If pain had a taste it would be a bitter flavor, a combination of stale wine and blood and filth, it would be the color red, and black, and purple, and would smell of sweet rot and vomit, and sound like the screams of a dieing horse combined with the cries of a childs lost innocents. If pain had texture and taste, sound and smell, or color, Maria would be drowning in it, like waters through a flood gate it would wash over her, tug her under, refuse to release her and hold her, till the last light above disappeared. There would be nothing left just the sad pity of those around her as they gazed upon her with down turned eyes, and soft murmurs, 'I'm glad it's not me'.
But pain wasn't like that, it was something the body feels at the time, but forgets once it is gone. Amazing how that was, how one could endure such pain, such abuse, but then seem startled when it was felt again, as if one had thought it would have changed since the last time it had been felt. No pain was not ever lasting, pain was an element of blank, it could not remember when it begun, or weather it even had a beginning, or an end. To Maria it had been unending, a spiral of pain, torture, abuse, and disinterest.
But was it the pain that was felt the most, or the disinterest? One could fall and break a bone and months later not recall what that pain had been like, but a spoken word of hate or humiliation would burn and fester through life, bending and twisting you to its every whim like hot steal under a blacksmith's tongs. Those injuries never healed, no matter how hard one attempted to forget and push passed them, they were life forming, and guided the way one turned out. Like scars they festered and were a constant reminder of what one had lost.
Now Maria was a strong woman, her heart was strong, able to sustain both herself and Talomar, her heart had learned to adjust, growing stronger and beating harder then before, it was a muscle that would never die, so long as Talomar fed. Her body was a fine tuned weapon, with the ability to draw blade in an instant and hold back a tide of danger, and even in a weakened state she had still managed to get away with her life. It wasn't just luck that guided her, no plain dumb luck would have been discarded by the Master Vampire long ago, no it was training, vast training. Learned from her father, and honed by her own instincts, which had been sharpened by the gift of Longden's bite.
But physical strength aside, Maria was still a woman, she walked like a woman, drawing more then one applicative glance. She dressed like a woman, and how her Lord loved what she wore. She made love like a woman, as her lover had experienced over and over, she was a hot blooded filly, a frightfully strong creature who struck out at anyone who dared to look at her the wrong way, never to be broken, no matter how many times the Count brought whip to her flesh, he had never tried to break her, gentle her, he had done, but deep down, she was still very scarred and very wild, as anyone who crossed her could well attest to.
She had given up much for the man she loved, her freedom of movement, not because he asked her, but because she was busy seeing to his needs and his tasks. She had given up her freedom of word, she rarely defended herself against anyone except when struck at first, and always smiled if it was a friend of Talomar's, because he requested it, and he spent the time to teach her. She had given up much, but she had gained more, his security and love, his home and bed, his study and knowing she would never go hungry or be miss treated by anyone again, and for that, she willingly would give up her world ten times over.
Love was a powerful and binding principle that held her heart more firmly then the flesh and blood the pumped through her veins. She would gladly have spilled her own blood if only to save Talomar, throw herself in front of blade or into a pit of tigers, if only to retain his love, and save his life, put plainly, she would die for him, a hundred times over. And all she asked for in return, was what he already had to give, she never took his money, never asked for power, or substance, just his love, and the freedom to be near him as much as his marriage would allow, and she never once complained, she took the backseat to his marriage without so much as a sniff, she didn't care that it meant she had to play second fiddle, it only meant he loved her so much more, that he had given her permission of just that, to sleep in his bed, and be in his study.
Just a woman, and as with any woman, emotions ruled her, sure she was smart and knew when to hold her tongue, and when to bat her eyelashes, or smile sweetly when she wanted to rip someone to shreds, but still emotion ruled her. It made for a difficult time as the first few days slipped into weeks, then weeks into months, and she continued to serve him, to find the time alone that she needed, to let out the boiling emotion with in her. She was a rock in public, a lover with Talomar, and balling child when blissfully alone. Not because something had upset her, or because she was a basket case, far from, she was very much emotionally and mentally healthy, it just had to come out. Like with any woman, tears had to be shed.
On the rare day, if anyone ever dared to enter her room, they would find her in the corner, a shadow of her graceful form, hidden within her own emotion, cocooned in weary form, letting out that which she did not dare release in front of her lover for fear of showing a sign of weakness. She would cry, quietly, silently, kneeling in the corner, or pressed to her bed sheets. Fingers curled into themselves, pain written on her face, drowning in it.
Yes pain, the bitter taste, the rancid smell, the unyielding screams of it. She would sob silently, acrimonious tears sweeping those youthful cheeks and falling to those fingers. She would drown in her sorrows, release them from the deepest parts of her heart, let forth a spilling for past memories, of hateful words, angry sneers, vicious strikes, unfair testaments to her form and her abilities. No matter what she did, she could not escape the pain of the past, nor did she want to, it lent a more peaceful out look on the life she now lead.
What could be more out standing then going from a shogun's daughter, to a geisha, to a slave, to one of the most feared women in Rhy-Din. She had come far at the hands of her Lord, her Love. The Count had seen to that, he had risen her higher then anyone else in this pitiful town. And now as thoughts turn from bitter memory to the sweet here and now, the tears stop, and she can not help but smile as the pain is washed away as if from a cooling breeze, and she can in her minds eye see him before her, as she had the day she had met him, hand extended, offering her peace and love, and she would not deny him, she would take it, and she would make him proud of her.
