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"The flesh of the Earth, all worn away, thin.
The seconds stone cold in a moment gone dim.
A plunge into Darkness and Vanity’s grasp
Where faces haunt mirrors trapped in by the past." -' Butterflies' by the Eden House
(Events occurring after this thread)
Now attired properly as a royal lady of the Unseelie Court, Melek Taus watched Amarante slip through a doorway within the hall of mirrors. The black pearls and diamonds on her draped gown wrapped her form, put into place with articulate hands and attention to detail. She was, no longer a doll made up into something she was not to be broken from her crysalis, transformed once agian into a dark butterfly.
Even at the last she managed to give him a coquettish glance, her face still flushed, her body still taut, nipples erect. By her scent, he knew she had not been unaffected by what had passsed between them.
To his mind, Amarante was talented, but there were just some things that even the best actors and actresses could not feign. He was uncertain that he would see her this night as he bade her to do. The Grigori did not care. She had alerted him to the trap of the Seelie and their infinite plots woven in the pretense of ultimate good that far too many had been taken in by over many millennia.
He gave no indication that he knew that he and Amarante had been accutely observed not only by Faelyn, Jocelyn and her consort, but by their enemies. He straightened his garments once more, and looked unpreterbed as he reached the door. He would stay away from the royal family for a time.
So the Seelie and their conspirators meant to entrap him and take the rest, he mused. They would have to be far more duplicitous than they had been in the past. In spite of Seelie attempts at deception, the message that Amarante had passed to him through each touch, each gaze, each kiss and sigh had been received. Hers was a singular talent in that regard that few, human or Fae possesed.
Now they would play out the larger game.
Muse Melek Taus / The Peacock Angel
Fandom: Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 362
Crossposted to![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writers_muses
The seconds stone cold in a moment gone dim.
A plunge into Darkness and Vanity’s grasp
Where faces haunt mirrors trapped in by the past." -' Butterflies' by the Eden House
(Events occurring after this thread)
Now attired properly as a royal lady of the Unseelie Court, Melek Taus watched Amarante slip through a doorway within the hall of mirrors. The black pearls and diamonds on her draped gown wrapped her form, put into place with articulate hands and attention to detail. She was, no longer a doll made up into something she was not to be broken from her crysalis, transformed once agian into a dark butterfly.
Even at the last she managed to give him a coquettish glance, her face still flushed, her body still taut, nipples erect. By her scent, he knew she had not been unaffected by what had passsed between them.
To his mind, Amarante was talented, but there were just some things that even the best actors and actresses could not feign. He was uncertain that he would see her this night as he bade her to do. The Grigori did not care. She had alerted him to the trap of the Seelie and their infinite plots woven in the pretense of ultimate good that far too many had been taken in by over many millennia.
He gave no indication that he knew that he and Amarante had been accutely observed not only by Faelyn, Jocelyn and her consort, but by their enemies. He straightened his garments once more, and looked unpreterbed as he reached the door. He would stay away from the royal family for a time.
So the Seelie and their conspirators meant to entrap him and take the rest, he mused. They would have to be far more duplicitous than they had been in the past. In spite of Seelie attempts at deception, the message that Amarante had passed to him through each touch, each gaze, each kiss and sigh had been received. Hers was a singular talent in that regard that few, human or Fae possesed.
Now they would play out the larger game.
Muse Melek Taus / The Peacock Angel
Fandom: Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 362
Crossposted to
writers_muses
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And it was true what he said, Amarante acknowledged to herself. Her time with the deva's, and her time with certain shape-shifters in her past had honed her playful art into something more lifelike and real, a true camouflage. It was enough to fool the eyes of men, as well as their sense of hearing and smell. But oh, if they were to touch her the deception would fall away. For after all she was only disguised. No nymph was she to have the power to truly turn herself to fern or forest.
