“For keeping secrets.”
She heard his words before she saw him, but that was the point. Fights between them were never fair and the first blow fell against her cheek. The force was enough to make her stumble back and for a moment Anat just stood and stared at al-Shir. It wasn’t that she was shocked by his action, but the surprise of his appearance stayed her hand for a moment.
The time she took to react only allowed her anger to boil to the surface. Without replying to his accusation she threw her fist into him matching his strength with her own. He fell against a stand knocking one of the decorative vases to the ground. It shattered on impact sending porcelain shards in all directions.
The sound of their spat echoed through the house and the staff hid. Even when they were done they hesitated to start the cleaning, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire. Walls were dented and furniture smashed as the two vampires became a tornado of fists and destruction. Finally they stopped, resting against the carnage of their fury.
“Are we done?” Anat’s voice was soft with exhaustion.
“Yes. We are.”
Friday, February 24, 2012
Know Me (Anat)
Anat smoothed the fabric running her hands over it. She draped it against her body and let it’s folds slide through her fingers. It was exquisite, like liquid gold spun into silk. It was like holding water. She smiled after her inspection and nodded.
“This one. It’s perfect.”
It had been perfect when she chosen it and it was perfect now. Anat pulled the length of fabric from her chest and held it up to inspect. It had been kept safely, even in all of her travels and the care they had taken to transport her finer things had paid off. It was no different then the day she had purchased it except maybe for the faint creases where it had been folded, but that was remedied easily.
Carefully she laid it out over a chair before drawing her bath. The steam that rose from the water relaxed the lines from the silk without damaging it. Quickly the air filled with the scent of amber and sandalwood and Anat stepped into the scalding water. For the first few moments she just let the heat consume her. It invaded her pores and warmed her body. She breathed in deeply. Her evening would start in ritual, but she hoped that it would end somewhere entirely different.
Despite the nights promise of distraction Anat attended her devotions with perfect focus. She would offer nothing less and she was well practiced at keeping rogue thoughts at bay. It was the plane ride that tested her patience. She expressed no discontent but it felt to her that time deemed it fit only to travel at a pace that would irritate her. While her requiem centered around an event with no horizon she didn’t do well waiting for things in her more foreseeable future. It was worth it though, in the end it almost always was.
Octavius smiled at the sight at her a hint of the carnal knowledge they shared dancing in his eyes. Had she been a different person she may have flushed at being looked at in such a manner but she wasn’t and instead she returned the gaze. Pleasantries didn’t last long between them. They never did. Too quickly were words silenced with a kiss and hands made too busy with other things to punctuate statements of profound tedium. Anat preferred it that way. Octavius never asked her to endure the boring exchanges that began most encounters. There was no wasted time between them. No moments lost to the protocol that was the Camarilla. It wasn’t that they never spoke on important matters, those conversations just came later…or during. Anat found it refreshing.
The two of them had a language all their own, one that was spoken skin against skin. Their alphabet was fingertips dancing in soft caresses or the roughness of nails and teeth. It was a simpler state of being and one that Anat reveled in. Pleasure always came first. Business would follow or, if it deemed to do so, would escape between moans of ecstasy.
Anat rested against his chest, her eyes drifting to the discarded pile of silk. She smiled. It had been chosen so carefully to be thrown away so easily. There was a comfort in the stillness between them. No accelerated heartbeats or quickened breath and their skin remained as cool and dry as marble. He shifted, moving a hand to her now disheveled hair. When he spoke his voice was soft by her ear.
“Now my question is, Bella, tomorrow night who shall be tied and who will do the tying?”
She could hear the impish grin in his voice but she pushed herself upright so that she could see it anyway. The smile she returned was wry and mischievous.
“We could always take turns if we get an early enough start.”
“This one. It’s perfect.”
It had been perfect when she chosen it and it was perfect now. Anat pulled the length of fabric from her chest and held it up to inspect. It had been kept safely, even in all of her travels and the care they had taken to transport her finer things had paid off. It was no different then the day she had purchased it except maybe for the faint creases where it had been folded, but that was remedied easily.
