had been Norsk descent. Far more then she was willing to realize. Far more then any realized.

Fingers twisted around that pendant and clasped it. She had shifted only briefly during her run with Desi through the Manor grounds. Standing naked she was comfortable with her own flesh. She couldn't say if the De Laurier family was like that... they might just condemn her as being too wild to run with them. It did not matter now.

A dream had been told. A whisper to the shell of ear. Words that held heat and passion. Want and Desire. Lingering craving of Beast and Healer. Did he even realize. Did he even know?

She felt he was hiding from the truth. Guarding his heart and spirit from the pain the world could offer. She didn't need supernatural senses to know the pain within the man. Mimic and mirror of her own.

All seen in his eyes. Mirrors to the soul. Mirrors that easily could claim her own soul. If he only knew...

One abjured was forgotten. Dismissed. The heat of another remained. Always there seemed an interruption like Fate meant to toy with them for a bit longer.

Then her thoughts and musings were whisked away by the playful yelp and howl of a certain grey wolf.

Annike grinned. Baring teeth in a feral way of huntress. Nothing could stop her tonight. Nothing.

The white wolf again the ghost of shadows... but this time... she would not be forgotten...or so easily dismissed.

Times had changed and with the change of time so would Annike. A howl on the wind. Release of all those emotions to give life to wild freedom.

Perhaps tonight it would be he that dreamed of her...

The world was just barely waking up when those tattooed hands clutched the open windowsill and she pulled herself up and into the room. Goldilocks curls dappled with a dusting of snow like shimmering jewels in her hair.

The cold still had not got to her. It was something to rejoice in. Small gains. A glance to the mirror and the stand. The trinkets gained there.

Fingertips lightly brushed the amber stone with the wolf spider permanently trapped.

There a distant smile even before the chill of bare flesh slipped under warm covers after the window was shut and the curtains drawn.

The hunger satiated again and the beast was calm. Bonds would do that. There were no chains, no shackles any longer... but still the bonds remained.

She was without protest, body stretching long against the sheets as she closed her eyes. Aching soreness of body that could leave one smiling in secret pleasure within memories.

Drifting words in native tongue before sleep caught her again.

Wrap me in a bolt of lightning
Send me on my way still smiling
Maybe that's the way I should go,
Straight into the mouth of the unknown
I left the spare key on the table
Never really thought I'd be able to say
I merely visit on the weekends
I lost my whole life and a dear friend


The game of it went on. That fragile masquerade that was performed so well. She knew that the friendship with the Barbarian was in reality just that. The wolf knew of lust and desire and wild need, but it was not in her way to try and take that in as her own. There was more to her then the Wolf.

She walked through the forest, bare feet silent against the grass as she thought over the recent events. There was an ache at the lacking presence of the Albino since the woman had shut her out. If only the Albino would understand.

I've said it so many times
I would change my ways
No, nevermind
God knows I've tried

Call me a sinner, call me a saint
Tell me it's over I'll still love you the same
Call me your favorite, call me the worst
Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt
It's all that I can say. So, I'll be on my way


She came to settle on a rock near the stream that trickled through the glen. Hugging her knees as those haunted blues drifted over the night sky. Alain and Neikla had been those that seemed to understand her completely. Desiree understood the wolf... but those dark parts that she hid from so many... Alain and Neikla had seen right through and accepted. As had Drake.

Lips twisted in a frown as head dropped to rest on her knees. A quiet exhale as tattooed fingers curled against her legs. The Hunter was supposed to return and yet all she had seen was glimpses of him and an idle conversation.

As much as she denied it she found she was thinking of him more and more.

I finally put it all together,
But nothing really lasts forever
I had to make a choice that was not mine,
I had to say goodbye for the last time
I kept my whole life in suitcase,
Never really stayed in one place
Maybe that's the way it should be,
You know I live my life like a gypsy

I've said it so many times
I would change my ways
No, nevermind
God knows I've tried


There were many things Alain had been right on. There was much to survive through alone. She was adjusting. Accomodating. Surviving in the only way she knew how. She missed them... those that had drifted away.

Lucian. Neikla. Alain. Wil.

Fingers drifted through the pack at her side. Despite their offerings, Annike had remained outside. Sleeping in the forest. She withdrew that box that the Albino had left. Fingers touching it silently as lashes crushed away the threaten of tears.

Awareness of the ache. The notion of importance. Their distance spoke volumes. Maybe it was her that had pushed them away but the empty spot remained. Unfilled no matter how hard she tried...

Call me a sinner, call me a saint
Tell me it's over I'll still love you the same
Call me your favorite, call me the worst
Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt
It's all that I can say. So, I'll be on my way

I'll always keep you inside, you healed my
Heart and my life... And you know I try.


(Lyrics- Shinedown "Call Me" )