-- lydia
a rogue, a stray. a taste for the open wilds, no more than a tramp swaddled in the humbled ruin of libertine whim ? borne of havoc incarnate and wild felinity. Boldly, a stride penetrated the boundaries, dragging her like a blade into the claimed lands ? plunging the de wilde woman deeper into infamy, abandoning social conventions for want of entertainment. There came the patron?s stench, his cologne thick on the very rise of a breeze. The realm carried faint familiarity ? as though walking through a dream, as though the pathway were etched, burned into the deep recesses of memory. It was unlikely she had, unlikely it were known to her previous to this. It mattered little in her mind, though she?d carried a fondness for some nostalgic thought ? more perhaps those carried towards, or for, family not often seen. Her father was notably absent, and her mother facetiously dependent on he. Though she knew much of her father?s kin ? the sons and daughters of uncle Iairos ? she met none of her mother?s. They were landlocked in a place of privilege. Amusing to think her own freedom was borne on the idea she?d return to said kin, to inform them of her mother?s fate. Obligations, nor duty, were things held dearly to the de Wilde woman. No, whim propelled her action. Impulse was the name of the fire in her heart. A tongue passed against the hot, silk of her dark lips; the tender flesh ran against the warmth of her teeth. The stride of the woman had soon paused ? the silhouette of the beast had fallen into sight. The rich crimson of her eyes drew a deeper touch of thirst. It was far from salacious intent, this was a hunger for simpler company and her steps quickly reclaimed their gait, murdering the distance that had remained between them. Boldly, she drew into the webbings of his presence, not close enough to touch but enough for the invasion to be clear, as unannounced as it may have been. ?So,? the sultry rasp culled silence, romancing the beast into conversation. She spoke nothing for a moment, more to gather words and thought. ?I suppose you?re the title-holder of this land.? A mild statement, bland and uninteresting.