Carefully she laid it out over a chair before drawing her bath. The steam that rose from the water relaxed the lines from the silk without damaging it. Quickly the air filled with the scent of amber and sandalwood and Anat stepped into the scalding water. For the first few moments she just let the heat consume her. It invaded her pores and warmed her body. She breathed in deeply. Her evening would start in ritual, but she hoped that it would end somewhere entirely different.
Despite the nights promise of distraction Anat attended her devotions with perfect focus. She would offer nothing less and she was well practiced at keeping rogue thoughts at bay. It was the plane ride that tested her patience. She expressed no discontent but it felt to her that time deemed it fit only to travel at a pace that would irritate her. While her requiem centered around an event with no horizon she didn’t do well waiting for things in her more foreseeable future. It was worth it though, in the end it almost always was.
Octavius smiled at the sight at her a hint of the carnal knowledge they shared dancing in his eyes. Had she been a different person she may have flushed at being looked at in such a manner but she wasn’t and instead she returned the gaze. Pleasantries didn’t last long between them. They never did. Too quickly were words silenced with a kiss and hands made too busy with other things to punctuate statements of profound tedium. Anat preferred it that way. Octavius never asked her to endure the boring exchanges that began most encounters. There was no wasted time between them. No moments lost to the protocol that was the Camarilla. It wasn’t that they never spoke on important matters, those conversations just came later…or during. Anat found it refreshing.
The two of them had a language all their own, one that was spoken skin against skin. Their alphabet was fingertips dancing in soft caresses or the roughness of nails and teeth. It was a simpler state of being and one that Anat reveled in. Pleasure always came first. Business would follow or, if it deemed to do so, would escape between moans of ecstasy.
Anat rested against his chest, her eyes drifting to the discarded pile of silk. She smiled. It had been chosen so carefully to be thrown away so easily. There was a comfort in the stillness between them. No accelerated heartbeats or quickened breath and their skin remained as cool and dry as marble. He shifted, moving a hand to her now disheveled hair. When he spoke his voice was soft by her ear.
“Now my question is, Bella, tomorrow night who shall be tied and who will do the tying?”
She could hear the impish grin in his voice but she pushed herself upright so that she could see it anyway. The smile she returned was wry and mischievous.
“We could always take turns if we get an early enough start.”
Perfection (Anat)
Then
“Like this,” he said demonstrating the placement of the feet and the width of the legs apart with his own.
Anat sighed and shifted her weight doing her best to imitate the stance. It was unfamiliar, and she felt silly wearing the garments of a man. She didn’t yet understand how the movement was meant to ground her, creating a strong sense of balance while facing her opponent. Finally she nodded, satisfied with her mimic.
“Alright. Now attack.”
“What?” unconsciously she loses her stance her body reacting to the surprise that he could hear in her voice.
“Attack me,” he repeated his face calm and patient. He had no reason to be hard on her because she was harder on herself than he could ever be. Her advancement came from a stubborn determination more than it did from raw talent.
Suddenly Anat launched herself towards her mentor hoping the movement would catch him by as much surprise as his prompt did her. She should have known better and she would learn to know better. He easily stepped from the path of her onslaught and used the momentum she had gained to throw her to the ground. She landed hard enough to have knocked the wind from her lungs had she had any. He could see the mental torture already beginning as her face became sullen.
“Now how did I do that?” he asked standing over her.
Anat carefully pushed herself up from the ground looking wholly defeated.
“By being patient and using my own carelessness against me.” It was one thing he could say about her. She caught on to lessons quickly.
“Yes,” he agreed and helped her to her feet. He moves to kick her feet out from under her but she grounds herself, her feet moving into the position he’d just shown her.
“Good. Very good,” he tapped her leg. “Always remember your stance.”
She didn’t feel a rush of pride at his praise instead she was mulled over his movements in her mind so that she could practice them later.
Set demanded perfection but all she had to give him was her best.
Now
Anat knelt in front of the altar, her head bowed and resting on her hands. She had been in this position for an hour already and her knees were beginning to hurt from the rough stone floor. A sharp pain in the muscles between her shoulder blades raced through her body. Still, she didn’t flinch or count down the minutes till the agony would be over. There was in fact no sign that she was anything but a statue except for the quiet repetition of a mantra.