He was moving away, further from the reflective pool in the middle of the garden and closer to some of the flowering fruit trees on the far side. As soon as he was out of sight, she counted to five then simply rolled off the branch and fell to the ground, her bare feet hitting the soft grass almost silently. Over moss she crept, daring to creep ever closer to the Grigori's location, biting her lower lip to keep from making a sound.
If Melek heard a giggle behind him and a louder splash of something thrown into the water of the reflective pool, he would be able to return to see the ripples that a small stone made, thrown by a faeling hand. Still, there would be no obvious sign of her in the moonlight.
But where there were several bushes of white lilies shining in the starry night, one bush seemed to have a few more graceful stems and glowing blooms than before. And from her hiding place, kneeling among the flowers, the faeling watched for Melek's return.
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Even the long grass in need of trimming and the sweet scented moss and loam did not hide her entirely. He caught sight of a small glitter in the moonlight. Was it an animal lying in wait or more likely the eye of the one he was hunting for? Even as an demon, one accustomed to the creatures of the Dark both from the Underworld and of the Fae, he couldn't be entirely sure.
To test his theory, he turned away from the tiny sliver of light that had caught his attention to take a couple of steps toward a Persian silk tree, laden with feathery pink flowers that were redolent with perfume. Just as he did so, and if he was right, she would move once again. If not, he would continue to hunt for her.
Melek wanted to win the game, but rather than claim the prize from her unwillingly, he wanted, hoped that she would come to him willingly, wager or no. He indulged himself in the thought of her wanting him, the tenderness that had passed between him when she touched his wings, and as he was about to lose himself in his reverie, he heard and sensed movement among the sweet scent of night blooming lillies.
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The grass was soft under the faeling's feet. Here, even in the overgrown and somewhat isolated garden of the palais, though all manner of plantlife was running wild, it had magical, ethereal beauty that was only enhanced by moonlight and shadows. The wild rose bushes, entwined with each other, created a hedge that was alive with heady scent and needle-sharp barbs. These she avoided for now; what she held in her hands - though smaller and more delicate - were far more rare and exquisite.
Her heart was racing, every sense alive and alert. The moon, the warmth of the night; the shadows and silver light; the garden secrets and the man she stalked as she crept on bare feet behind him. Ah, he was turning! Duck or hide? Quick what to do?
Mara chose to laugh and raise her hands up, crowning the Grigori with a living coronet of beautiful flowers.
"Did I not promise to crown you this night, Melek?"
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The Lord of the Grigori's strong hands to pull Amarante to himself. If he had thought about it, he would have had to admit that his arms had ached to encircle the familiar curves and warmth of her body. He felt the rise and fall of breath filling her lungs then releasing once again. He could feel the pounding of her pulse as she rested the crown upon his head, a singular mark of favor from her to him.
"You did indeed," he smiled down at her, "But your flowers are not the only gift this night."
He picked her up in his arms. He could have lain her down in a bed of lillies and taken her there, but somehow, he knew that there were still likely prying eyes. The Fae were never shy about intimate things between themselves, but somehow this was different. For Amarante's entire life he had done what Watchers do - he had watched and been involved in her upbringing. Now a child no longer, he would not hurry what would come next between them.
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Melek wasn't over-powerful looking; he was more lean with long runner's muscles and yet he held her like she'd been holding the lilies in her hand - easily. "No" Mara agreed with him. "Not the only. And not the first, but most certainly not the last." The tips of her bare toes swept over a patch of high, night-blooming flowers and the faeling impulsively stretched out one foot to try and touch a single petal as the fallen angel carried her back through the garden. Mara giggled, then giggled harder at the look Melek gave her, and flashed him a bright smile.
His crown was slipping again, it gave the Grigori a rakish look, and in retrospect the faeling decided that she liked him that way. It skewed his cultured, suave look and gave him an aura of something a little less civilized and more wild; for all that those were flowers and vines upon his brow.
The gate was left open, the walk back filled attempts at conversation inter-spaced with laughter and lighthearted retorts until once more they were in Melek's room, only steps from where they'd started. And only a few more steps to his bed.