Post by guess on Aug 2, 2009 18:13:53 GMT -5
The day rose and she died. Like all things, she came to an end to her light, her heart stuttering in her chest, her body stiffening, whatever really ran her, made her smile, animated her the way only a creature of sentience could live, fled from her body. Some said it was the soul, others said it was magic. Other, darker of thought, simply ignored the pestering question, knowing that the moment that Necromancers came to the world, they would truly be in trouble. More trouble than they were already in, of course. The world kept turning and they kept dying. The sun kept rising and the humans kept opening their ugly flat eyes to the world they did not appreciate. Birds knew more than they did. Taro never liked birds.[/color]
Mostly because they were daylight creatures and did not know enough to adapt to the darker world that she had been tossed. She turned and turned, her body rolling in her grave, her catacomb, mausoleum, her sepulcher that was not anywhere near the sea like she would have liked: the final resting place that gave her neither rest, nor was any close to final. Vampire. Perhaps that rattling breath over the floorboards was her growling hiss, a nonsensical sound of a dead corpse that still moved when the night hit. Or maybe it was just your heart stuttering in your chest where you were unknowingly stumbling over her hiding spot, her little niche of restlessness where she dumped her body, and the body of her victim. Did he belong to you? So sorry, so sorry. I'll apologize since she never will.
In death, Taro lost her moral compass, lost all sorts of mannerisms that had once defined her. Who knew, who knew -- only one, only one man and he was not here with her, was not dead beside her, flinching back from the light which cascaded through the empty, abandoned room where she was hiding. The light shifted through the cracks in the floor, singed off a piece of her hair. Did she move? No, no, she was not there, was not alive -- her soul, her spirit, her animation, her flame had snuffed out when the sun rose as if she were part of a world that reflected this one, a darker reflection, a refraction of light that turned oily and evil. A world of blood, of cold, and cruelty.
Did the corpse smile? Did she dream? What would she dream. The human beside her stiffened, body tensing with rigor mortis as the sun climbed the sky, as the world kept turning and turning and turning and it was okay, it was alright, for a stiff body was easily disposed of. Better than rotten, better than alive. Blood dried in sticky globs along his mouth and face, ravaged cheekbones caved in with thick rivets where her nails had punished him, killed him as she rode him. Again, and again, the night had been theirs, his, but mostly hers as she took him again, rocked over him, rode him until he could be ridden no longer and then took his blood. His whimpers had been so exhausted, so tired and useless it had almost been a shame. Until death. Death came in two waves. The first was her fangs on his cock, bleeding him where no man should ever bleed. Then his throat where the rest poured over her sweet cat-tongue. So beautiful the river of color which splashed her with heat, made her feel alive where she had no right to live. Perhaps it was this that she dreamt of in her death.
The world turned.
The world died.
Sun, brilliant splash of light, bled into the sky, it's red reach darkening into shadows that stretched and woke and it touched the edge of the horizon, sparked life, sparked death. It woke the reflection, an electric pulse that slithered through the underground, touched upon the dead hearts in the city. She woke, they all woke -- as one, as if they were all but an extension of each other; she but the finger to another's hand, who was but a hand to another's arm and so forth - so perfect, so synchronized it had to magic, had to be something other than souls flying through the air. Didn't some fly faster than others? But death receded and life sparked through her: she jolted as if the pulse was a painful thing as her body arched, mouth opening up in a little O.
A gasping breath, golden eyes hidden by the black pupils which expanded thickly in her face. A moment of darkness, of disorientation and the silence drilled on and on. Her nose wrinkled, her body shifting as she pushed open the floorboard, crept over the old wood like a worm and left the dead human to exist in it's death. Alone, alone, a true final resting place as she sneered and stalked from the room. Air! She needed fresh, cold air to sizzle through her lungs, to prove to her that she had power over the world, that she was okay, and that, when the time came for it, she would be strong. So strong.
She was moving today, you see. Migrating.
New territory. A grin, a flicker of fangs rolling beneath her pert lips and she was in motion. Like a gypsy, like a ghost, she flipped over herself, her hands barely touching the floor before she was sprung higher than any human into the air, twisting, no -- flying! -- through it, hair shifting around her, a golden red banner that sailed behind her. Feet touched, a light touch, and she was off, bouncing from one corner to the next, body shifting, twisting, landing -- again and again she jumped and vaulted, moved with a skillful grace, a terrifying grace as the moon took her rightful place in the sky. The mirror had awoken, the darker lives taking over the daylight ones and she was ready for some fun, for some claiming. She shied away from the country, went right into the city, crouching in her heels on a flag jutting from a building. Second street, so perfect, so --- she took a deep inhale --- did anyone own this place? Who, who! Her mind shivered.
"Katkat where are you?" she purred, but her golden eyes were glinting like a cat's, refracting light as if it bounced right off of her bright irises. She saw, she stepped, she conquered. Who would answer, who would dare? She laughed, a stifled sound. What fun, what fun, she thought, tossing her gently waving hair behind her narrow shoulder, finger nails twitching, taping against the hard line of her leg where she was wearing tight jeans.
word count;; 1127
tags;; open to anyone!
OOC;; Taro's debut post! <3