“Guide us, teach us, protect us. In your darkness we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”
Every word was as strong and clear as the one before it and though she had been speaking them since she entered the temple she never faltered.
Finally the words stopped and she rose gracefully from her spot. She ignored the pleading of her body to stretch and stood all the grace a person could muster. There was no peacefulness about her, no meditative lull, only the grim determination of someone who knows they cannot fail.
Anat never wondered if the ritual were still necessary. She only remembered the promise she had made centuries ago.
“I shall kneel at your altar every day and serve you until the end of time, only free me from my bondage.”
Not once had she considered going back on her word. Not once in her years of service had she thought He might accept less than her absolute devotion. And so, every night she rose from her day-sleep, cleaned away the impurities and dirt of the previous evening and walked to the temple where she knelt for an hour.
There were nights when other duties stalled her but she always found time. If she didn’t then she would add a second hour of devotion the next night. A third hour the next if it happened again.
Set demanded perfection and all she has is give him is her best.
“Like this,” he said demonstrating the placement of the feet and the width of the legs apart with his own.
Anat sighed and shifted her weight doing her best to imitate the stance. It was unfamiliar, and she felt silly wearing the garments of a man. She didn’t yet understand how the movement was meant to ground her, creating a strong sense of balance while facing her opponent. Finally she nodded, satisfied with her mimic.
“Alright. Now attack.”
“What?” unconsciously she loses her stance her body reacting to the surprise that he could hear in her voice.
“Attack me,” he repeated his face calm and patient. He had no reason to be hard on her because she was harder on herself than he could ever be. Her advancement came from a stubborn determination more than it did from raw talent.
Suddenly Anat launched herself towards her mentor hoping the movement would catch him by as much surprise as his prompt did her. She should have known better and she would learn to know better. He easily stepped from the path of her onslaught and used the momentum she had gained to throw her to the ground. She landed hard enough to have knocked the wind from her lungs had she had any. He could see the mental torture already beginning as her face became sullen.
“Now how did I do that?” he asked standing over her.
Anat carefully pushed herself up from the ground looking wholly defeated.
“By being patient and using my own carelessness against me.” It was one thing he could say about her. She caught on to lessons quickly.
“Yes,” he agreed and helped her to her feet. He moves to kick her feet out from under her but she grounds herself, her feet moving into the position he’d just shown her.
“Good. Very good,” he tapped her leg. “Always remember your stance.”
She didn’t feel a rush of pride at his praise instead she was mulled over his movements in her mind so that she could practice them later.
Set demanded perfection but all she had to give him was her best.
Now
Anat knelt in front of the altar, her head bowed and resting on her hands. She had been in this position for an hour already and her knees were beginning to hurt from the rough stone floor. A sharp pain in the muscles between her shoulder blades raced through her body. Still, she didn’t flinch or count down the minutes till the agony would be over. There was in fact no sign that she was anything but a statue except for the quiet repetition of a mantra.
“Guide us, teach us, protect us. In your darkness we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”
Every word was as strong and clear as the one before it and though she had been speaking them since she entered the temple she never faltered.
Finally the words stopped and she rose gracefully from her spot. She ignored the pleading of her body to stretch and stood all the grace a person could muster. There was no peacefulness about her, no meditative lull, only the grim determination of someone who knows they cannot fail.
Anat never wondered if the ritual were still necessary. She only remembered the promise she had made centuries ago.
“I shall kneel at your altar every day and serve you until the end of time, only free me from my bondage.”
Not once had she considered going back on her word. Not once in her years of service had she thought He might accept less than her absolute devotion. And so, every night she rose from her day-sleep, cleaned away the impurities and dirt of the previous evening and walked to the temple where she knelt for an hour.
There were nights when other duties stalled her but she always found time. If she didn’t then she would add a second hour of devotion the next night. A third hour the next if it happened again.
Set demanded perfection and all she has is give him is her best.
Denial (Elizaveta)
“Elizaveta.”