She would stand, brush the dust from her skirt, prepare herself for him, in such a way as no other could. Then she would go to him, to slip into his arms and greet his warmth as she did every night, and hope that some night, the bitter tears would disappear forever. But for tonight, her mind would be occupied with other things, as it was every night, tonight she was his, and he would take her as he always did, with a gentle hand and gentle word, and remind her why she loves him so, and entrance her as he always did, and make her feel as if she was the only woman on this miserable planet, and she, she would return the favor, forever more, until he tired of her, and deep down, she hoped that day, would never come.
But pain wasn't like that, it was something the body feels at the time, but forgets once it is gone. Amazing how that was, how one could endure such pain, such abuse, but then seem startled when it was felt again, as if one had thought it would have changed since the last time it had been felt. No pain was not ever lasting, pain was an element of blank, it could not remember when it begun, or weather it even had a beginning, or an end. To Maria it had been unending, a spiral of pain, torture, abuse, and disinterest.
But was it the pain that was felt the most, or the disinterest? One could fall and break a bone and months later not recall what that pain had been like, but a spoken word of hate or humiliation would burn and fester through life, bending and twisting you to its every whim like hot steal under a blacksmith's tongs. Those injuries never healed, no matter how hard one attempted to forget and push passed them, they were life forming, and guided the way one turned out. Like scars they festered and were a constant reminder of what one had lost.
Now Maria was a strong woman, her heart was strong, able to sustain both herself and Talomar, her heart had learned to adjust, growing stronger and beating harder then before, it was a muscle that would never die, so long as Talomar fed. Her body was a fine tuned weapon, with the ability to draw blade in an instant and hold back a tide of danger, and even in a weakened state she had still managed to get away with her life. It wasn't just luck that guided her, no plain dumb luck would have been discarded by the Master Vampire long ago, no it was training, vast training. Learned from her father, and honed by her own instincts, which had been sharpened by the gift of Longden's bite.
But physical strength aside, Maria was still a woman, she walked like a woman, drawing more then one applicative glance. She dressed like a woman, and how her Lord loved what she wore. She made love like a woman, as her lover had experienced over and over, she was a hot blooded filly, a frightfully strong creature who struck out at anyone who dared to look at her the wrong way, never to be broken, no matter how many times the Count brought whip to her flesh, he had never tried to break her, gentle her, he had done, but deep down, she was still very scarred and very wild, as anyone who crossed her could well attest to.
She had given up much for the man she loved, her freedom of movement, not because he asked her, but because she was busy seeing to his needs and his tasks. She had given up her freedom of word, she rarely defended herself against anyone except when struck at first, and always smiled if it was a friend of Talomar's, because he requested it, and he spent the time to teach her. She had given up much, but she had gained more, his security and love, his home and bed, his study and knowing she would never go hungry or be miss treated by anyone again, and for that, she willingly would give up her world ten times over.
Love was a powerful and binding principle that held her heart more firmly then the flesh and blood the pumped through her veins. She would gladly have spilled her own blood if only to save Talomar, throw herself in front of blade or into a pit of tigers, if only to retain his love, and save his life, put plainly, she would die for him, a hundred times over. And all she asked for in return, was what he already had to give, she never took his money, never asked for power, or substance, just his love, and the freedom to be near him as much as his marriage would allow, and she never once complained, she took the backseat to his marriage without so much as a sniff, she didn't care that it meant she had to play second fiddle, it only meant he loved her so much more, that he had given her permission of just that, to sleep in his bed, and be in his study.
Just a woman, and as with any woman, emotions ruled her, sure she was smart and knew when to hold her tongue, and when to bat her eyelashes, or smile sweetly when she wanted to rip someone to shreds, but still emotion ruled her. It made for a difficult time as the first few days slipped into weeks, then weeks into months, and she continued to serve him, to find the time alone that she needed, to let out the boiling emotion with in her. She was a rock in public, a lover with Talomar, and balling child when blissfully alone. Not because something had upset her, or because she was a basket case, far from, she was very much emotionally and mentally healthy, it just had to come out. Like with any woman, tears had to be shed.
On the rare day, if anyone ever dared to enter her room, they would find her in the corner, a shadow of her graceful form, hidden within her own emotion, cocooned in weary form, letting out that which she did not dare release in front of her lover for fear of showing a sign of weakness. She would cry, quietly, silently, kneeling in the corner, or pressed to her bed sheets. Fingers curled into themselves, pain written on her face, drowning in it.
Yes pain, the bitter taste, the rancid smell, the unyielding screams of it. She would sob silently, acrimonious tears sweeping those youthful cheeks and falling to those fingers. She would drown in her sorrows, release them from the deepest parts of her heart, let forth a spilling for past memories, of hateful words, angry sneers, vicious strikes, unfair testaments to her form and her abilities. No matter what she did, she could not escape the pain of the past, nor did she want to, it lent a more peaceful out look on the life she now lead.
What could be more out standing then going from a shogun's daughter, to a geisha, to a slave, to one of the most feared women in Rhy-Din. She had come far at the hands of her Lord, her Love. The Count had seen to that, he had risen her higher then anyone else in this pitiful town. And now as thoughts turn from bitter memory to the sweet here and now, the tears stop, and she can not help but smile as the pain is washed away as if from a cooling breeze, and she can in her minds eye see him before her, as she had the day she had met him, hand extended, offering her peace and love, and she would not deny him, she would take it, and she would make him proud of her.
She would stand, brush the dust from her skirt, prepare herself for him, in such a way as no other could. Then she would go to him, to slip into his arms and greet his warmth as she did every night, and hope that some night, the bitter tears would disappear forever. But for tonight, her mind would be occupied with other things, as it was every night, tonight she was his, and he would take her as he always did, with a gentle hand and gentle word, and remind her why she loves him so, and entrance her as he always did, and make her feel as if she was the only woman on this miserable planet, and she, she would return the favor, forever more, until he tired of her, and deep down, she hoped that day, would never come.