NO ONE IS AT HOME IN MY DARKNESS

*Karmen* · (This post was last modified: 01-10-2014, 01:33 AM by Karmen.)

Karmen was too much of a witch to be a princess.
Destined by genetic hands she would always be the villainess , the wicked step-sister, the woman in black. Her upbringing crafted the most vile of succubi, a mixed drink of one part beauty, two parts sin. And she could wish all she wanted that a change of fate would come her way, but she didn't wish for it, in fact, she was fond of the slippery things that made holes inside her head.
Instead of daydreaming about princes in pearly armour, Karmen was fantasizing about dark and dangerous men who could easily consume her and the rest of the world - but she, the finesse fatale, could persuade them otherwise; she could coax him into the warmth of her loins, whisper promises of loyalty in the heat of the night while they dedicated their time to revenge and malice. She could gingerly groom his chest while he raged tangents of domination, and a Sovereign so mighty, so efficacious and heinous that Heaven and Hell would be impussiant in comparison, and she - as his Queen - would rise to a paramount so supreme that the Gods of this world would feel obligated to kneel before her.
A red sun began to sink behind the horizon as night swiftly began to take reign of the sky; the sea feigned the guise of blood, licking quietly at the face of the bluff below. Karmen fluttered her dark brown lashes, cocking her head as she pondered and played with the possibilities. Her body faced the dying light; the curves her mother had blessed her with were silhouetted in a thread of crimson. The slight breeze teased her golden tresses, tempting her to close her eyes in the realization that men are fickle and rather weak creatures, who should never be trusted nor given the light of day - and such a deity could never exist.
And so she lowered herself amongst the litter of wildflowers and whimsically dreamed of the slaughter of lambs and why that thought warmed her delicate body.

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