She hated when they started a sentence with her name. It always meant that something was about to be explained. Something they thought was too complex for small girl to understand. It annoyed her. Still it didn’t stop anything and she was certain that she was about to learn who the two people standing in front of her were.
“Elizaveta…darling…”
There it was again. As if her attention were lost so easily.
“These are your parents,” another pause, “your birth parents.”
The last part was added on in way of an afterthought, an unnecessary clarification. The woman standing in front of her smiled and held out her arms. Elizaveta stared at her, still clutching onto her escort. Even in her diminutive state the child had a presence and eventually the steady smile the woman wore faltered. The escort pried his fingers from Elizaveta’s and gave her a gentle push forward.
“It’s alright. Go on.”
Slowly she stepped towards the outstretched arms. When she was within reach she found herself suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace. The overwhelming display of affection was more crushing than the hug she found herself in and when the escort left Elizaveta found herself in a silent panic.
“Look at you,” cooed the woman holding her at arms length, “You’ve grown into quite the young lady.”
It was true. Despite her age her features had already taken on an exquisite acuteness. Her eyes held an intelligence that looked strange staring out of her youthful face. As she was studied, Elizaveta studied the two parents before her. The more she took in the measure of the two strangers the more she could see the resemblance. She had her mother’s dark almond shaped eyes as well as her delicate chin. From her father she had acquired high cheekbones and conservative lips, the kind that only seemed kissable when they were smiling. Suddenly every feature that had been hers, defined her, belonged to someone else. The thought made her angry.
How dare these strangers dump themselves into her life and take credit for everything she had accomplished. Elizaveta hated how the woman glowed with pride. What had she done except give birth to her? They had given her nothing and yet they smiled at her as if they had given her everything. Suddenly the silence in the room was broken by a hearty laugh from the father-man.
“Don’t look so serious child, you’ll wrinkle your pretty face. Now why don’t you give your mummy a kiss?”
She glared at him.
“You are not my father and she is not my mother.”
There was a stutter in his laughter, a hesitation, for just a second. She knew, in that moment, that she would undo them.
She hated when they started a sentence with her name. It always meant that something was about to be explained. Something they thought was too complex for small girl to understand. It annoyed her. Still it didn’t stop anything and she was certain that she was about to learn who the two people standing in front of her were.
“Elizaveta…darling…”
There it was again. As if her attention were lost so easily.
“These are your parents,” another pause, “your birth parents.”
The last part was added on in way of an afterthought, an unnecessary clarification. The woman standing in front of her smiled and held out her arms. Elizaveta stared at her, still clutching onto her escort. Even in her diminutive state the child had a presence and eventually the steady smile the woman wore faltered. The escort pried his fingers from Elizaveta’s and gave her a gentle push forward.
“It’s alright. Go on.”
Slowly she stepped towards the outstretched arms. When she was within reach she found herself suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace. The overwhelming display of affection was more crushing than the hug she found herself in and when the escort left Elizaveta found herself in a silent panic.
“Look at you,” cooed the woman holding her at arms length, “You’ve grown into quite the young lady.”
It was true. Despite her age her features had already taken on an exquisite acuteness. Her eyes held an intelligence that looked strange staring out of her youthful face. As she was studied, Elizaveta studied the two parents before her. The more she took in the measure of the two strangers the more she could see the resemblance. She had her mother’s dark almond shaped eyes as well as her delicate chin. From her father she had acquired high cheekbones and conservative lips, the kind that only seemed kissable when they were smiling. Suddenly every feature that had been hers, defined her, belonged to someone else. The thought made her angry.
How dare these strangers dump themselves into her life and take credit for everything she had accomplished. Elizaveta hated how the woman glowed with pride. What had she done except give birth to her? They had given her nothing and yet they smiled at her as if they had given her everything. Suddenly the silence in the room was broken by a hearty laugh from the father-man.
“Don’t look so serious child, you’ll wrinkle your pretty face. Now why don’t you give your mummy a kiss?”
She glared at him.
“You are not my father and she is not my mother.”
There was a stutter in his laughter, a hesitation, for just a second. She knew, in that moment, that she would undo them.
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