06-16-2009, 02:26 PM
[html]
http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
The brute had taken her. He burned her flesh—how did he know?—and kept her wounds open. The pain of her body was indescribable, and yet she could not find the strength to even cry out. Her limbs no longer responded as her mind slipped in and out of a limbo, never asleep and never awake. She could feel her father’s body against her own, harsh and unforgiving of her as he moved against her. And her body let him in without a fight. The strength had drained from her body, and now it betrayed her for the poor care she had given it. Her mind protested greatly, but the pied wolf could not hear. Even if he could, she knew that he would do nothing. She had not been strong enough to physically resist him, and so her wounded body was left at his disposal. It was the price of weakness. Her breath shuddered from her once, when he had first climaxed within her. Her soul shuddered—he was too close. That black soul—she had touched it. And like a black tar it stuck to her, unable to be removed. It was cold, like the hand of Death, and it sought now to wrap about her heart, to drown out the light. The woman cried out once. No. She didn’t want it so close. The Darkness of her father’s soul was too concentrated, too overwhelming. It to destroy her soul, to kill it. She tried to resist, but nothing responded anymore. Her soul shuddered.
Once, with the coming of dawn, sleep had briefly taken her. And the warrior had Dreamt a Dream, the same Dream that had occurred at the coming of dawn the other day. She stood at that river dividing life and death, and she watched as the pied Raven led the soul of another across that river. Yet, once more, before she could recognize it, the Dream had faded. The black fae had risen from the bed, her body compelled by some other force. The sheets had stuck painfully to her wounds, but she pulled away from them. She knew true defeat here in this room. But at the same time, she had not run, she had not feared. She had lifted her blade against him, and she had failed, but she had pushed that fear aside and had faced him. For the gods, that was enough, and for her, that would have to be enough as well. But there was someone else—who was he? She knew that he was important, but the world did not want her to remember. She swayed in the middle of the room, pain shooting up her leg as her body threatened to collapse.
But her father had seen her. He pushed against the wall, the heat of his body pressing away the cold of blood loss. He whispered in her ear. She belonged to him. And his body penetrated hers once more. Awake now, able to move and yet not able to resist, she experienced the rape over again. Once more, as he forced those climatic waves upon her, she could not help but cry out, feeling as if she were betraying someone—her mind was slipping again, and she struggled to remember. The roar and the crash of the shattering door were dull sounds in the distance. Her eyes struggled to remain open, as if it were important for her to see something. She felt herself pressed against he wall, and while her eyes were open, she did not see. While she smelled, she smelled only the blood and sex that tainted the room. And then Corvus had pulled away. She fell to the floor, but her body was numbed. It was cold. And the darkness was too close to her soul, as tainting as a brush of Death’s hand.
500+
The brute had taken her. He burned her flesh—how did he know?—and kept her wounds open. The pain of her body was indescribable, and yet she could not find the strength to even cry out. Her limbs no longer responded as her mind slipped in and out of a limbo, never asleep and never awake. She could feel her father’s body against her own, harsh and unforgiving of her as he moved against her. And her body let him in without a fight. The strength had drained from her body, and now it betrayed her for the poor care she had given it. Her mind protested greatly, but the pied wolf could not hear. Even if he could, she knew that he would do nothing. She had not been strong enough to physically resist him, and so her wounded body was left at his disposal. It was the price of weakness. Her breath shuddered from her once, when he had first climaxed within her. Her soul shuddered—he was too close. That black soul—she had touched it. And like a black tar it stuck to her, unable to be removed. It was cold, like the hand of Death, and it sought now to wrap about her heart, to drown out the light. The woman cried out once. No. She didn’t want it so close. The Darkness of her father’s soul was too concentrated, too overwhelming. It to destroy her soul, to kill it. She tried to resist, but nothing responded anymore. Her soul shuddered.
Once, with the coming of dawn, sleep had briefly taken her. And the warrior had Dreamt a Dream, the same Dream that had occurred at the coming of dawn the other day. She stood at that river dividing life and death, and she watched as the pied Raven led the soul of another across that river. Yet, once more, before she could recognize it, the Dream had faded. The black fae had risen from the bed, her body compelled by some other force. The sheets had stuck painfully to her wounds, but she pulled away from them. She knew true defeat here in this room. But at the same time, she had not run, she had not feared. She had lifted her blade against him, and she had failed, but she had pushed that fear aside and had faced him. For the gods, that was enough, and for her, that would have to be enough as well. But there was someone else—who was he? She knew that he was important, but the world did not want her to remember. She swayed in the middle of the room, pain shooting up her leg as her body threatened to collapse.
But her father had seen her. He pushed against the wall, the heat of his body pressing away the cold of blood loss. He whispered in her ear. She belonged to him. And his body penetrated hers once more. Awake now, able to move and yet not able to resist, she experienced the rape over again. Once more, as he forced those climatic waves upon her, she could not help but cry out, feeling as if she were betraying someone—her mind was slipping again, and she struggled to remember. The roar and the crash of the shattering door were dull sounds in the distance. Her eyes struggled to remain open, as if it were important for her to see something. She felt herself pressed against he wall, and while her eyes were open, she did not see. While she smelled, she smelled only the blood and sex that tainted the room. And then Corvus had pulled away. She fell to the floor, but her body was numbed. It was cold. And the darkness was too close to her soul, as tainting as a brush of Death’s hand.